Dancing with Detective Danger (12 page)

“How did you get back here so quickly, Sterling?” he asked. Ben’s heart stumbled inside his chest. Would the sight of her ever not make him catch his breath? “What are you up to?”

“You have such a suspicious mind, Ben.”

“It comes with the job, babe. Now let me see what’s in the envelope. At least what’s left after you’ve censored it.”

Composed, her expression gave up nothing, but he knew her too well.

Sterling pushed the envelope toward him. “Help yourself. And you don’t have to act so wronged, Detective. I didn’t wait for you because I thought you were going to check out the condo after I dropped you off. You did get interrupted, remember? Change your mind?”

Ben shifted his feet, and carefully pulled out the contents
.
Clearly, Sterling had the upper hand, and she knew it. “I suspected whatever you found in this envelope would be important.”

“Maybe. It appears to be very clichéd, at least.” Sterling leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, her eyes on him like hot embers.

“Compromising photos taken of a tryst between the now deceased Pamela Witt and her lover — Jerry Rutherford.” Ben turned the photos over carefully.

“Nothing to give a clue who took the pictures. I checked,” Sterling said. “Of course, they’re loaded with prints, so maybe the lab could pick up something useful. I’d be interested in knowing what you find out.”

Ben slid the photos inside the envelope and looked back into Sterling’s face. So much had happened between them, why couldn’t he see it written on that lovely face? Something to prove their relationship had meaning. “Sure,” he mumbled. “I’ll call you when I get the results. But there’s no mystery here, Sterling. Rutherford was somewhat of a public figure. Someone caught him with his lover and tried to profit from it. The poor sap isn’t going to net much now.”

“But who’s the poor sap?” Sterling asked, shifting in her chair. “Maybe this case isn’t as open and shut as it seems. Maybe it’s all purely circumstantial.”

“As far as the murder goes, my money is still on Jerry. And I’m not so sure his wife is squeaky clean, either.”

Sterling’s mouth dropped open. “You must be joking. You still suspect Sara?”

“She’s got motive. And where is her husband, Sterling?” Ben turned toward the door, loath to leave her, but determined.

“What are you saying? That Sara killed both Pamela and Jerry? Then why did she hire Lacey and me? And who were you and I chasing this afternoon?”

Sterling followed behind him, so close the scent of her fragrance drifted through his mind, muddying his thoughts. “First of all, Sara could have hired you to throw off the investigation. She has no alibi for the time of the murder.” Ben nodded to Michelle and continued toward the outside hall. “And we don’t know who we were chasing. I still have to run the plates but I’ll bet the car was a rental. There are questions and I don’t know Sara’s involvement.”

“You’re suggesting a jealous wife committed a double murder? You’ve seen too many cop shows, Detective.”

Ben stopped in the hall and turned to her. Her hands perched on slim hips, her mouth forming a perfect, determined pout, her large blue-green eyes framed with lovely dark lashes … Sterling drove all thoughts of Sara, Jerry, and Pamela out of his mind. “You know I don’t watch television, Sterling.”

“Sara didn’t do it.”

“Is there something you’re holding back? Maybe something from the envelope?”

“Would I withhold evidence?” Her eyes twinkled, and Ben’s heart twisted mercilessly.

“The question is, are you?”

“I’ve given you all the contents of the envelope. Trust me. It’s just a gut instinct.”

“That’s what I thought.” Ben tilted his head and fixed her with a stare. “I know about your gut instincts, Sterling. But I also remember the times, before you quit the force, that you put yourself in harm’s way just so you could make a collar — using, by the way, information you should have shared with your commanding officer.”

“I remember.” Sterling’s eyes dipped. Sure she had trouble with pride. But Ben didn’t know the whole story — that she’d lost trust in her fellow officers and knew it was always up to her to take care of things.

Ben shook his head and headed toward the elevator.

• • •

“Hmm, that detective is persistent, isn’t he?” Michelle gave Sterling a pointed look.

Sterling paused. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been here three days in a row.”

Michelle’s smile spoke volumes. Sterling decided to play dumb. “He’s working an investigation and the agency is involved.”

