A Reason to Believe (10 page)

who liked working with him. Matt had never been

assigned to a case Preston was prosecuting, but

he’d heard stories.

When he saw Matt, Preston stopped, his eyes

narrowed. “You.” He pointed a finger as he

approached. “Bennett, right?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered automatically.

“You found the Reynolds kid’s body, didn’t

you?”

Matt swallowed when he saw the glare aimed in

his direction from Captain Branson, who stood

behind Preston with his hands in his pockets. He

nodded warily.

“Why haven’t you been working this case for the

last few days? This is the most important case we

have.” He turned to glare at Branson. “All hands

on deck, Captain. I would think I shouldn’t have to

tell you.”

Branson returned his glare, his lips so tight there

was a white line around them. “Detective Bennett

is out on personal time, sir.”

“Personal time?” Preston turned his eyes back to

Matt. “What could be more important than catching

the killer of this little girl?”

Matt started to speak, but Branson beat him to it.

“Family tragedy, sir.”

Matt looked at his superior officer but bit his

tongue and held his silence.

“Oh.” Some of the fire seemed to drain out of

Preston. He glanced once more at Matt, as if

unsure whether or not he wanted details.

Apparently deciding he didn’t, he said “Sorry” and

stalked around him to punch the elevator button. “I

want the evidence gathering wrapped up in the next

two days,” he added without turning. “This needs

to go before the grand jury by New Year’s.”

The doors to the elevator slid open and Preston

disappeared from view. Branson turned on his heel

and stormed back to his office, slamming the door

so hard the glass shook within the frame.

“A plethora of assholes,” Ed murmured.

Matt sent him a small, grim smile before he

ignored the elevator and headed for the stairs.

Once in the Bronco, Matt called the number

Kiernan had scrawled on a piece of hotel

stationery, and was surprised when the man

answered on the second ring. “Are you still

interested in going to the little girl’s house?” he

asked.

“Of course,” Kiernan answered without

hesitation. “We should be done here by four. Is that

all right?”

“That should be perfect.”

What he neglected to tell him was that he didn’t

plan to call ahead for permission. He didn’t want

to invade the Reynolds’ home, but he was

convinced if he told them why he was coming

they’d be denied access. If he just showed up with

Kiernan…well, he might be denied anyway, but it

would give them less chance to think about it. He

wasn’t overly proud of the impulse, but he was

curious to get Kiernan in the house and to see what

he could come up with.

* * *

When Matt pulled up outside the gates of the

Reynolds’ spacious home, there was a small

crowd gathered. Two news vans were parked in

front of the house and a small contingent of people

dressed in heavy coats, hats and gloves lingered

near the driveway.

“Problem?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror at Aidan

Fitzpatrick. “Just media,” Matt answered. “I

should have figured they’d have the place staked

out.” Kiernan was studying the crowd on the street

with interest. “You might want to duck down, just

until we get into the driveway. I doubt you’d like

to see your face on the evening news.”

Kiernan gave him a cheeky grin as he unfastened

his seat belt and slid down into the well in front of

the seat. He was wearing worn jeans, scruffy red

high-top sneakers and a faded hoodie over a shirt

that read I Know Karate…and Like Two Other

Japanese Words. He was very appealing, and Matt

had to force himself not to stare.

“Sometimes it’s an advantage to be compact,”

he quipped.

Matt fought a grin. Kiernan looked like a kid

playing hide-and-seek.

Matt slowed near the driveway, where two

uniforms were blocking the gated entrance to the

house. He didn’t want to identify himself in order

to get through, but it was probably the only way.

Sighing, he lifted his hips enough to reach into his

back pocket for his wallet. As he was extracting

his shield, a car approached from the other side of

the gate, heading out, and the two cops standing in

the driveway stepped aside deferentially.

A Mercedes SLK Class, a roadster, brand

spanking new with a liquid silver paint job and

sleek lines screaming
expensive,
idled as the gates

opened. He wasn’t much of a car guy, but he knew

this particular model started out at 53k. Owned by

a lawyer, no doubt, he thought with a twist of his

lips. The gates swung open and the car inched past,

the windows tinted so dark the identity of the

driver was hidden. Matt hoped it was Marc

Reynolds driving the expensive car. It might be

easier to get in the door if the attorney wasn’t at

home. His hopes were bolstered when the media

suddenly stirred into a minor frenzy on either side

of the drive, cameras raised, flashbulbs popping,

reporters surging forward and shouting questions

at the car.

Matt saw his chance and pulled through the

gates,

He paused briefly, holding his badge to the

window. The uniformed officer looked at it and

nodded to his companion, who waved him through

before closing the gates behind him. Both the cops

and the media were too interested in the expensive

sports car to pay any attention to his ten-year-old

SUV. His badge was enough. The two uniforms

didn’t get close enough to the Bronco to see

Kiernan, and they didn’t spare a glance for his

sister sitting in the back.

He followed the curved drive to the house,

which was ostentatious even for the neighborhood

of million-dollar homes. With its river rock

fireplaces, Tudor beams and turret windows, it

was obviously supposed to reflect old money but

not necessarily good taste.

