The Investigator (9 page)

A sharp rap at the door caught her attention. Her pulse jumped. The only person who knew where she was staying was the detective. Unless he’d told someone—someone like Darryl.

Fear clawed at her throat. Darryl knew she was in town and he knew why. He also knew she’d gone to the police. Anger lit up inside her: The detective had ratted her out.

Stupid, so stupid for her to have thought she could trust him. He was a cop. They were all the same. Part of an impenetrable boys’ club. She knew that. She’d always known it. She’d fallen for his knock-out smile and the understanding she thought she’d glimpsed in the dark depths of his sparkling brown eyes.

The knock came again, this time more insistent. Adrenaline surged through her. She refused to be a victim again. Hunting around for a weapon, she came up with nothing but a four-inch stiletto. It would have to do. She’d aim it straight for Darryl’s eyes.

Plastering herself against the wall nearest the door, she moved the curtain an inch and peeked out through the dirty window. The dim fluorescent light outside her door barely breached the inky blackness. She caught a glimpse of worn jeans and a blue chambray shirt and the air left her body in a rush.

It was him. Poster-boy.

And then her insides knotted up for an entirely different reason.

* * *

Riley knew she was in there. He’d seen the slight movement by the window right after he’d knocked. Besides, the room was lit up, the TV was on and a small white rental car was parked right outside the room. If she’d wanted to pretend she wasn’t in, she’d have to make a better effort than that.

“Miss Collins, it’s Riley Munro. I know you’re in there. Please open the door. We need to talk.”

A moment later, the wooden panel eased open and Kate stared back at him, motionless. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. Within seconds, he’d taken in her shower-damp hair and housecoat.

Housecoat
? Christ, it was only a little after six. Who went to bed at that hour?

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms in front of her. The defensive movement lifted her breasts, deepening the shadow between them. Riley’s body tightened and he fought to maintain his neutral expression.

“What are you doing here?”

Her words sounded brave, but he caught the tremor in her voice. The light glanced off a shiny black sandal in her hand. It had a vicious-looking heel. He frowned.

“Who were you expecting?”

Her hand fell to her side, but she didn’t release her grip on the shoe. He lifted his hands in surrender. “I come in peace, I swear.”

Mistrust darkened her eyes. She bit her lip and indecision colored her cheeks. He snatched a breath, her easy beauty suddenly confining his oxygen.

Then she turned abruptly and took a seat in an armchair that had seen better days. In fact, the whole room had seen better days. Riley’s gaze wandered over the cracked paintwork and faded carpet. She seemed so out of place, surrounded by its dinginess. Like a rare orchid in a bed of geraniums.

He closed the door and sat on the edge of the only bed. It was still made up, although the cushions had been pushed to the floor.
At least he hadn’t pulled her out of bed.

The thought dropped a tumbler-full of erotic images into his mind. Long, sleek limbs…full, soft breasts and those luscious lips. His cock stirred. He clenched his jaw on a groan.

“What are you doing here, Detective?”

Her voice had gained strength, dragging him from his lurid thoughts. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair and then sighed and dropped his hand to his side. “I stopped by your stepfather’s house this afternoon.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do. You were there.” It was only when he’d spied the rental car outside her room that he’d realized it was the car he’d seen outside Watson’s.

She held his gaze for a moment and then turned her face away. “You saw me.”

“Yes, though you managed to surprise me. I thought you hated the man.”

She turned back to face him. “You misunderstood me, Detective. I don’t just hate him; I
despise
him.”

The venom in her voice was palpable. After his run-in with Watson, he could almost understand her animosity. Still, she’d left home ten years ago. Surely that was long enough to get over some silly teenage disagreement?

“Did you speak with him?” he asked.

A shudder ran through her body. Her arms came around once again to tighten across her chest. Riley kept his gaze studiously averted from her breasts.

“No. I stayed in the car.”

He cleared his throat. “I talked to Darryl. Nice house. Someone has a fine eye for detail. The place looks like something out of
House and Garden
.” He eyeballed her. “I’m curious; what was it like growing up there?”

