SEE HER DIE (8 page)

“I’ll finish up here,” she said to Boomer when he noticed her putting away her tools. “You go on. I’ll see you on Monday.”

A frown creased his brow. “I’ll just hang around and walk you out,” he offered, ever the protector.

She shook her head. He’d already put in far more hours than his meager salary covered, but he’d insisted on helping her catch up. “No. Really. I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Who’s going to bother me with my very own federal agent watching?”

He crossed to the opposite side of the room and peered out the window. “He’s still out there, all right.” Boomer muttered a couple of inventive curses. “I don’t know why you put up with it. They got no right watching you like this.”

“It’s okay.” She ushered him into the dimly lit hallway and pointed to the elevator. “Now go. I’ll be fine.”

Reluctance slowing his step, Boomer shuffled to the only exit. He hesitated before boarding the antique lift. “Don’t let ‘em see you sweat, Elizabeth.” His gaze settled on hers. “We both know you didn’t kill that prick.” He pushed open the iron bars that served as a door to the elevator, then paused to look back at her once more before boarding. “But he deserved exactly what he got.”

Boomer stepped into the elevator and pulled the bars closed before setting it in to motion. His gaze remained steady on hers until he was out of sight. A new worry nagged at her as she shuffled back into the loft.

How often had she complained about Ned in front of Boomer? She hadn’t told him everything, but she’d gone on and on about how he’d used her, how he’d hurt her.

Surely Boomer hadn’t—

No! She refused to believe any such thing. MacBride’s innuendo about Boomer’s past was messing with her head. She knew Boomer. He wouldn’t kill another human being any more than she would.

Elizabeth made quick work of putting away the tools of her trade. She refused to dwell on a concept as ridiculous as one involving Boomer and murder. The whole idea was just another indicator of how badly she needed a good night’s sleep.

When she was ready to go, she glanced out the window to see if the sedan was still there. Yep. Right there in the alley across the street. The driver had backed in so he could pull out behind her without any real effort. She wondered if cops and agents were trained to do that to ensure they didn’t lose their surveillance target while turning around. Probably.

As the old lift lowered to the still-under-construction area that would eventually serve as a sophisticated lobby for the building, she couldn’t help thinking what a monumental waste of time the surveillance of her movements really was. If the feds expended half as much effort on finding the real murderer as they did on watching her, they might have solved the case by now.

By the time she exited the building, she’d worked up a pretty good head of steam. Instead of climbing into her old beat-up truck, she marched across the street and right up to the sedan parked in the alley.

She banged on the driver’s window. “Why do you keep watching me?” Any good sense she’d possessed was now lost to exhaustion and fury.

For a few seconds she wasn’t sure whoever was on the other side of the tinted glass intended to respond, then the door opened. She fell back a couple of steps. What if Boomer had been wrong? What if this wasn’t one of MacBride’s pals?

Agent MacBride himself emerged from the vehicle. He towered over her with only the car door between them. The usual elegant suit jacket was missing. A crisp white shirt stretched over his wide shoulders. The top two buttons were open and the navy tie hung loose at his throat. His short hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly, leaving it tousled in a manner that could only be called sexy.

Why would she notice that? What in the world was wrong with her? She was losing her mind. That was the only reasonable explanation.

“I told you I’d be watching, Elizabeth.”

Damn her treacherous emotions. The very sound sent a quake through her. She wrapped her arms around herself and glared up at him, determined not to allow him to see another indication of weakness. “This is ridiculous. Why aren’t you chasing the real bad guys, instead of harassing me?”

He eased around the door and shoved it shut behind him, putting his body mere inches from hers. “We both know why I’m watching you, don’t we?”

Anger flamed inside her. “Did you call my attorney?” She definitely had, as much as she’d hated to—the retainer alone had set her back two months’ rent, but her landlady had been understanding and offered to allow her to pay the rent a little late. Thank God there were still a few compassionate people left in this world.

“Do I need to call your attorney?” he countered smoothly. “I thought maybe we could settle this between us.”