The entirety of the neighborhood had been built

in the late nineties during the real estate boom, the

houses all designed to look as if they’d been there

for decades. He and Brad had driven through when

the area was under construction, with its artfully

laid out green belts and its old-growth trees, and

Brad had made a sound of amusement.

“Why look,” he said with a grin. “It’s either

Stratford-on-Avon or Disneyland. Not sure

which.”

Matt chuckled. “Looks like Fantasyland to me.

All they need is a fairy flying through the air.”

“Perish the thought,” Brad teased, winking at

him. “Too many Republicans in this neck of the

woods for any self-respecting fairy.”

Matt had laughed. It seemed another lifetime

now.

“Well, this is pretentious,” Aidan said dryly.

“Who owns it? A lawyer?”

“Right in one.” Matt parked the car. Kiernan

pushed himself up from the floor, and Matt’s eyes

fixed involuntarily on a strip of taut, tawny skin

between the waistband of his jeans and his T-shirt.

Before Kiernan adjusted his jacket, Matt saw a

slender trail of dark hair leading down to

disappear into his pants. Matt cleared his throat

self-consciously, turning, his arm lifting to rest

across the back of the seat.

“Um, listen,” he said, tentative. “I was

wondering if you’d mind waiting here for a minute,

just until I have a chance to speak with the

Reynolds first.”

Aidan looked surprised. “You didn’t tell them

you were bringing us?”

“No,” Matt admitted. “Officially, I’m not even

on the case anymore.”

Her pale blue eyes widened. “You’re not?”

Matt started to answer, but stopped when

Kiernan’s hand curled around his wrist. His palm

felt warm on Matt’s skin.

“Relax,” Kiernan said, flashing a grin. “You

don’t owe us an explanation. Do what you need to

do. We can wait.”

“Thanks.”

Kiernan winked at him as he released Matt’s

arm, leaning back against the door, and for a

startling moment Matt felt breathless. He turned

and opened his door quickly, stepping out onto the

snow.

He jogged onto the porch and rang the bell,

which echoed through the cavernous house. It was

several moments before the door was unlocked

from the inside and opened cautiously, halted at

just a few inches by a sturdy chain.

The face peering out at him was tired and

careworn, the hazel eyes bloodshot and dark with

grief. A swatch of fair hair spilled over the pale

brow. Matt spoke cautiously when he recognized

her.

“Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Oh, Detective Bennett!”

She closed the door while she fumbled with the

chain. When it was reopened, Karen Reynolds

stood there, her slender frame dressed in dark

slacks and a muted sweater. Once an unmistakably

beautiful woman, she looked brittle and frail. She

startled him by stepping out onto the porch and

encircling him with her arms.

“Detective, I can’t tell you how happy I am to

see you,” she said next to his ear, sounding tearful.

“Please tell me they’ve reassigned you to Abby’s

case.”

He put his arms around her, awkwardly patting

her slender back. He could feel her spine through

the thin cashmere, smell the stale fragrance of her

expensive perfume mingled with cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Reynolds.” He set her from him

with gentle hands. “I wish I could. But the truth is

I’m not here in an official capacity at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If we could step inside for a moment, I’d be

happy to explain it to you and Mr. Reynolds.”

“Oh, of course.” She opened the door at her

back, allowing him to follow her. The large

entryway was shadowy, the house oppressively

silent around them. “Marc isn’t home, I’m afraid.”

She led him into the living room. A dark Christmas

tree stood in a far corner, the presents beneath it

untouched. “He took the first two days off, but

things started to back up and he felt he had to go in.

In some places, life does go on, apparently.” She

let her words trail off, her face taking on a lost

expression. He wanted to comfort her, and reached

out reflexively to touch her sleeve.

“Mrs. Reynolds, if this is a bad time…”

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

“There’s no such thing as a good time anymore,”

she said starkly, her eyes desolate. “This is the

same as any other. What did you want, Detective?”

He hesitated, not wanting to take advantage of

her fragility. “Should you be alone?”

“My mother was here, but it was no help.” She

sighed and linked her hands together so tightly her

knuckles looked sharp and white. “She doesn’t

mean to be judgmental, but she can’t seem to help

herself. I honestly prefer my own company to

hers.”

“Perhaps I should go…”

She caught his arm in a surprisingly firm grip.

“Detective Bennett, you obviously stopped by for a

reason. Please…tell me what it is.”

He saw the pain in her eyes and remembered

seeing a similar bleakness in the eyes looking back

at him in his mirror. He couldn’t pretend to know

what it was like to lose a child, but he did know

how it felt to lose someone you loved more than

you loved yourself. He covered her hand with his.

“I’m not working your case anymore. And

honestly, I probably shouldn’t even be here. What

I’m going to suggest is completely unorthodox, and

if you choose to tell Captain Branson about it, it

will probably get me in even more trouble than I

already am.”

“You’re in trouble?” she cut in. “Why?”

“It’s not important.” He paused. “Mrs.

Reynolds, I’m going to ask something of you, and if

you are in any way opposed to the idea, please feel

free to tell me to get out of your house. I promise I

won’t be offended.”

She searched his face, hesitant. “All right.”

“I’ve recently met someone. A man who has