Hot Pursuit (23 page)

Bottom line, though, Izzy had married Eden because he’d wanted her, and marrying her had made her his—even if only on paper, if only for a very short time.

“I’m just saying,” Lopez told him, dialing Dan again. “You might want to shine a little of your indignant light onto your own inner cartoon wolf, Zanella, and see what you find growing there in the darkness.”

But Izzy wasn’t buying it. “I loved her,” he said. “Eden. You honestly think Gillman feels anything for this girl besides
ooh, baby, yes, baby … Near, far, wherever you are …”

“I think this
girl,”
Lopez said, not batting an eye over the fact that Izzy had broken into song, “is a woman, while Eden
was
a girl. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with you. Gillman
is
a douche bag. I just happen to think you’re one, too.”

“And what are you?” Izzy asked as they went up the stairs to the front door of Jenn’s building. “The king of perfect? Pope Jay Lopez, the first?”

Lopez didn’t answer that, because on the other end of the phone, Gillman had finally picked up. He wasn’t chopped up into little pieces after all.

“Dan,” Lopez said. “It’s Jay. Where the hell have you been, man?”

Jenn threw up.

Maggie Thorndyke was dead. With her silly collagen lips and her perpetual hope that if she could just get a little bit more in shape, spend another hour a day at the gym, take one more DVD lecture course or this time really learn to speak another language, then Mr. Right would finally find her. She’d lived all of her years waiting for the moment that her life would begin.

But it hadn’t begun. It had ended some time in the past two days, at the hand of a horrible murderer.

And Maggie’s eternally hopeful heart had ended up in the desk drawer of one of the few people she’d let get close enough to maybe—almost—be called a friend.

The last of the Chinese food Jenn had eaten two orgasms ago left her stomach, and she flushed the toilet, wiping her mouth with a damp facecloth that Dan had left in reach, on the edge of her sink.

“Don’t touch me!” she’d told him when he’d first followed her into the bathroom. “Don’t! Just,
don’t…
” So he hadn’t touched her, but he hadn’t run away, either. He’d stayed there in the bathroom with her, closing the door to give her some privacy.

Privacy. Right.

His friends were out there in that room that surely smelled like sex, with her bed pulled out, sheets rumpled and damp—as if they couldn’t guess what Jenn and Dan had been doing, pretty much constantly since they’d gotten home, several hours ago.

It hadn’t seemed so sordid back when Dan was kissing her, when she was lying in his arms.

But now it was just another blot of awfulness in a night that was up for the all-time awfulness award.

After Dan had finally answered his phone and realized that Jay Lopez and Izzy Zanella were moments from knocking on her door, they’d both scrambled to throw on some clothes.

He’d all but ripped open his sleeping bag, too, flinging it onto the kitchen floor in an attempt to make it look as if they’d been sleeping separately. At 8:45 at night. Gosh and gee whiz, they’d both been plum tuckered out, and they’d fallen right to sleep. Which was why neither of them had noticed the forty-plus phone calls they’d each gotten on their cells.

Maybe Alyssa and Sam’s infant son Ash was naive enough to believe that, but the two SEALs who’d been sent out on this search and rescue team certainly weren’t.

Nor was it likely to be believed by anyone else back at Maria’s condo. Including Maria, who would be a mix of astonished, ecstatic, approving
and
appalled at Jenn’s impetuosity.

Although, why Maria hadn’t called on Jenn’s landline, she didn’t know. Unless … She always turned the ringer to silent when she left in the morning, so as not to disturb Mrs. Harrison, her downstairs neighbor, who complained at the slightest noise from upstairs.

When Jenn had arrived here tonight, with Dan and a bag of Chinese food in tow, she’d neglected to turn the ringer back up.

Even then, she’d been overly distracted by the incredibly good-looking guy whom she’d then had sex with. Twice.

As she sat on the bathroom floor, leaning back against the ancient black and white tile on the wall, she realized that she’d buttoned her shirt wrong. She was off by one button, all the way up. Perfect.

Dan was sitting on the floor across from her. There was just enough space in the tiny room for them both to sit without touching.

He spoke. “I’m sorry you had to find out about your friend that way. Zanella’s an asshole, with the sensitivity of a retarded amoeba.”