Her expression closed. He could almost see her shutting down. Her eyes lost their sparkle, lips compressed and color fled from her cheeks. He was left facing an emotionless mask. Something indefinable tugged at his gut. Bracing himself, he waited for her to answer.

She stared blindly at the television. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw. “I ran away when I was fourteen. How do you think it was?”

He studied the pain on her face, wanting to look away, but needing to gauge its legitimacy. Watson was a selfish, egotistical pig, but that didn’t make him a murderer. And yet, that was exactly what Kate wanted Riley to believe. He needed to find out why.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” he replied.

She swung around to face him and her eyes flashed fire. “My leaving has nothing to do with it. My mother knew Darryl and I didn’t get on. I called her from a payphone a couple of weeks after I left. I told her I had to get away. She was upset, but she understood. That was it. I got on with my life and we stayed in regular contact. Her disappearance has nothing to do with me. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you: It’s Darryl you ought to be looking at.”

“That’s part of the problem, Blondie. You keep insisting he’s responsible and yet there’s not a shred of evidence that points to him. In fact, there’s not a shred of evidence your mother’s met with foul play.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “I saw a brochure on the coffee table at Darryl’s house. Princess Cruises. The same cruise line your mother booked with. I rang the travel agency. They confirmed the booking. The only thing that’s out of order is the fact that the ship’s purser told me she didn’t board.”

Kate gasped. “Sh-she’s not on the ship? Is that what you’re saying?”

Riley nodded. “Apparently not. Darryl says he drove her down to Sydney to embark. Took her right to the wharf, or so he says, but I had the purser check the manifests. Twice. Your mother didn’t board.”

“What if Darryl’s lying? What if he didn’t take her down there at all? What if he’s lying about the whole thing?”

“Okay, but he’s gone to a lot of trouble. The brochure in the house, the travel agent. They both support his story.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s cunning. He’s sly. He knows how to cover his tracks.”

“Why would he do that? What reason would he have to do away with your mother? They’ve been together for twenty years. Why now?”

She turned away from him, veiling her eyes behind a thick blanket of lashes. Her arms once again were folded across her chest.

He stood and crowded her with his body, refusing to allow her to withdraw from him again. He needed to know what she was hiding.

“Talk to me, Kate.”

She moved away from him and backed up against the door. Her eyes were frantic. “I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know why he’d hurt her. All I know is that he
has
! H-he must have! She would have called me, emailed me—done
something
! There’s only one reason why she wouldn’t—and that’s if she
couldn’t.
Either he has her locked up somewhere or—or worse and she can’t get to a phone or her computer. It’s the only thing that makes
sense
.”

Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she brushed them away, her movements jerky. He steeled himself against the desperation in her voice and pressed on.

“Give me a name. Tell me who else I can talk to. I need to talk to someone who knows them, both of them, as well as you do.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” Her voice rang with accusation. He looked away.

“I don’t know what to believe, but you’re not exactly what I’d call an impartial witness. You’ve already admitted you have issues with Darryl. You won’t tell me what they are; you won’t tell me why you left; and you won’t tell me why the hell you think Darryl has hurt your mother.”

He made an effort to slow his breathing down. “Look at it from my point of view. You turn up after a ten-year absence and start pointing fingers at one of our finest law enforcement officers. An officer who has been married to the same woman for twenty years. An officer with a perfectly unblemished record, not even so much as a parking ticket and certainly no evidence of any domestic violence.”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing to indicate anything’s out of the ordinary in your mother’s life except
your
say so…and the basis for your accusations is so flimsy it’s almost laughable. She stopped contacting you. So what? It’s not a crime to want some time away, time to yourself. If I’d spent more than half of my life in a wheelchair, I’d probably want to get away from everything, too.”

