Veil of Night (29 page)

He grabbed his radio and began yelling into it, edging to the left as he tried to force a path past the car in front of him, who stubbornly refused to yield. No matter what, he thought, this asshole was going to get a ticket.

Jaclyn realized, too late, that she’d left Eric back at the red light. She slowed down a little so he could catch up with her after the light changed. He probably thought she’d left him behind on purpose, but she hadn’t. Maybe he did turn her upside down and inside out, but she wasn’t silly, and trying to evade him when he knew where she was going was worse than silly, it was downright stupid.

Because she was watching him in her rearview mirror, it was impossible to miss the speeding car that ran the red light. Instantly she saw the hazard, the car flying toward her, the road narrowing down to two lanes, the oncoming traffic. She flinched and speeded up, trying to give the car room to pull in behind her because there wasn’t room on the shoulder for her to let it by, which she would have preferred doing. It was better to have stupid drivers ahead of her than behind her, anyway.

The car darted in behind her, then surged forward and hit her rear bumper. The rental Toyota lurched, skidded sideways a little, regained its traction. Jaclyn cried out, but knew to let the car’s steering correct itself. That’s what the bells and whistles were for. She wanted to fight the steering wheel, but she knew better, and sure enough the car straightened itself out.

What was wrong with the idiot behind her? Her first thought was “drunk,” and then her heart skipped a beat. The last time she’d thought a drunk driver was on the road with her, that “drunk” had tried to kill her. This wasn’t the same car. Even though every witness had remembered a different color, they’d all remembered dark. This car was light in color, kind of a tan. She knew Eric would want her to try to make out an emblem or a name, something by which to identify the car, but as the car rammed her again—harder this time, so hard she was jostled and once more the Toyota went skidding sideways—she gave all her attention to the road. Thank God! In the distance she saw the flash of light that assured her Eric was coming.

The car behind her pulled into the now-empty turn lane and speeded up to pull alongside. Jaclyn turned her head, looked at the other driver. Despite the wide-brimmed hat that shaded a large part of the driver’s face, and despite the rapidly fading light, the headlights of the oncoming cars and the lights from the dash revealed a face she knew.

Taite Boyne, the maid of honor who had told Carrie to fuck off in such spectacular fashion. Her teeth were bared in a grotesque travesty of a smile. The passenger-side window was down, so Jaclyn also saw, very clearly, the pistol in Taite’s hand. Instinctively Jaclyn hit the brakes.

The shot went wide, missing Jaclyn but shattering the driver’s side window and the windshield. The car behind Jaclyn rear-ended her and sent the rental car up and onto the curb. The impact was incredible, rattling every bone in her body and throwing her forward against the seat belt, which jerked her back with a force that jarred her head as if she were being whipped back and forth on an unpredictable roller coaster. She held on tight, shaking and shaken by the gunshot and the jerking of the car. Her heart pounded, every muscle in her turning into a weak, trembling mush. The only thing that kept her from completely losing control was the fact that Eric was coming.

The car that had rear-ended her shuddered to a stop and the driver jumped out.

“You stupid bitch!” the driver screamed at Jaclyn, “what the fuck you doing?” He was scarlet in the face, shaking his fist at her as he advanced toward her car.

Ahead, Taite made a wide U-turn in the road. Panicked, Jaclyn turned her head and saw the light that signaled Eric would be here in seconds, but Taite was much closer, and seconds would be too late. She was a sitting duck; she had to get out of the damn car.

“Get down!” she shrieked at the angry man bearing down on her. “Gun!” As she screamed she fumbled for the release on the seat belt, trying to fight her way free, but the latch seemed to be jammed. The man glanced around, noticed the flashing light and the speeding car and the shattered windows, and with a curse he moved to the side of the road to duck around and behind his own car, flattening his body on the ground and covering his head with his hands.

Jaclyn threw an agonized glance at the oncoming car. She couldn’t get out; the seat belt held her pinned so tightly she could barely move. No, it wasn’t the belt, it was her hands; they were shaking so violently she couldn’t press the release. Three seconds.

She pushed the latch and the seat belt snapped away. Two.