His teammate, Izzy Zanella, was also his brother-in-law. Or rather, soon to be ex-brother-in-law.

They’d talked a bit more about their families in between orgasm number two and Dan’s realization that the weird buzzing sound across the room wasn’t the radiator, but rather his phone vibrating in his pants, jangling against a few coins he had in his pocket.

Before the sky had fallen, and Izzy and Jay had come in, announcing that the heart was not just human but had belonged to Maggie, she and Dan had laid there together, in her bed. He’d had his arms around her as, with her head on his broad shoulder, she’d traced his various muscles and tattoos.

He’d asked about her family, and she’d told him how lucky she was that her father had gotten the help he’d needed as early as he
did, about how, despite that, her oldest brother had been badly damaged, about how, being the only sister among her four brothers, she’d always had her own bedroom, while her brothers had had to share. She’d gotten used to having privacy and to this day, preferred it—which was why she lived here in this utility-closet-sized studio rather than sharing an apartment with Maria or another friend.

In turn, he’d told her a little bit more about his severely dysfunctional family. He’d said that he worried about his little brother, Ben, who lived with his clinically depressed mother and his Nazi of a stepfather—a man who’d started mean and gotten meaner after being injured in a car accident.

Dan told her that he sent money home every month, but he wasn’t sure if Ben ever benefited—other than having the rent paid and a roof over his head.

They’d been talking—really talking—and, God, she liked him so much. Too much.

“Maggie wasn’t really a friend,” Jenn admitted now as she rebut-toned her blouse. “I mean, I liked her, but I didn’t really know her that well. I don’t think anyone did. She had trust issues—trouble letting people in, you know?”

Dan nodded.

“So we didn’t exactly hang out together,” Jenn told him. “But she was a huge part of the campaign. She didn’t just donate money, she spent a lot of time volunteering in the office and … Why would someone kill her? God, Maria must be so upset.” She pushed herself to her feet and found her glasses on the edge of the sink. Putting them on made the world go back into focus. “I’ve got to get to her.”

Dan stood, too, still not touching her. But he also didn’t move to open the bathroom door. He just stood there, in front of it. “That’s where we’re going. The team leader moved her out of her apartment, too. Lopez said you should pack an overnight bag.”

“Have the police been called?” Jenn asked, realizing immediately it was a very stupid question. “Of course they have. They were
probably the ones who called with the lab results. Sorry, I’m … just really rattled.”

“The FBI AIC should be arriving soon,” he told her. “He’ll be able to answer all your questions.”

“AIC?”

“Sorry. Agent in charge. His name’s Cassidy. He’s good. He’ll be taking over the investigation. He’ll probably bring a whole team in. They’ll catch whoever did this.”

They
. Not
we
.

“Does this mean that the Troubleshooters team is going home?” she asked.

“I don’t really know,” he said. “Maybe. Probably.”

“Ah.” She looked away, afraid of what he might see in her eyes, and he stepped forward and touched her, gently lifting her chin so that she had to meet his gaze.

“I’m here, Jenn,” he told her. “For as long as you need me. Regardless of whether the team stays or goes. Okay?”

He was tall enough that she had to tilt her head up to look into his eyes. He was perhaps even more handsome with his hair a mess from her running her fingers through it, and from his lying back in her bed to smile up at her while she’d climbed atop him.

He hadn’t bothered to button the overshirt that he’d pulled on when he’d been unable to find his T-shirt, and it now hung open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his sun-kissed chest.

She’d gotten him naked for that second time, but he hadn’t pushed to get her clothes all the way off, which was a little weird, but nice. Even though they’d had sex twice in a very short amount of time, she wasn’t sure she was ready for him to see her naked. And somehow he seemed to know that.

He, however, had a body that was meant to be on display as frequently as possible, with sculpted muscles and smooth, tanned skin, and quite a few intriguing tattoos—among them a chain of barbed wire that circled the big bicep of his right arm; and a single word—
coexist—made up of a variety of philosophical and religious symbols, on his back, between his shoulder blades.

“Okay?” he asked again when she didn’t answer.

He’d just promised that he’d stay as long as she needed him—as long as it fell reasonably within the boundaries of his ridiculous two-week time frame.

