Trial by Fire (23 page)

Sam ran his hands over several of the whips fingering the hand carved leather handles and braided thongs.

“Impressive, Nate. I’ve only seen a demonstration like that a couple of times. And then it was in demonstrations in CQC training. That’s the only time I saw Eskrima fighters work. I agree. Scary is a mild term to describe them. We all kept a wide birth around them.” He added in a mild voice, “When this is all over, I’d like to see how you handle a couple of these.”

Nate guffawed. “Clever, Commander. You just might make a good detective, hotshot. As for the answer you’re seeking with that seemingly innocent question, the answer is: Yes, I am as good with this whip as the individual who striped Mike. But, I rarely practice now, so I wouldn’t be asking you to hold up any four inch pieces of paper. Maybe a six-inch piece, but that would depend on how gutsy you are.”

Sam graced him with a soft smile and a slight flush darkened his skin. “I guess that’s the least I could do after putting you through all of this.”

Pete Anderson poked his head in the room and looked from Sam to Nate.

“Uh, Detective, Commander? This box was in your closet. It’s got a lock on it. Is… is… it something we need to catalogue?”

The young man’s pale Scandinavian skin flushed at the question, indicating that he had a good idea of what was inside.

Nate glowered. Fuck. He’d forgotten all about their toy box. Damn, he wished he’d insisted that Erin go for a walk. She didn’t need to see these guys pawing through their erotic toys.

Sam met his harsh gaze without flinching then nodded to Pete. “Yes, get the key from Detective Stryker, then take the box into the bedroom. We can catalogue the contents there.”

While Nate appreciated Sam’s discretion, it didn’t tamp down the bitter gorge roiling up in his throat. This was his fault. If only he’d called Laura on her ridiculous calls, arrested her for harassment, put a restraining order on her. But he hadn’t. And the crappy part of it was that he hadn’t because it gave him a small measure of perverse pleasure to know that the woman who’d betrayed him knew what she threw away. And now because of his stupid male ego, the woman he truly loved, would be further embarrassed by his folly.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, Erin and Connor walked into the bedroom as Pete was writing in his log, documenting the various toys from the well-stocked box. He’d spread the restraints, blindfolds, several plugs and different-sized vibrators and other erotic toys on the top of the dresser.

Erin’s eye widened and then her hand flew to her mouth as a deep pink flamed her cheeks. Ignoring his cousin’s soft whistle, Nate gathered Erin in his arms and turned her away from Pete’s agonizingly slow tallying.

Holding her tightly against his chest Nate whispered, “I’m sorry, darlin’, so goddamned sorry.”

She clung to him for a long moment without speaking. Then she looked up at him, her eyes flashing with anger.

“They have no right, Nate, this is unconscionable.”

For the moment, Nate was relieved to see Erin was angry. He’d expected pain.

“Unfortunately, Erin, they do. It’s part of the investigation.”

Erin pushed away from him and turned to Sam who was standing to the side. Not looking at Nate, she advanced on Sam, her eyes glittering with fury.

“You know this is wrong, Sam. You know Nate is not guilty of anything, and it is a travesty to treat him like a common criminal. I want you to put a stop to this. Now!”

Nate put his arm around her and pulled her back to his side. He remonstrated, “Erin, honey, this isn’t about Sam—”

Sam shook his head. His expression and voice were tense. “No, Nate, I agree with Erin. It is a travesty. Until this morning, I wrongly assumed that Laura Peterson was simply a freak of nature and I’m not referring to all of her plastic surgery. But you’re correct, Erin. She is evil and she is dangerous. Unfortunately even evil people have the right to make accusations no matter how wrong. When she makes those accusations public—which she will—we want to be prepared. We preempted her, Erin, took away her ability to hurt Nate and you even more. She thought she could shame him, make him lose his job. But instead Nate stepped aside. And
we
are making her accusations public before she can. We get to control how the message is delivered to the public. Trust me, by the time we are finished with her, Laura will be very sorry she lied about Nate.”

Seeing that Pete had finished and had placed all of the items in the box, Sam shooed him out of the room.

“I’m sorry about this, Erin. We are invading your privacy and Nate’s. It’s embarrassing to all of us. You and Nate are consenting adults and you can do whatever you damn well please in the privacy of your home. More power to you. I’m just sorry that we had to be party to this.”