She threw herself sideways, trying to reach the passenger door. She was too late, too late. One. Taite was almost there, almost even with the car.

And then Eric’s car sliced by, light flashing, and instead of swerving around Taite, he rammed his car into hers, head-on.

Air bags had to be one of the best inventions ever, Eric thought foggily as he swam toward consciousness. Thanks to the impact his head swam, too. And, fuck, he hurt. He felt as if he’d been hit in the face with a baseball bat. He was going to feel like hell tomorrow. But he knew where he was, knew exactly what had happened.

He’d only been out a couple of seconds, because Jaclyn had just reached the car and was doing her best to open his door, frantically yanking on the door handle, screaming at him. Eric lifted his head. He could see just enough through the shattered windshield to tell that the front end of his car was smashed and twisted. The car might be totaled. Shit. The paperwork on this was going to take a week and a half.

“Eric!” Jaclyn was shrieking. Her voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well, distant and echoing, but it rapidly became much clearer.

“What?” he finally managed to say, and he sounded grumpy even to himself. Jesus. The interior of the car was full of the white air-bag propellant that looked like smoke, as if the car was on fire, but he knew it wasn’t. Cars didn’t burn as easily in real life as they did on television.

“Are you crazy?” Jaclyn yelled as she continued jerking on the door. She looked to her right. “Come over here and help, you asshole!” she bellowed.

“Maybe,” he said, in answer to her question. “Just a little.” Okay, things were snapping back into place. Damn, that had been some impact.

He’d radioed in as he chased the car that had run the red light, and patrol cars were beginning to arrive on the scene, boxing the driver in—not that her car was drivable. She had an air bag of her own—too bad—but from what he could see she hadn’t moved yet. Other sirens, far away but getting closer, were added to the mix.

“Taite Boyne?” he asked.

Jaclyn nodded her head. “I saw her when she tried to shoot me—this time.” Tears shone in her eyes as she struggled with the door, and Eric pushed away the deflated air bag and reached out a hand. He caught one of Jaclyn’s hands, and she let him hold on. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. She can’t try to hurt you anymore. It’s over.”

Jaclyn swiped the back of a hand across her face and yanked the other hand away from his. “That’s not why I’m crying, you … you stupid, moronic
idiot!”

Oh. She was crying for him. That was okay, then. “I’m fine,” he said, trying not to smile because he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t like it.

Her blue eyes flashed. Tears hadn’t dampened her anger. “You rammed your car into hers. You could’ve been killed!”

She looked so pale, mascara was running down her cheeks, and even though he was no longer touching her he could see the way she was shaking.

“Police issue. They’re built like tanks,” he explained, but she didn’t look mollified.

She kept jerking at the door, and some guy—must have been the one she called an asshole—came up and started jerking on it, too. Eric sighed and unlocked it—they could have reached through the broken window and unlocked it themselves, if they’d thought of it—and the guy managed to tug the door open far enough that Eric could unclip his seat belt and squeeze out. He was only a little bit unsteady. Okay, maybe more than a little, but even as he stood there he could feel the world steadying itself again. Blood dripped down his face, his shirt, from both his nose and a cut on his forehead. His nose felt numb; he hoped it wasn’t broken, but if it was, it wouldn’t be the first time. No, he was breathing through it semi-okay, even though it was bleeding.

Jaclyn wrapped both arms around him, lending him her support, and even though he no longer needed it he didn’t think it was all that important to share that information with her right now. Holding on to her was nice.

She leaned into him, held on, and he watched as the Atlanta P.D. assisted Taite from her car. He’d radioed that she was armed, and they were treating her as armed and dangerous, which she was, which meant they weren’t being very solicitous of her. Her nose was bleeding, too, and he felt a rush of satisfaction because, unless he missed his guess, her nose
was
broken. He hoped it healed crooked.

He’d have liked to coldcock the bitch, but he kept his distance. For one, he wasn’t about to offer her the chance for a civil lawsuit, and it was more important to stay with Jaclyn. And two, if he decked her, the paperwork would damn near kill him. The car was going to be bad enough.