She sighed and answered, “Dan. I, um …”

He cut her off. “Just say
okay
—that, yes, you hear me. You don’t need to decide anything right now—in fact you shouldn’t. Just… pack a bag so that we can get out of here.”

Jenn nodded. “Can you ask your friends to wait for us in the hall and … may I have the bathroom to myself for a minute, please?”

“Absolutely,” he said, and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

She locked it, and only then did she let herself cry.

“I
’m sorry,” Assemblywoman Bonavita said, sitting forward in her chair and looking from Alyssa to Sam to Jules and back. “Are you actually questioning
… me?
I’m a
suspect
in Maggie’s murder?
”

Sam shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt, glad he didn’t have to answer her, that he could just sit there and look pretty.

The hotel had upgraded them to this super-fricking-deluxe suite that actually had a separate conference room they could use for these preliminary interviews of both Maria and Jenn. The upgrade had been all on account of Robin being an Emmy-winning TV star, and hadn’t cost him an additional dime.

There was an irony there, in that once you got famous and rich enough, people started to give you all kinds of shit for free. But only after, of course, you were rich enough not to need it.

Alyssa was tired. Sam could hear it in her voice, and he could relate. He was tired, too, and his side was hurting badly enough to make him wish he’d gone to the drugstore and picked up an Ace bandage and about a truckload of ibuprofen.

Not that either of those things would help.

“It’s standard procedure, ma’am,” Alyssa was telling Maria, “in
any murder investigation. It’s more often the case that victims are killed by people they know, so—”

“I’m aware of that, yes,” Maria said. “So, okay. How do we get me off the suspect list as soon as possible? How do we clear me?”

“We’ll need a record of your whereabouts from the time Ms. Thorndyke went missing on Friday morning, to this afternoon,” Jules said, “when the, um, evidence appeared in your office desk drawer.”

Evidence?

Jules caught Sam’s eye and shrugged, his movement almost microscopically miniscule.

Not that Maria would have noticed had Jules done a full Fonzie, complete with two thumbs up and an
Ey
. She was a little wrapped up in making sure her political career didn’t end before it started.

“That’s easy,” she said earnestly. “I was in Albany for most of that time. My schedule of meetings is posted on my website. It wasn’t nonstop, but it’s close. I attended a dinner party that got me back to my hotel late. I still haven’t found an apartment in Albany, so I’ve been getting a room at one of those extended-stay hotels. I checked out early this morning, to drive back to Manhattan—I spoke to the desk clerk when I left. You can also check my EasyPass account for the exact time I came in over the bridge. I drove straight to the garage where we keep the car, and I walked to the office from there. When I arrived, Jenn was already in, along with several of our interns and volunteers.”

“About what time was that?” Jules asked.

“Probably … nine? Maybe a little after. Oh, I stopped at the Starbucks on the corner, and used my credit card, so I can get that time for you, too. It should be posted online by now.”

“Do you recall which of your interns were in your office when you arrived?”

“Ron,” she said, “and Gene. Wendy … And Belinda,” she recalled. “Oh, and the new UPS man, Hank something, was delivering a package. I chatted with him and the interns, had a brief
schedule update with Jenni, then went into a meeting with Douglas. Forsythe. He was there, too. He’s a volunteer—the way Maggie was. He’s also a major donor.” She looked at Alyssa, alarmed. “Should we warn him? Is it possible that whoever killed Maggie is targeting the big donors to my campaign? Oh, my God, has Savannah been told?”

“Savannah’s safe,” Alyssa reassured her. “As for Douglas… I don’t think we have enough information to come to any conclusions, but…” She looked at Sam. “Have we called him?”

Sam nodded, checking the list he’d made. “Yeah. We’ll be meeting him, tomorrow afternoon, in the office.” He deferred to Jules. “If you want to stick to that schedule. Mr. Cassidy. Sir.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Jules said, ignoring him. “We’re going to want to talk to him, as well as all of the interns. And the UPS man.”

“To corroborate my story?” Maria asked. “They’ll all confirm what I’ve told you.”

Jules smiled at her. “I don’t doubt they will. But since they were there before you, one of them may have seen something or someone suspicious.”