I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville) (22 page)

“He say anything about Deidre?”

“Only reiterated that they were friends with benefits. No passion. No reason to kill.” She cocked her head. “Is there a problem with him?”

“Why would there be?”

“You’re TBI. Deidre is dead. And you have questions about him.”

“I’m asking questions about everyone in the running group.”

“Even me?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“Deidre ever talk about her past?”

“Like what?”

“Anything.”

“Other than her marriage, no.”

“What about work?”

“Never talked about work, but I got the sense she loved it.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“For now.”

She opened the door. “Thanks again for waiting.”

“See you soon.”

“Right.” Leah trotted across the lot to her car, glanced in the backseat, and then slid behind the wheel. She turned on the heat, promising never to complain about summer again. The SUV waited until she put her car in reverse, backed up, and waved. He nodded and followed.

As she pictured Alex waiting for her at the top of the hill, attraction snapped. The sensation was odd, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She’d been too nervous on their so-called date to feel anything other than nervous, but she felt something now.

Energy hummed in her veins. Her skin warmed. As much as she wanted to embrace the unexpected feelings, she feared them. She’d once been attracted to Philip.

The two men appeared to be similar, powerful and in charge, but she could see now that Philip was weak compared to Alex. Power, not fear, radiated from Alex, and the way he looked at her made her a little weak.

Getting close was a dangerous, risky thing to do. She’d promised herself she’d try dating this year. But she’d made no resolutions about starting a relationship, especially not with a man as dangerous as Alex.

 

 

Leah finished up the morning appointments just before two. Normally, the morning didn’t go so long, but there’d been a couple of emergencies, including an old cat having seizures and a dog that had been hit by a car. The cat had been stabilized and the dog, with a shattered back leg, had gone into surgery immediately. It had taken her over an hour and a half to set the pin in the dog’s hind leg, stitch it up, and build a cast. The half hound/half mutt named Maisey was in her cage. She was sleeping peacefully now, but when she woke in the next hour she was going to be sore and an unhappy camper with her cast and the cone around her neck.

Leah stood outside, behind the vet hospital, leaning against the brick wall. The afternoon sun hit this spot and it warmed the brick. It felt good to be in the fresh air. Instinctively, she reached in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Her fingers brushed dog treats and a rumpled pack of gum. She considered hopping in her car and making the five-minute drive to the drugstore, where she could pick up a pack of cigarettes. She’d only smoke one, she reasoned, and then she would throw out the rest of the pack.

“Damn,” she muttered. “You’re not going to do that.”

She opened her eyes and pushed away from the wall, her gaze catching sight of the spare tire on her car.

The image stirred the tension in her gut. She’d dropped the flat tire off at the garage that morning and the mechanic had promised to have it ready for her by the end of the day.

Her skin prickled, as if a thousand spiders crawled over it.
It’s just a tire. No big deal.

Remembering her promise to call the South Carolina detective, she fished her cell from her pocket and checked. To her surprise, there were ten messages in her voice-mail box. She didn’t recognize any of the numbers.
What the hell?

She played back the messages. Several from the local American Red Cross about a blood drive, one regarding real estate properties in Franklin, one from the Democratic Party and the other from the Republican Party. There was also one missed call with no message. Was someone giving out her phone number?

Frowning, she dialed the South Carolina number and waited as it rang. On the fourth ring, voice mail picked up again. “This is Leah Carson, former Leah Latimer. I called you a couple of days ago, checking on the status of an old case. Philip Latimer. He was my ex-husband, and his body was found in your county. Could you call me? I have a few questions.” She rattled off her number and hung up.

She turned to head back inside when she caught a shift in the shadows. She hesitated, gripping the phone in her hand. A tall man dressed in jeans, a collared shirt, a thick leather jacket, and cowboy boots stepped in her path. He had thick, dark hair, peppered with gray, and a thick mustache. He wore a cowboy hat.

