Building Ties (Military Romantic Suspense) (SEAL Team Heartbreakers Book 4) (9 page)

“What else did she say?”

“She thought her boss might have blackmailed Jason Hamilton into pulling his bid. And she thought he might have also been responsible for the accident at the Brittain Construction site which killed two men.”

Buckler and Hart both shifted forward in their seats. “Did she give you any specific information to back up those allegations?”

“No. She was still looking for proof. After she left me at the coffee shop I went to do a couple of interviews for another story. I turned my phone off while I was busy. As soon as I’d finished those interviews I called to check on her, but it went to voice mail. But she’d left a message on my phone while I was out of touch. She said she thought she was being followed and that she’d call me later.”

“Do you still have the message?” Buckler asked.

“Certainly.” Tess got the phone from her purse on the desk. She turned up the volume, opened the message and played it for them.

She had encouraged Mary to meet with her. The weight of responsibility rested heavily on her shoulders, her heart. Had she pushed too hard for the story? But Mary had approached her, not the other way around. They had just met. What had she found that could have caused someone to kill her? Or had it truly been just a horrible accident? Was she jumping at shadows now? Had Mary been chasing imaginary shadows?

Mary’s soft voice came through the speaker and Tess looked away from the detectives and swallowed as the urge to cry welled up. “I think someone followed me when I left the café. Or it could just be my imagination. But I’m a little afraid. I’ve sent you the information you needed. It included background checks on the employees as well. I’ve deleted every email I’ve sent you from the server, just in case. And I found something else. I’ll get it to you as soon as possible.” Mary gasped. “Talk to you later.”

Brett reached for her hand, and for a moment their gazes met, his dark with concern. Her tears eased back.

“It sounds like something startled her,” Detective Hart frowned.

“Yes,” Tess agreed.

“And this was the only voice mail she left you?” Buckler asked, his hazel eyes sharp with inquiry.

“Yes.”

“What time did it come in?”

Tess picked up the phone. “Five-oh-two in the afternoon. She must have been getting ready to leave the office. What time was the accident?”

Buckler and Hart exchanged a glance. “The call came in about five-forty,” Buckler said.

What had Mary been doing during those forty minutes before the accident? Had she been aware someone was after her? Had she been in a panic? Or had this been a terrible accident caused by someone uninvolved with Chanter Construction? She wouldn’t know until the police did their job and found the car that had crushed Mary’s vehicle. If they ever did.

“We’d like to get a court order to get a copy of her voice mail. We’d prefer a direct line of custody from your phone service in case we need to use it later to build a timeline,” Buckler explained. “Would you cooperate with that?”

Giving them access to her phone seemed an invasion of privacy and a threat. Some of the sensitive messages she’d received lately—When he noticed her silence, detective Buckler looked up. She chose her words carefully. “As long as that’s the only voice mail you ask for. Mary is…gone. If her message can help catch whoever killed her, I’m willing to give you access. But I have the expectation of privacy for myself and several people I’ve interviewed lately. In particular victims of a crime I’ve interviewed.”

“That can be stipulated,” Buckler said.

“I’d like a copy of the paperwork before it goes to the judge.” Tess held the detective’s gaze. “So I can see the scope of what you’re asking for.”

The detective’s brows climbed and he studied her for a moment. “I’ll see what I can do. Have you received any packages from Miss Stubben?”

She had wondered what Mary had meant that she’d found something else. Had she had the presence of mind or the time to hide it somewhere? Tess would have received it by now if Mary had mailed it. “No, of course not. Otherwise I’d have mentioned it.”

“If you do, please contact us,” Buckler said.

Tess studied the detective’s expression. They hadn’t discovered anything in the car. They’d be less excited about the voice mail if they had. And less thrown by the information she’d shared. At least now they’d be on the lookout for something in Mary’s possession. And they’d be looking at her death as more than just a hit and run. Could Mary have taken the something she’d found home before her death? Or had she unearthed more data on her computer?

“I’d like to go back over your interview with Ms. Stubben at the café. What was the scope of your discussion?”

Tess closed her eyes, visualizing each moment of the meeting. When she opened them, she described how Mary had behaved after entering the coffee shop. How she’d glanced around her as she sat down, her gaze sliding from one person to another. How her hands had trembled as she placed them palm down on the tabletop. They’d spoken for a few minutes about their backgrounds while the waitress took their order and served their coffee. When Mary talked about her boss and her suspicions, her breathing quickened, anxiety pinched the corners of her eyes, and her nervousness increased.

For twenty minutes Tess shared her observations and repeated every word she could remember of the conversation. When she was finished, her muscles were cramped with exhaustion, as if she’d gone on too long a run. She sank back in her chair and grasped the hand Brett extended.

Detective Hart sat back as well. “Do you have a photographic memory, Ms. Kelly?”

“Not quite. Two weeks from now I wouldn’t be able to tell you in as much detail, only the highlights. But I’d still be able to describe Mary’s behavior. If the person I’m talking to seems at ease, I write everything down and take copious notes during an interview. I’ve tried using a digital recorder, but that either freaks an interviewee out or makes them stilted and self-conscious. I couldn’t use either with Mary, so I was at my most observant.”

“Have you written about your interview with her?” Buckler asked.

“Yes. That afternoon in the car I jotted down some notes right after the interview. Then that evening when I arrived home, while it was fresh in my mind, I fleshed out my observations and impressions. When getting it right means publishing a story or not, I cover all my bases.”

“We’d like a copy of your notes.”