Taite wiped the blood from her nose, squared her shoulders even though her arms were being wrenched behind her back, and called to him, “I want to make a deal! I can give him to you. I can give you the man who killed Carrie!”

“Of course you can,” Eric said softly, and smiled.

Eric couldn’t help but smile, even though it made his face hurt. This time around, Senator Dennison was on
his
turf. Earlier in the day a warrant had been issued for the car Dennison had been driving the day he’d killed Carrie Edwards, and Taite Boyne was singing like a birdie. She still thought she could cut a deal and get off with probation, but she’d soon be disabused of that notion. With the blood evidence in the car, the district attorney didn’t really need her testimony to make the case.

The senator fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in the interview room. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but he would soon. Eric was doing his best to make sure the senator was comfortable, for the time being. Maybe he’d say something that would make this process easier.

He gave a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I can kind of understand how it happened,” he said in a sympathetic tone. “From everything I’ve heard, Carrie Edwards could be hard to get along with.”

“Yes,” Dennison said nervously. “She was.” He glanced toward the closed door. “Is my wife out there? She really shouldn’t be here, but when you called she insisted …”

“Sergeant Garvey is taking care of your wife, Senator. She’s in good hands.” Poor woman. She was about to get the shock of her life. She might’ve suspected that the dirtbag she was married to was unfaithful, but Eric doubted she’d had a clue that he was capable of murder. On the other hand, she was also a strong woman, and this wouldn’t break her. “What did Carrie do? You aren’t the type of man who commits cold-blooded murder.”

“No, of course not!” the senator said, jerking back.

“She had to have done something, something that made you so mad you lost your head for a minute.”

The senator paled. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I’m just going by what Ms. Boyne has told us, so far, but of course she wasn’t there. You were.”

Eric hadn’t thought it was possible for Dennison to get any whiter, but he did. “I don’t know what Taite’s told you, but she’s just as unstable as her friend. You can’t believe a word she says.”

No, but they could definitely believe the smears of blood that had been found in the senator’s car. Someone had cleaned that car well, but not well enough, because Taite hadn’t told them to use bleach—and the tests could even work around bleach. It was harder, but it was possible. A detailer wouldn’t have used bleach on expensive leather, anyway.

“Come on, Senator,” he said softly. “What did she do? Was it blackmail? Did she keep pushing and pushing, wanting more and more?”

The senator must’ve seen the certainty on Eric’s face, because the next words brought the interview to an end. “I want my lawyer.”

Eric sighed and nodded. “I’ll have someone bring you a phone.” It would have been nice to get a confession, but it wasn’t necessary. They had the evidence, and they had Taite’s confession. Other people might have started singing, but Dennison was a politician. He knew all about lawyering up. This was something else that was rarely as easy as it was on television.

Eric left Dennison in the interview room to stew, while he waited for a phone to call his lawyer. He caught sight of Garvey talking to a very distraught Fayre Dennison. He hated that she’d be hurt by all of this. He doubted she was one of those stand-by-your-man types—she was too tough, too realistic—but it would hurt her.

Eric walked toward them, and as he approached Mrs. Dennison’s head snapped around and she stared at his battered face. “Is this really true?”

He nodded once, and that was enough. Mrs. Dennison was going through so many emotions, and they all showed clearly on her face: disbelief, hurt, acceptance, and then rage. She’d loved her husband, once, maybe still did, but that strong streak of realism kicked in fast.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“That he’d killed Carrie? No. I’m still not sure I believe he could do such a thing.” She somehow managed to remain regal, put together in spite of her pain. “About Taite … I knew there was someone. We haven’t had a real marriage in years. But I had no idea he’d taken up with someone so young. Good heavens, Taite’s younger than our son.”

“He’s asked for a lawyer,” Eric said.

“That’s too bad,” Garvey said under his breath.

Fayre seemed to regain some balance. She lifted her chin. “I need to make some phone calls of my own. I’ll be damned if Douglas will use my family lawyers, or my family money to pay his legal fees, or Ms. Boyne’s. My husband doesn’t have much money of his own; he’s always been content to live off mine. I want him to feel every penny he has to pay out for lawyers. By the time he goes to prison, he won’t have a dime left.”