Her breath stilled in her lungs as that fierce gaze came to rest on her lips. What was he doing? Was this a new strategy? Had he noticed her attraction to him physically and decided to play on it? Was he that desperate to pin this on her? Or maybe he actually thought she was guilty.

“I’m tired, MacBride,” she admitted, too exhausted to fight this battle now. “Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t need this crap.”

She gave him her back and headed toward her truck on the other side of the street. Damn him. She was sick to death of being accused. What was it about her that made people believe she could commit a crime so heinous? Even the sheriff back home, a man who had known her since the day she was born, had initially believed her sorry-ass brother-in-law over her. But, with her father’s desperate prodding, he’d dug more deeply, finally discovering the truth. She was innocent. Just like now. Only that time she actually had stabbed her no good brother-in-law. It was either that or let him beat her pregnant sister to death. Unfortunately the bastard had survived to torment Elizabeth and her sister a while longer.

Who knew? Maybe it was a guy thing. Maybe they had to side with each other, protect the brotherhood at all costs. If there was a woman anywhere nearby to blame, that was the preferred route.

“Did he help you do it? Will he go to jail for you?”

MacBride’s voice stopped her dead in her tracks midway across the street. She turned slowly, afraid to ask what he meant by that statement and equally afraid not to demand an answer.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your assistant, Boomer. Did he talk you into it? Maybe the two of you have something going on and he got jealous of your relationship with the good doctor. Younger guys are like that, you know. Is he the one who tied up Harrison?”

No matter that she was exhausted, white-hot fury exploded inside her. She clenched her hands into fists and shook with the effort to restrain the outrage when she spoke. “This isn’t going to work, MacBride.” She scarcely recognized the voice as her own. “I didn’t kill him and neither did Boomer. If you have some kind of evidence that leads you to believe I’m guilty, then arrest me. If not, leave me and my assistant alone.”

She spun away and started forward again. This just kept getting worse and worse. He was like a dog with a bone. He just wouldn’t let it go. All she had to do was reach her truck, climb in, and she was out of there. She would not waste another moment of her time on this man or his silly suppositions.

“But you can’t prove you actually went home after being stood up at the restaurant.”

The words were spoken softly, yet there was no denying the determination in his tone. He wasn’t going to stop scratching around until he uncovered everything.

She hesitated once more and summoned the necessary courage to face him yet again. “That’s right.” She looked straight at him. Between the streetlights and the moon, she could see all she needed to—more than she wanted to. “I don’t have anyone to vouch for my whereabouts. I can’t prove anything. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Enough already. If he had evidence he would arrest her. But this intimidation had to stop. She’d had all she could take.

“I can do that.”

Startled, she wasn’t sure what to say for a second or two. “You believe me?”

He laughed, a low, sensual sound that made her want to scream at herself for being such a fool. Why was she always, always attracted to the wrong kind of man?

“You said I’d have to take your word for it. I can do that if,” he paused, “you’re willing to repeat those words during a polygraph.”

Fear paralyzed her. She couldn’t take a polygraph. He would have proof of her lies then.

“Why the hesitation?” He shrugged. “If you’re telling the truth you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“I thought polygraphs weren’t admissible in court,” she retaliated. Her heart thundered. This was it. She was done. He had her. He would never in a million years believe her story now. She’d lied. He knew it. She was doomed.

“You say you’re telling the truth. I’m simply offering you an opportunity to prove that assertion.”

“I’ll... I’ll have to speak to my attorney.”

He moved closer, one deliberate step at a time until he was back in her personal space. She couldn’t have moved had her life depended on it. The fear had nailed her to the spot. She couldn’t think what to do or to say next.

“All I want from you, Elizabeth, is the truth. If you’re really innocent as you say you are, then you must know your uncooperative actions are slowing down this case. You’re essentially helping a murderer to continue walking the streets. If you want to clear your name and get this investigation pointed in the right direction, then help me.”

“I... can’t help you. I don’t know anything.”