She didn’t mind giving them a copy of her interview with Mary, but Taylor might have a problem with her sharing her work product, and she did, too. They needed to gain their own insights. “I can email those notes to you tomorrow from the office.”

“Thank you.” Detective Buckler stood to go, and Hart followed.

She and Brett stood as well. Buckler extended a card to her. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

“Certainly.”

Buckler was half way out the door when he turned back to face her. “We’ll do all we can to find out what happened to Mary Stubben. The Feds will find out who blew up your car; they’re good at what they do.” For the first time a small hint of humor lightened his normally somber expression. “Don’t quote me on that.” His gaze turned intent. “But in the meantime, I’d suggest you give Chanter Construction a wide berth, Ms. Kelly. We’ll be investigating these allegations about the construction bids.”

Of course he didn’t want her doing any kind of interviews while they were investigating. “I’ll take that into consideration, Detective.”

Buckler’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. “We appreciate your cooperation, Miss Kelly. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.” She closed the door and locked it behind them.

Brett turned her to face him. “I’ve seen that look before, Tess. What are you planning?”

“I won’t interfere with their investigation. But I have my own ideas. I’ll be going at this from a different direction than they probably will.”

“And that is?”

“What I’m known for, the human element.”

“That’s what saved my butt when you helped me.”

“I can’t save Mary Stubben, Brett.” The pain and guilt for the small, soft-spoken woman burned inside her. “If I hadn’t encouraged her to meet with me, she’d still be alive.”

He shook his head and ran soothing hands down her arms. “You can’t know that.”

“Not for certain but—”

“
She
made a choice to try and get at a truth she believed in.
She
chose to take the risks.” He hesitated. “Just as you’re doing now.”

“It’s my job.”

“Yeah. Covering the news. Not investigating it. I can’t tell you to stay on the sidelines. Not when your investigation and your dad’s dug out the truth about my own situation.” He took a breath. “All I can do is protect you, if you need me to.”

He stood against terrorists, drug cartels, and other bad guys to keep the nation safe. And now he was volunteering to do it for her. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned in against him. If she put him at risk and something happened to him… “Maybe I’ll back off and let the police do their thing.”

“Maybe you can manipulate them into giving you a scoop in exchange for your cooperation. You’re not really going to give them everything you have, are you?”

Tess shot him a look.

He grinned. “Didn’t think so.”

‡

B
rett stretched his
legs out, propped his feet on the coffee table, and pretended to focus on the television screen. Though the talk show droned in the background, he had one ear cocked for Hawk’s arrival and the other listening to Tess while she circled from one area of the apartment to the other. Briefly his attention was captured by a report on Afghanistan. How many morning programs had he watched in the last seven years? Not many. He’d been too busy training, on post and off. And working to get back to where he’d been before the coma.

He needed to learn to relax and just enjoy, not necessarily the inane show on the television, but…the moment. And just being with Tess.

Though his eyes were on the screen, his attention returned to her as she paced and chatted with her boss about the police detectives’ visit the night before.

Listening to her describe her interview with Mary Stubben in such detail… Tess had noticed more about the woman in those few minutes than he probably had absorbed about people in weeks. She had a real gift. She’d been exhausted after the detectives left the night before, jittery and anxious, although she’d tried to hide it. He’d done what he could to sooth her by holding her until she went back to sleep.

Tess slid in next to him on the couch and glanced at the screen. “You’re really not into that, are you?”

He looped an arm around her. “I was just thinking how amazing you are.”

She smiled. “You’re supposed to think I’m amazing. You’re going to marry me.”

“I’m serious, Tess. You have something special. You really see people. You really hear them. One day you’ll earn a Pulitzer or something.”

Her burnt sienna brown gaze settled on his face for a moment, then skittered away.

“What is it?” Brett asked.

She drew a deep breath. “Nothing. You said that with such conviction.” She rested her head against his shoulder.

“I believe it.”

“I could win a Pulitzer as a freelancer, couldn’t I?”

Freelancer? A sinking sensation struck his stomach. He studied her expression. “Are you thinking about doing that after we’re married?”

“It’s just an idea. Dad has made a living that way.”

And Ian was gone as often as Brett was, possibly more. The newsman had been from Pakistan to Paris in a week’s time when they’d last spoken. Could Tess handle that kind of nomadic existence? Could their marriage? Jesus…could he handle it? He’d worry about her constantly.

Just like she probably did about him.

But hoping she’d stay in one place while he hopped from one global hot spot to another wasn’t fair to her, either.

“I want you to do what makes you happy, Tess. I know you need to have more than just me in your life. Especially when I’m asking you to take on—”

She covered his lips with her fingertips. “Since this car thing happened, I just—it makes you think. It was a fleeting thought. I know my strengths and weaknesses. I’d go crazy waking up in a different hotel room, alone, every morning. I need a home. Stability.”

Stability. What was stable about having a husband who was gone for ten months out of every year? A husband who could be transferred during any rotation? Or deployed at a moment’s notice? Jesus, what was he thinking asking her to put up with that?

Or was something else going on here? Since the police interview, though she had remained composed, she’d been more than wound up. There was something else going on with her, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Tess. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I’m not afraid. Well, maybe just a little. I haven’t been out since I got home from the hospital. I’m a little anxious about how I’ll react to going outside.”

Of course she’d be anxious. Any civilian would be after what she’d been through. The way she’d been able to recall every detail of her interview with Mary Stubben, she must be doing the same thing about seeing her car blow up. “Why don’t you write about the explosion, Tess?”