Seeing the tension in her body and the mutinous expression on her face, Riley sighed and tiredly ran a hand through his hair. “Look, believe it or not, I’m trying to help you. I know I’m not saying the things you want to hear, but that’s my job. I investigate facts, not fantasy. For some reason, you have a beef against your stepfather. Fine. You wouldn’t be the first. Shit happens. I’ve met the man and he’s not exactly overflowing with goodness and virtue. But that just makes him a lousy person. It doesn’t make him a kill—”

“My mother had a housekeeper,” she interrupted. “Mrs Fitzgerald. I’m sure you understand, there are a lot of things that are impossible to do when you can’t walk.”

She spoke slowly, tiredly. Her shoulders slumped forward. Riley could barely look at the bleak despair that clouded her eyes.

“Okay. That’s good.” He reached for his notepad and pen. “Let’s hope she’s still working for them. She could shed some light on your mother’s whereabouts. Do you know where she lives?”

“She used to live on Carol Avenue. I’m not sure if she’s still there.”

He took down the details. “It’s a starting point, anyway. I’ll chase it up tomorrow.”

Tucking the notepad and pen back into his shirt pocket, his gaze drifted around the room and lit on an expensive-looking laptop. A colorful pattern of geometric shapes chased each other around the screen. He looked back at her.

“Darryl said your mother spent a lot of time on the Internet. There was a computer on the desk in the living room when I visited. Do you know what brand she had?”

Kate’s eyes widened in confusion at the sudden change in topic, but she answered quickly. “Yes, I do. I bought her a Toshiba laptop a couple of years ago. I sent it to her from the UK.”

“Darryl said she was going to take it with her to Skype him from the ship, but for some reason, she left it behind.”

Kate paled. Riley stepped forward, alarmed. She stumbled back against the door, her hand up to her mouth, her eyes filled with horror.

“Oh, my God! Her laptop was there? She never goes anywhere without it. That computer is her life; it’s her window to the world. Oh, my God! He’s killed her! I told you! He’s killed her! I know it! I just
know
it!”

Without warning, she turned and pummeled Riley’s chest with her fists. He braced himself against the attack, holding his arms straight at his sides until she calmed enough that he could stop her without force.

His heart constricted at the sight of fresh tears welling up in her eyes. A shiny wisp of blond hair fell across her face. She scraped it away with impatient fingers. Finally, her tortured gaze found his.

“Why won’t you
believe
me? How many times do I have to
tell
you? He’s done something to her. You have to make him tell me where she is!” Her voice cracked. As if a torrent had been unleashed, she cried in heartbreaking sobs.

With fierce reluctance, his arms came up around her and he drew her in close against his chest. She cried against his shirt. He tried not to think how well her head fit the hollow of his shoulder.

Long moments later, she pulled away and stared up at him. Her face was red and blotchy. She sniffed and then looked away.

He pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over to her. She took it in silence, her eyes conveying her thanks. He turned away and walked back to the bed.

What the hell was he doing? Another minute or two and he would have been crushing those oh-so-kissable lips against his and to hell with everything. He no longer doubted her mother was missing, but had she disappeared voluntarily or was there something more sinister at play? And, if so, who was responsible?

He’d formed his own opinion of Watson. The man was a right royal prick, but as Riley had told Kate, it didn’t make him a murderer. And why would Watson have come up with such a far-fetched story to explain her absence? A wheel-chair bound woman who couldn’t swim and hated the water had gone cruising on the high seas? It was totally and utterly unbelievable. He must have known people would be doubtful. A cop of Watson’s caliber and experience would know that the implausibility of his story would be the first thing the police would seize upon. Of all the ways Riley could describe the former commander, stupid wasn’t one of them.

Darryl had been married to Rosemary for two decades. Why would he suddenly decide she had to be done away with? If things had really gotten that rough, divorce was a hell of a lot less risky than murder, even for an ex-cop who knew the ropes.

And what about Kate? Beautiful, distant… He sensed she hid a lifetime of secrets. There was more to her fallout with Darryl than she was telling. Far more, if the bitterness in her eyes at every mention of his name was anything to go by.