“I know, but there’s more going on behind those big blue eyes than police work. When you two are in the same room, it feels like I’m standing near a geyser.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It feels like something very strong is churning just below the surface, and any minute it’s going to — ”

“Stop.” Sterling held up her hands in protest and glared at Michelle. “Just stop talking like that.”

“You know I’m sensitive, Sterling. I can just feel stuff.” The young woman looked up, blinking innocent eyes, but nonetheless solidly convinced. “I’m usually pretty right. There is definitely something going on between the lines. Or is it between the sheets?” Michelle’s eyes now glinted brightly. A little too brightly.

Sterling straightened and put her finger to her lips. “Shh. You may have a gift, or something, but this time your sensitivities are off, sort of, so just stop talking about it. Please.”

“Sure. My lips are sealed,” Michelle said sweetly, but obviously she wasn’t buying it.

“Okay, well, to be perfectly honest, Ben and I have history, but nothing else. Just history.”

“Okay.”

“So,” she continued, feeling lost, “enough said, right?”

“Got it.” Michelle turned her attention to the computer and turned up the volume on her docked mp3 player. Birds chirping and ocean waves crashing onto a beach filled the room.

Sterling stepped into her office. She suspected Michelle really did get it, and understood even more than before the silly little conversation transpired.

Oh well, it doesn’t matter.
What does matter is winding up this case. Sterling knew exactly what to do. If she could just keep her thoughts tied-up, controlled, the case would unfold, like cases always do. It would just take a little investigation, and after all, that’s what she did.

“Michelle,” she called. “Can you get me the Hansen file?”

A minute later, Sterling sorted through the file’s documents. She hadn’t lied to Ben. It wasn’t like she was withholding evidence. He had equal opportunity to put two and two together. It just happened to be her good fortune to hold previously obtained information from a similar case she’d closed months ago.

Mr. Hansen had asked Aegar Investigations to uncover the identity of a blackmailer who’d photographed him having intimate relations with a woman other than Mrs. Hansen. If Sterling’s memory proved right, similarities between photos in both cases might be the clue that would lead her to Jerry before Ben found him. It was a police investigation but it was her job to help her client. If she could find Jerry’s whereabouts first, so be it.

Bingo.
Holding up a photo from the Hansen file, Sterling compared it in her mind’s eye with the photos she’d handed over to Ben. It was too good to be true. The similarities struck her as uncanny. It’s almost as if both sets of photos had been posed for. A shiver slipped down her spine.

On the back, she’d penned the name and address of the private detective who’d snapped the shots.
Charlie Dewberry.
She’d made it her business to delve into the comings and goings of the PI who would do that kind of dirty work. Spilling out more photos from the file, she sorted through the guy’s story: too many debts at Off Track Betting; too many nights of high-stakes gambling in the back room at Pineapple’s. Sterling stared at the photo she’d snapped of him and area drug kingpin Digger Johnson standing outside a warehouse located on the edge of downtown Laurelwood. That’s when she’d made Dewberry’s connection to the criminal element.

Setting her dark gray fedora atop her head, she grabbed her spring trench coat and slipped it on as she quickly walked past Michelle. She felt very Mickey Spillane.

“I’ll be out this afternoon. You can reach me on my cell phone if you need me.”

Sterling cursed under her breath.
Why do these things keep happening to me?
In the two years since she and Lacey opened their detective agency, finding bodies had not been every day fare. Only twice before had investigations led to a body and both times the people were elderly subjects of missing person cases.

But here Sterling stood, staring down at the second dead body she’d come across in three days.

Following her instincts, Sterling had driven to Dewberry’s office in a converted old house in downtown Laurelwood. If her hunch proved correct, Dewberry had snapped the incriminating photos of Pamela and Jerry. Dewberry was one guy who did not do credit to the business. Sort of a sleazy gumshoe. Sterling had hoped to shake his chain, confident he’d spill a lead or two.

But Dewberry would be of little help now, she thought ruefully. Sitting in a leather chair behind his desk, the private investigator’s head slumped awkwardly to one side and his eyes looked widely vacant from inside the plastic bag covering his head. A half-eaten double cheeseburger sat in his lap and papers strewn at his feet belied a struggle. But even though it was after-hours and the building was deserted, the office door had been standing open when she’d arrived. A close scrutiny of the lock told Sterling there were no signs of a forced entry.

