Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (4 page)

He took the seat across from her, the lines around his mouth softening. “The Bureau is looking at Peter for the murder of Janet Starkey.” He held up a palm. “Their evidence is thin.”

Her pulse pounded. Could this nightmare be almost over? She dropped the pillow to her lap. “I knew it! The FBI would not go after Peter Caravello unless they had the facts.”

“It’s possible the Fed’s interest is based solely on his genetics.” The muscles in his forehead and jaw relaxed. “It makes sense. His dad was executed. The Bureau must have concluded no one else would want revenge except for the family.”

Her dad had been murdered, yet she was no killer. She’d concede the point.

Susan debated going upstairs to get away from him, but she needed to learn what he knew. Reaching her position at the State Prosecutor’s office before the age of thirty had required a lot of fact searching and character judging. “Who else could it be if not Peter Caravello?”

He held her gaze. “I don’t know, but it’s possible someone’s framing him.”

“I repeat…You have no idea how many times I’ve heard a criminal say that.”

“I’m sure, but in this case, I believe someone might be after Peter.”

His gaze might be steady and his hands relaxed on his thigh, but the man was hiding something. “Because?” Let him wiggle out of this one.

“The man isn’t capable of hurting anyone.”

Proof he had no facts. She inhaled a deep breath and forced herself to relax. “Why exactly did he call?”

“He wants me to help him.”

What was wrong with this picture? “A murderer is asking for FBI help?”

“Not the FBI. For
my
help. And he’s not a murderer.” He dragged a hand down his stubbled jaw. She usually liked her men clean shaven, but on Stone, the added growth made him more manly, more of a threat.

“How do you know he’s not guilty?” Did he know the identity of the real killer, or could Stone have assisted someone else in these murders? A shiver raced through her body.

“Shouldn’t a lawyer presume a man’s innocent until proven guilty? I know you’ve been through a lot, but don’t forget the rules of the judicial system.”

Her blood pressure rose. “The facts imply a Caravello killed my best friend.” She fisted her hands against the cushion.

His brows pinched. “Most people we go after are guilty but not in this case.”

“Well someone in his family killed Anne-Marie and four, no five, jurors. You want to help that kind of man?”

“His family might be guilty, but Peter’s not.” He narrowed his eyes. “Besides, it’s hardly aiding and abetting to ask a few questions. It’s not like I’m leaving you here so I can investigate.” He stood, probably just to be able to look down at her.

A small smile lifted her lips. “If you help Peter Caravello, I’m sure your boss would consider your activity a conflict of interest.” Her courtroom calm resurfaced, pumping her full of adrenaline. “I’m surprised he let you on the case.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “No one knows I know Peter.”

“Oh, really.” Stone hid secrets from his own boss. Interesting. “Are you going to fess up and call your boss to tell him a Caravello made contact?” She’d believe Stone might be on the up-and-up if he did.

“No.”

His defense of Peter ate away at the earlier trust she’d placed in him. Dear Lord, he was going to help someone escape the law. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants. “Then I am.” It was her civic duty to do so.

She walked to the wall phone as calmly as her pounding heart allowed, surprised he didn’t sprint after her. This might be her only opportunity to make contact with anyone. She pulled the receiver off the cradle and dialed 9-1-1.

Damn. The phone was dead. Everything else about the place worked. Why not the phone? She slammed the handset back in its holder and swung around.

“Phone doesn’t work?” Stone cocked his brow.

“Apparently not.”

“We can’t do anything that would allow anyone to find us or learn you’re alive.”

“Funny. Peter Caravello found
you
pretty easily.”

He shrugged. “He has my number.” No apology, just a cold, hard statement.

“And now you’re going to lead him right to me.” Susan blew out a breath as fear drilled in her temple.

He straightened. She didn’t know anything about Stone, but she did have a lot of experience dealing with criminals who looked good enough to con the habit off a nun. She doubted Stone was the exception.

If her dad had known he was a target, what would he have done?

Run
.

Her gaze shot to the door, but Stone’s large muscular frame blocked her escape route.

Instead of attempting to leave right now, she swiveled back towards the stairs, took a few steps and faced him again. “Do you give your number to all the criminals?” She kept her tone even.

His expression remained unreadable. “Only four people have my cell. My boss, Richard Thomason, a college friend who works at the Bureau and Peter.”

She appreciated his honesty, but clearly he was hiding some vital piece of information. She stepped toward him. “I’d like to hear your side of the story.”

He cocked a brow. “Peter is not a threat to you. Let’s leave it at that.”

She turned her mind back to the courtroom, trying to recall who had come to support the mob boss. John Caravello had a younger brother and two sons. If she wanted to be fair, one of them could be guilty.

“What reason did he give for calling
you
? Aren’t you the enemy, so to speak? The FBI testimony was what got his father executed.” He’d never answered her question about whether or not they were good friends, though the fact Stone reserved a space on his cell for Peter’s number spoke volumes.

He lowered his arms to his side, palms up. “Peter and I grew up together. During college, I worked at his firm, helping him with inventory, sales and some of the financials. The man is the most honest businessperson I know.”

She digested the facts. “Peter Caravello might be a Better Business Bureau star, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a good person.”

Stone ran a hand down his jaw. “Fine. I was no more than ten, Peter closer to fifteen when his uncle gave us both black Labs one Christmas. We decided it would be cool to check out the Maryland coast during a violent storm the following September. Dumb. But kids aren’t the smartest animals. Dunchy, my dog, ran into the water and a wave washed over him. He couldn’t get back to the shore with the intense wind, so I jumped in after him.”