“If you’re looking for the clinic, the front entrance is around the corner.”

His stare lingered on her long enough to ignite all the alarm bells in her head. “You Leah Carson?”

“Who’re you?”

“I’m Tyler Radcliff.”

“Deidre’s husband.”

“That’s right. You must be Leah.”

“What do you want, Mr. Radcliff?”

A smile twitched the edges of his lips. “Seems kinda strange for you to be calling me mister anything. I mean, with you and Deidre being friends, I bet you discussed all kinds of details about our crumbling marriage.”

“Deidre was very private,” Leah said. “We didn’t talk about you.” That wasn’t true.

“She didn’t have a lot of close friends. We were each other’s best friends.”

When Philip had been very angry, his voice could be so soft, his words sound so reasonable. In the early days, she’d tried to reason with him. But no matter what she said, the cord holding back his temper always snapped and his words lashed.

“You’re not talking.”

She took a step back. “I can’t help you, Mr. Radcliff.”

“Of course you can help me! You were Deidre’s friend. Christ, you’re the one who found her body.”

The image of Deidre lying facedown in her own blood flashed in her mind, and she grimaced. “I’ve got to get back inside.”

“You’re done with the morning appointments. I already spoke to the receptionist.”

“When did you call her?”

“This morning. I wanted to catch you alone so we could talk.” He checked his watch. “You’re late. You should have been finished a couple of hours ago. Must have been that hound. She was wrapped in a blue blanket and her owner was holding him close. Looked panicked. Hit by a car?”

The idea that he had been watching the clinic both scared and irritated her. “You were watching the clinic.”

“I wanted to talk to you. And you didn’t answer your phone.”

“You were the unidentified number. You didn’t leave a message.”

“What I need to say is better said face-to-face.”

“I’m not talking to you.” Her anger rose as she pulled her phone from her pocket. Philip would have pulled a stunt like this. “I’m going back inside.”

He blocked her path. “Not before we talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” She glanced at the phone and typed in 9-1-1.

“She ripped my heart from my chest.”

The agony-laced words also reminded her of Philip. He could make her feel so guilty for not loving him. “I don’t know what to say.”

His eyes glistened. “You have to know! She was your friend, and I know how women talk.”

“We didn’t talk.”

“That’s not true. That’s not true.”

“I can’t help you, Mr. Radcliff.”

Large hands fisted and unfisted. “Like hell you can’t.”

So much for politeness. “I’m calling the cops.”

He snarled, “I
am
the cops.”

Her gaze rose, her finger suspended over the Send button. Memories of Philip talking and joking with the police after she called leered out from the shadows.

“No one is going to believe you. I’m a good cop with a great record.”

“I guess I’ll just have to try real hard to convince them you aren’t such a good guy.”

He advanced toward her. “You’ll look like a fool.”

“You really think I’m afraid of that?” Ghosts of being stabbed stirred her anger. She wouldn’t be bullied by Tyler Radcliff.

As if he read the conviction etched on her face, he doubled down. “They won’t believe you.”

“Yes, they will.”

“Who’s gonna take your word over mine?”

Gravel crunched behind Tyler. “Me.”

Leah looked past Tyler to see Alex Morgan. Dressed in a dark suit, polished shoes, and a dark overcoat that accentuated broad shoulders. His hands in his pockets, his badge and gun caught the afternoon sunlight.

Tyler turned around. “Morgan, this has nothing to do with you.”

“What’re you doing here, Radcliff?” His feet planted, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I came to talk to Leah about Deidre. I want to find the bastard who killed my wife.”

“It’s not your place to talk to Leah or anyone else attached to this case. That’s my job.”

“No way will I be staying on the sidelines. Deidre was my wife. We might have had our problems, but I’m sure, in the end, we would have worked it out.”

Leah studied the tall, broad-shouldered man, wondering if he were lying or simply delusional.

Alex shook his head. “Are you armed?”