Erin considered him for a long moment then shrugged. “I know you are doing your job, Sam. But please don’t forget that you are responsible for keeping this investigation under control. I will give you advice that I hope you will heed. Don’t underestimate Laura. You may
think
you have her controlled. You don’t. She sent me those messages for a reason. She is out to get Nate and none of us should underestimate what she will do to get what she is after.”

Nate leaned down and kissed the top of Erin’s head, then eyed Sam.

“Erin’s right, Sam. Laura is a dangerous woman. But we all know that. And thanks for your consideration regarding our privacy. I know this is difficult for you. But so you don’t have to ask the question that is stuck in your throat since you first saw our ‘toys.’ Yes, this kind of play was part of my relationship with Laura. And yeah, like you, I expect she will be making a public issue of that as well. Which makes all of this an interesting scenario that I have inadvertently walked into.”

He turned to Erin and cupped her chin in his big hands and held her gaze.

“Don’t be too hard on Sam or the Chief or Dan, Erin. Laura is an accomplished puppet master. Think about this for a minute. This is how I described Mike Peterson’s likely killer in our staff meeting yesterday morning. ‘First it is a guy who is bent on vengeance. He wants to avenge some wrong that Mike caused him. And that wrong is bound up in sex. The killer is someone who is familiar with rough sex and unusual weapons, specifically knives and whips. Oh yeah, and the perpetrator has a violent temper and, since the murder, those close to him wonder if he is losing control.’ Sound like anyone you know, Erin?”

At her shocked gasp, Nate pulled her close.

“We all know it isn’t true, Erin. But you have to see what Sam and the Chief are up against. Yeah, I was pissed as hell this morning when the Chief pulled me from the investigation. In retrospect, it was the best thing he could have done.”

Nate winked at Sam. “Now I can lead it from the background, make sure we crack it and soon. And if anything goes wrong, we can blame it on Sam.”

Sam huffed a rueful chuckle. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about that, Nate. But knowing that you have my back is a comfort, and by God we are going to find Mike Peterson’s killer and stop his widow from making any more trouble.”

Nate lifted a brow. “I agree we are going to find the killer, and PDQ. But keep Laura from making trouble? Not possible.”

Nate’s ringtone shattered the silence that greeted his bleak assessment of the future.

“Yeah, Dan? What’s up?” Nate scratched his chin.

“Hmm. Which channels? Got it.”

Nate flipped his phone closed and gave them all an ironic grin.

“Can’t say she doesn’t have a gift of timing. Dan said Laura is on every television station in the country. And according to Dan her performance is Oscar-worthy. Oh, and the ‘Breaking News’ headline?

“Detective Nate Stryker, lead detective in the Peterson murder investigation, has been removed from his position. Past relationship with Mrs. Peterson cited.”

Chapter 22

Laura stood outside the iron gate to her ostentatious mansion. The ring of uniformed officers provided a nice bit of ‘color’ for the cameras and four-deep crowd of reporters. Nate snorted. Hell, they probably were using Tribal Police for traffic control, having run out of state patrol. Not that the Tribal Police weren’t as good as any of his men. It was just that, smart bastards that they were, they made you pay through the nose. Had never bothered Nate. They were worth it.

Laura sure as hell didn’t need a publicist. She was superb at getting attention. But then she had a luxury most publicists didn’t have. She only had one client—herself. But damn, she could use a new stylist—or maybe not. At first glance, her skin-tight stark white jumpsuit with a wide gold chain belt was ridiculously out of place in the 40-degree Northern Minnesota October afternoon. But the cameras and lighting from the satellite trucks likely provided enough heat that Laura wasn’t cold, even though the sleeveless outfit had a plunging neckline that came to a V at her waist. You had to pity the bra whose job it was to contain her surging breasts. Or congratulate the guy who’d created the underwire miracle that kept the tantalizing mounds inches away from full exposure. The capri length pants that hugged her mile long legs were cut short to show off the platform sandals with a web of intricate straps that wound enticingly four inches above her ankles. No subtlety here. But then, understatement was a foreign concept for Laura.