“And Peter let you?” She’d been on the sea a number of times during a storm and understood how treacherous the winds could be. While fifteen wasn’t old, Peter should have watched out for the younger Stone.

“Peter shouted after me, but I wouldn’t listen. When I went under, he dove in and saved both me and Dunchy.”

“Okay, he was a hero that day, but teenagers can go from good to bad in a heartbeat, especially with a father in the mob.”

“I’ve got plenty more incidents that illustrate Peter’s integrity if you still need convincing.”

“I didn’t get where I am by buying into testimonials. A lot could have happened in the remaining years to throw Peter off the path to righteousness.”

She admitted Stone could be right about his childhood friend, but could she afford to put her life on the line if he wasn’t?

He stepped toward her, and she edged backwards, her feet bumping the bottom stair step. He might be an FBI agent, and really good looking to boot, but his allegiance seemed to have swung toward the Caravello family. “I’m tired. I’ll be in my room.”
Away from you.

With as much poise as she could muster, she climbed the stairs and winced as the stitches pulled in her chest.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Stay calm.
Heart pumping hard, she reached for her bedroom doorknob.

He stepped next to her and opened the door before she got the chance. “I found something you need.”

Too close for comfort, she stepped back and looked up at him, his brown eyes close to black. His gaze locked onto hers. Her pulse skipped a beat. She cut the connection and stared at his gun wedged beneath his shoulder. “What?” Blood pounded in her ears. A bullet to the head?

“Go see.”

She wasn’t sure of his game, but if she didn’t go along, who knew what he might do. “Okay.”

Susan swept past him and stopped in the middle of the room, not seeing anything different from when she left a while ago. “I give. What is it?”

“Your bandages.” He nodded toward the dresser.

She hadn’t placed the box there. “Where did you find those?” They were the ones the nurse had given her.

“In your suitcase.”

She slapped a hand on her hip. Enough was enough. “You looked through my stuff?” Okay, technically, it wasn’t really her stuff since every item was purchased by the FBI, but once she was in possession of the suitcase, she considered the clothes hers.

“Yes.”

“That’s an invasion of my privacy.”

His chest expanded. “I had to search your bags to make sure you hadn’t hidden a cell phone. It’s protocol.”

She clenched her fists. “Protocol or not, you should have asked my permission.” Though she doubted any such procedure actually existed.

He chuckled, but the sound held no cheer. “If you’d had a phone, would you have told me?”

“No, but if you think about it, the only way I could have a cell phone would be if that female FBI agent had purchased one for me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Something was amiss. “When did you have time to search for the bandages?” He’d been downstairs after she’d cleaned up.

“When you were showering.”

She inwardly shivered knowing he’d been so close when she was naked and vulnerable. “Hold it. How did you get into the bedroom? The door was locked.” Her pulse raced.

“There was a key above the door.”

“Slick.” The man had an answer for everything.

“It’s not when your safety is my sole concern.” From the soft tone of his voice and his relaxed stance, she almost believed him, but not quite.

She pressed her lips together and snatched the bandages to her chest. Heart still in overdrive, she hurried across the room and pulled back the door. “Please leave.” She still wasn’t convinced his relationship with Peter Caravello was on the up and up.

“Look. We got off on the wrong foot. I’m here to protect you, not hurt you. What more can I say?”

He stepped forward and ran a hand down her uninjured arm. Her traitorous body reacted, nearly wetting her panties. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push his image from her mind. She failed.

“Say nothing.” His pinched brow and tight mouth sent a quick shot of remorse up her belly, but she refused to let her emotions override logic.

The second his butt crossed the threshold, she slammed the door and locked it—not that it would do much good if he had a key.

Wait.

She dragged the desk chair under the doorknob and wedged it tight, a trick that seemed to work on TV. At least it would provide her with some sense of security.

With her ear to the door, she waited until the sound of his footsteps faded and the television switched on. She breathed a sigh of relief, hoping he’d stay downstairs for good.

With a light tremor in her hands, she reapplied her bandages, thankful her clothes would no longer rub against her nearly healed skin. She purposefully didn’t wrap her injured hands as she needed full mobility if she planned to escape tonight.

The clock read 4:00 p.m. Her body ached and her mind raced. With only a few hours before dinner, a short nap seemed a good option. The rest would help her regroup, think, plan.

She must have been more exhausted than she realized, for she fell into a deep sleep until a loud knock jerked her awake.

“Dinner is ready.”

Stone again. She wet her lips and sat up on the bed, her mind going full speed. “I’m good. I’m not really hungry.” She hoped he’d buy her story.

“Ms. Chapman, you have to eat.”

If he forgot to call her Ms. Daniels, how was she to remember? Maybe he was convinced she wouldn’t be here long. “Please call me Susan. Or Taylor.” If he felt a connection to her, he might be less likely to harm her.

“All right. Taylor, you should eat something to keep up your strength.”

“I’m really not hungry. My pain meds took away my appetite.” Not true, but lack of appetite was one possible side effect according to her prescription bottle. “I’m going to hit the hay early. I’ll see you in the morning.” She crossed her fingers in front of her for good luck, something her father used to do.

He didn’t respond, but the loud pounding of his feet on the stairs as he went back to the living room told her he wasn’t happy. Tough.

She raced to the window that overlooked the backyard and studied the cement patio below. No way could she jump the ten feet and not injure herself, especially with the metal chairs and glass-top table directly below.