“Sure. I always carry.”

Alex’s hand settled on his gun. The holster strap was unclipped. “Step away now. Let me handle Leah.”

“No way, Morgan. Deidre’s murderer is my responsibility. I’m her husband.”

“If you don’t start moving now, I’ll lock you up. And that’s not going to do anyone any good. I know you’ve got a tough reelection coming this fall, and I sure would hate to see you lose your job.”

“You’d really arrest me?”

“Yes, I would.” Conviction strengthened the words as Alex nodded to the gun holstered at Tyler’s side.

Tyler clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’m trying to find out who killed my wife.”

“I got people working on Deidre’s case around the clock. Go home, Tyler. Do yourself a favor and let me handle this. Go home
now
.”

Tyler glanced back at Leah, his gaze narrowing. “She knows more than she’s saying. I can feel it in my gut.”

Leah held Tyler’s gaze, her anger over this entire situation rising. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Leave,” Alex ordered.

Tyler looked back at Alex. “I’ll be checking in with you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Alex stood his ground, watching as Tyler got in his pickup truck and drove away, the wheels squealing as he accelerated.

She glanced at her phone and the 9-1-1 call she’d never put through. “He told you he had a gun. He told you he’s on some kind of hunt. You just let him go.”

Alex faced her. “I did.”

Emotions burned hotter, and her voice was louder and angrier than she’d intended. “He could have killed Deidre.”

He seemed to chew on unspoken words, wondering if he should share his thoughts with her, before he rejected the notion. “I’m not here to talk about Tyler. I’m here to talk about you.”

His noncommittal response didn’t dampen her temper. She’d guarded her emotions so closely for so long, and now her anger threatened to spill over. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I know about your past. I know what Philip Latimer did to you.”

Her temper reared, pulled at the leash. “Wow, Deidre’s husband is tracking me down and you’ve dug into my past. That’s the kind of thing Philip would have done.”

He shoved a hand in his pocket, seeming to chew on a few more less-pleasant words. “I didn’t do it out of morbid curiosity. I spoke to Deidre’s sister. In our conversation, Philip Latimer’s name came up.”

“What? She must be wrong. How would Deidre know Philip?”

“Deidre’s been a cop with the Nashville Police Department for twelve years.”

“I know.” Pieces she’d never thought to connect scurried together and locked into place. She thought back to when they’d first met. Deidre had approached her. Deidre had invited her out to coffee. Into the running group. She’d initiated it all. Nausea had her stomach contracting. “She worked with Philip.”

“She didn’t work with him, but they knew each other.” His tone remained even, unstirred by emotion. “She ever ask about what happened to you four years ago?”

“No. We didn’t talk about the past.” She rubbed her right thumb over the rough scar on her left palm. Deidre had opened the door to the past a couple of times during a few conversations, but she’d never passed through it. “What do you know?”

“I don’t have the whole picture of Deidre’s past, but I’m putting it together.”

“What do you know about Philip and me?”

“About the attack? I’ve read everything on record.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

She pressed a trembling finger to her temple. “Why should their past connection matter? Philip was killed in a car crash in South Carolina.”

Alex studied her, and she sensed him digging in his heels. “Have you ever read Philip’s autopsy report?”

“No. Why would I do that?”

“I’ve read it. I even had the medical examiner in Nashville review it. I’m not convinced the body was Philip’s.”

For a split second her head spun. This worst-case scenario moment still invaded her dreams and could bring her out of a sound sleep screaming. “What?”

“I’m not sure he’s dead.”

Missing keys. Strange charges on her credit card. The flowers. A flat tire. All the random events lined up into a pattern. She clamored to hang on to control and not panic. “I spoke to the officer in South Carolina several times. She told me he was dead.”

Alex’s cool demeanor didn’t waver. “I’d like to have his body exhumed.”

“What?” Opening that grave was akin to opening a wound that had never healed. She feared what unseen poison festered there.