Footsteps coming down the hall sent Sterling into the adjoining room. She pulled the door nearly shut and hugged the wall, her heart pounding loudly inside her head.

Maybe her luck was changing. Maybe the killer was still around. Maybe she’d have this case closed by the end of the day and it would be safe to hand over all the information to the cops. Then it would be so long, Ben Kirby, not to mention a little gloating for beating him to the perp.

The steps barely paused at Dewberry’s office, then traveled toward the stairs.

More good luck, she thought, noticing the sign over a door across the room reading EXIT.

Sterling crossed the room, slowly turned the knob, quietly opened the door, and peeked out. The hall looked empty. Her heart raced as she scanned up and down the dimly lit corridor. Cautiously, she stepped into the hallway. Pulling her fedora down low and adjusting her coat collar closer around her neck, she walked toward the stairway, keeping a vigilant eye.

She’d made it just two steps down the hall when a voice sounded gruffly behind her.

“Hold it!”

Adrenaline and self-preservation surged through Sterling’s veins, compelling her steps to hasten on. Yes, she wanted this slime bag, but this was not the way she wanted it to come down. Sneaking up from behind her like this put the perp at an obvious advantage.

Suddenly, hands around her ankles yanked Sterling’s feet out from under her. She fell flat onto the floor, her arms stinging as they broke her fall. Before she could gather her defenses, the harsh hands forced her over onto her back, and she stared up into the barrel of a gun.

“Hold it right there,” the gunman gruffly commanded, his foot planted on her churning stomach.

“Take it easy, I’m not moving,” she cried, raising her hands in surrender, but not moving her eyes from the .38 pointing at her head.

“Sterling?”

She knew that voice. “Ben?”

Instantly, he moved his foot off her and held out his hand. “Are you okay?” Ben effortlessly pulled Sterling to her feet, then shot a furtive gaze up and down her body. “Are you okay?” he asked again. “Why didn’t you stop when I told you to?”

“I didn’t know it was you.” Sterling felt like an idiot, but tried to cover her unease, smoothing the lines of her skirt and ignoring Ben’s eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Maybe she could distract him, deflect his accusations and suspicions.

“You’re going to have a bruise here.” Gently Ben touched her forehead, sending her heart tripping.

But like a flash, understanding dawned in her mind. Angrily, she pushed his hand away. “You rat! You followed me, didn’t you? It was you I heard coming down the hall a few minutes ago. How did you get behind me?”

“This hall circles the floor. I was making the rounds. I thought you were the killer.” Ben shoved his gun back into his underarm holster.

“But you didn’t go into the office. How did you know someone had been killed?” She didn’t know which was more bruised — her forehead or her ego.

“It didn’t take more than a quick look to see that guy was history, Sterling. I saw someone leave his office, and naturally presumed it was the killer leaving the scene. I didn’t know it was you.”

“That doesn’t explain why you just happen to be here at the same time I am.” Sterling pointed an accusing finger in Ben’s face, wishing she didn’t feel so unnerved
.
God, he was exasperating! “You followed me.”

“I did not follow you. I followed a lead, just like you did. We always did think alike.” A mischievous grin lit Ben’s rugged face.

His smile softened her anger and, annoyingly, spurred her pulse, but she’d be damned if she’d let on. “Ben, didn’t I ask you to stop referring to the past?”

His grin slipped into a frown. “Fine. Let’s concentrate on the present. Where were you going when I slammed you to the floor?”

Sterling planted her hands on her hips. “Where do you think? To follow the possible killer I thought I heard walking in the hallway. You don’t suspect me, do you?”

“Of course not. It was just a question.”

Noting Ben’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow, Sterling felt his discomfort. “You seem uptight, or something. What are you keeping from me?”

Ben shuffled from one foot to the other. “Nothing.”

Shooting him a dubious scowl, Sterling pivoted and drew her attention to the scene inside the office. The closer Ben’s presence drew her in, the harder it was to concentrate. Though perhaps unconscious on his part, Ben’s power over her heart remained nonetheless all the more compelling for its innocence.