Nate conceded Laura’s stylist knew exactly what he was doing. Even Laura wouldn’t have attempted a mid-October outdoor press conference in lingerie, but this outfit was a close as she could come. As her stylist no doubt knew, every television station was aching for an excuse to run her world famous semi-nude lingerie magazine covers. The juxtaposition with the ‘sex on a stick’ covers and the live model in an outfit that was in danger of falling off at any moment must have had the television producers creaming their pants. In less than two minutes of the live burlesque show, one shameless television outlet had managed to intersperse no fewer than thirty scantily clad pictures of Laura in underwear so revealing a porn outlet would have blushed while checking with their lawyers for permission. Given that their competition at 1 p.m. in the afternoon was Sponge Bob and I Carly, Nate surmised the television stations must have figured that they could slip by their legal departments. All in all, you had to admit it was a hell of a show. And that was before you heard the interview with the “lady” in question.

The eager reporters bombarded Laura with a barrage of questions, giving her the opportunity to pick and choose the ones she wanted to answer and the ones she preferred to ignore.

“How long were you and Detective Stryker married?”

A glowing smile softened her stage made up face. She hesitated then managed a slight blush. “Um… two wonderful years.” She added with a sigh and downcast eyes, “And a couple of difficult years. Nate was gone so much it was devastating. I… I missed him—”

“Was that when Nate was in Afghanistan fighting the Taliban?” a local reporter cut in.

The barest flash of irritation skirted across Laura’s lovely face before she could squelch it. She quickly recovered. Brushing over the reference to Nate’s military service, she gave a heartfelt sigh.

“I was never sure where he was… Nate was gone so much… and we were so young.”

Another of the local reporters chimed in, “Is it true that you divorced Nate so that you could marry Mike Peterson?”

Laura glanced down as though caught off guard but when she looked up her expression was troubled, but free of anger. Ignoring the obstreperous reporter, she appealed directly to the cameras.

“You have to understand. Nate and I married young. We had challenges. He is a very strong… personality. Overpowering. We… we made mistakes. Probably our biggest mistake was not working through our problems. I know that is something that Nate has always regretted.”

Nate choked back a growl and almost laughed when he heard the sound that roared out of Connor’s throat. He hadn’t realized his chest was as tight as it was until he tried to huff out a disparaging laugh. At the next question, a snarl replaced his incipient attempt at lightness.

“Are you saying that Detective Stryker continued to come after you even when you were married?” Laura’s response was lost in the barrage of similar questions from other reporters. “Laura, were you and the detective having affair?” “Did Mike know that Nate was still after you?” “Laura, when were you and the detective together last?” “Is that why Nate was forced off the investigation?” “Do the police think that Nate might have—”

Laura stepped back and put her hands up, as if overwhelmed by the questions.

“Please… please. I… can’t answer any of those questions. I’ve been ordered not to talk about the investigation.” She stammered, “You have to understand. We are in the middle of a … a murder investigation.” As if on cue, tears welled up in her luminous eyes. Taking care not to muss her makeup, she dabbed at the moisture threatening to spill down her cheeks. “My poor Mike, my sweet… wonderful husband… was brutally murdered….”

The reference to the murder turned the reporters’ attention away from Nate for the moment. “Laura, it is true you found the body?” “Hey, Laura, look over here. Where were you when Mike was killed?” “Laura, who do you think did it?” “Is it true that Mike’s—”

Nate clicked off the remote. For a moment the room was filled with blessed silence. Nate turned to the investigative team that had given up any pretense of working, in order to watch the real life soap opera playing out before them. Some of the men were pale, others were flushed various shades of crimson. Anger underlay every one of their expressions. Nate punched on his cell phone and brought Dan into the conversation, then turned to the group.

“Okay, men. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Nate paused briefly, and took a cleansing breath before continuing.

“Dwayne, I want a detail posted here at the cabin round the clock. Block off the driveway at the entrance to the highway. I want a thousand-foot perimeter in place. Talk with Larry Black Eagle. Tell him to put his best trackers on it and bury them deep in the woods. I don’t want any trespassers within a thousand feet of this place. They have my permission to shoot to scare. So help me God, I see one photograph of this cabin on the news and I will track down the perpetrator and personally feed his balls into a woodchipper. Given the security system I have on this place a snake couldn’t slither in, but, understand, that’s the level of most of these press guys.”