Mac stared down into those frightened amber eyes and it was all he could do not to reach out to her, not to comfort her. She was scared to death, and every instinct urged him to reach out. The feelings were totally unacceptable. He gritted his teeth and got himself back under control. She was a suspect, the primary suspect, in a murder investigation. He needed her cooperation. Losing his focus was not an option.

“Did you have sex with Harrison that night? Did you go to his place looking for him when he didn’t show up at the restaurant? Did you have a fight? Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him. Maybe it was a game that got out of hand. I know about the kinky sex he enjoyed, the games he played.”

She shook her head, her whole body primed with the urge to flee. He recognized the posture. But something, the fear maybe, held her firmly in place.

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, Elizabeth,” he pressed. “You’ve already lied to me once.” He’d known from the moment he first laid eyes on her that she was hiding something.

She blinked. “Why would I lie to you? I didn’t kill him.”

He tried to read the other emotion cluttering her face. “Is it the video? Are you afraid your relationship with Harrison will be exposed? Is that why you’re holding back?”

She shook her head again. “He... he used me. It was a mistake.” She looked away then. “I made a mistake.” Her gaze flew back to his. “But I didn’t kill him.

“Are you the one who scratched him when you argued?” Mac went on. “Is it your pubic hair we found on his body?”

The bravado vanished in an instant “I told you I went home after leaving the restaurant.”

“Why don’t I believe that?” His gut told him she was telling the truth about her innocence where the murder was concerned, but there was something more. She was lying about something and he had to know what it was.

She held up her hands, palms out. “Enough.” She backed away a step. “You can arrest me or you can let me go home. Which will it be?”

His cell vibrated. “Go home,” he told her as he reached for the interruption. “But remember, I’ll be watching.”

Without responding to his blatant threat she stormed away. He let go a disgusted breath and took the call. “MacBride.”

“Brannigan just called,” Duncan explained. “Another of Harrison’s patients is dead. I’m on my way there now.”

“Where?” Mac double-timed it back to his car.

“Mercer Street. Willidean Delinsky.” Duncan provided the exact address. “She goes by the name Deana Dell. She’s that supermodel who got busted for drugs early last year. You know the one who does the Sass ads.”

Sass was a designer perfume that was all the rage with younger women. Mac definitely remembered the model. Blond, glamorous. She’d been at Harrison’s funeral wearing a red dress that turned every head in the place. “What’s the connection?” He knew there was one, otherwise Brannigan would never in a millions years have called them in on his turf.

“Same MO as the last one. Panties shoved in her mouth and her throat was slit.”

Mac swore. “I’ll meet you there.”

~*~

The scene was every bit as gruesome as the one two days earlier involving Vanessa Bumbalough. The MO appeared to be near identical. Only this time Mac got to see the victim before her body was removed. She’d been tied to her elegant bed, sexually assaulted and then murdered in the same manner. The spray of blood adorning the bed and the covers testified to the violence. There was far less splatter on the wall this time. The unsub had apparently learned his lesson and opted to slit his victim’s throat after she was tied to the bed. Or maybe he’d wanted to watch her face—to see her die—as the blood pumped from her body.

As Mac stood back and viewed the undisturbed crime scene, his predominant thought was that this was an execution. Someone had demoralized and executed this woman. This was no random act of sexual violence. This murder had purpose and calculation. Again, the rest of the home was undisturbed. Not a single item looked out of place. No sign of forced entry. This building didn’t have a doorman but whoever had entered the premises had been allowed to do so by a resident who pressed a button and disengaged the lock barring the entrance. Brannigan already had officers canvassing the residents to see if anyone had buzzed in a visitor in the past twenty-four hours.

The ME had put the time of death at six to eight hours ago. They wouldn’t have more concrete details until after the autopsy. The victim’s live-in boyfriend had come home late from the office and discovered the body. Brannigan was still grilling him in the next room. But Mac didn’t need to hear any of the interrogation. This had nothing to do with the boyfriend.