Slow Burn (19 page)

She knew she wasn’t going to get any rest. All she could think about was Dylan. She wanted to sleep with him, and for a minute or two she was actually able to pretend that she only wanted to be held in his arms, but she was deceiving herself and she knew it. She wanted it all. She wanted to feel him moving within her, to touch every inch of him.

She thought about his mouth, his hot, sexy mouth, and what he could do with it . . .

“Kate?”

She nearly came off the bed. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“I thought I heard you groan.”

“Oh. Maybe I did. I can’t sleep.”

“You just turned the lamp off. Don’t you think you should give yourself a couple of minutes before you decide you can’t sleep? Is there anything I can do to help?”

If he only knew. “Like what?”

“You’re going to have to tell me.”

She was certain she heard amusement in his voice. Did he know what his nearness was doing to her?

Hold on a minute. What about him? Was she affecting him the same way? He was the sex maniac, not her . . . until recently, anyway, or more specifically until she’d spent the night with him. Was he toying with her?

“No. I can’t think of a thing you could do to help me.”

She waited for a reaction and was disappointed when she didn’t get one. Several long minutes passed in silence. She couldn’t even hear him breathe.

And then a long drawn out sigh. “Katie?”

“Yes, Dylan?”

“Am I coming over there, or are you coming to me?”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Morning came all too soon, and she awoke with no regrets. After the night they’d shared, she probably should feel a little awkward around him, and when she thought about all the things he’d done to her and she’d done to him, she should at the very least find it difficult to look him in the eye. But regrets? No, there were no regrets.

She was thankful she woke up before he did. He was sleeping on his stomach with one arm hanging off the bed. The pillows and sheets and blankets were on the floor. It had been a wild night, all right. And glorious.

Kate didn’t start worrying until she was in the shower. Had she said something she shouldn’t have in one of those passionate moments when he was driving her out of her mind? Had she told him she loved him? Dear God, she didn’t, did she? She couldn’t remember. She prayed she hadn’t. But if she had . . . what then? Pretend she hadn’t? She couldn’t think of anything better to do, and so she settled on that. Senators did it all the time, and under oath no less. They pretended they hadn’t known . . . whatever. And if lying was good enough for a congressman, by God, it was good enough for her.

Okay, it had finally happened. Dylan had made her completely crazy.

She’d never get out of the shower if she didn’t stop thinking about him. There was so much she needed to get done today. She had promised Anderson that she would look through the binder. He wanted her to understand how the uncle had amassed his fortune, she supposed. And his advisors and accountants would be on hand to answer questions. No choice, she decided. She had to read the thing.

But there were also the photos of her father. She’d been too weary last night to look at them.

Kate hurried to get dressed. She packed her makeup and toothbrush in her bag and opened the door.

Dylan was just getting out of bed. He didn’t look awake, though. His hair was tousled and he was naked. As he walked toward her, her stomach quivered.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

He grunted a reply. Obviously not a morning person, she decided.

He passed her, grabbed her arm, and before she had time to prepare, he kissed her. She wanted to put her arms around him and lean into him. His body was so warm and . . .

She pulled back. Her thoughts were going to get her in trouble. “I’ve got reading to do, and you need to wake up.”

With the least amount of coaxing she would have gone back to bed with him. She rushed to the table and grabbed the binder and the envelope of photos. She heard the bathroom door shut, and she relaxed. She was safe from acting out her lustful thoughts, and hopefully when he came out of the bathroom, he’d be dressed.

She went to her bed, kicked her shoes off, and sat with her back against the headboard. Ready now, she opened the binder and began to read . . . and became sick in no time at all. That horrible old man had documented each acquisition with boastful notes in the margin, and after reading about fifteen pages word for word, she understood the pattern and skimmed over the rest.

He made his fortune buying companies, stripping them, and selling off what was left.

If Anderson had told her that Compton had been a shrewd businessman and had carefully built his portfolio by buying and selling properties, Kate probably wouldn’t have thought much about it, and she doubted she would have been repulsed. Lots of clever, driven men and women made their fortunes wheeling and dealing, and Kate would have assumed Compton fit into that category. But seeing what he had done, and how he had done it, on paper, made all the difference. He used deceit and false promises, anything, it seemed, to get what he wanted. He certainly didn’t have any scruples. The number of lives, the dreams he’d destroyed over the years, the jobs and security of faithful employees he’d snatched away . . . all that meant nothing to him, nor did the families of those who were dependent on the income of the companies he closed. The human element wasn’t his concern, and compassion wasn’t in his nature.

The only thing Compton MacKenna ever cared about was money, and how to make more.

What he had done wasn’t criminal. But it was immoral. And he had gone to his grave proud of his accomplishments. Had he compiled this testimonial to his conquests just to impress her?

Dear God, he believed she was like him.

Reading his financial history validated her initial decision. She could not and would not spend a single dollar of his money on herself, her family, her company, or her future.

Compton MacKenna was a selfish, cruel man. She was not like him, and she meant to prove it. Whatever she decided to do with the money had to be perfect, and when she was done, she hoped Compton would roll over in his grave.

Shoving the binder aside, she reached for the envelope and opened it. Her mood immediately improved. There were ten photos, all black and white.

Her father had been a handsome boy. He looked dashing in his school uniform. He was definitely a child of privilege, she thought, as she studied one photo of him in a polo outfit standing so proudly in front of a horse. In another photo he was about four or five years old, and he was standing on a lawn, smiling into the camera. In the background was a house—no, not a house, a mansion. Had he lived there?

There weren’t any photos of him with his parents or other relatives. She thought that was odd and wondered if there were other pictures of her father packed away somewhere. She made a mental note to ask Anderson to find out.

She was just tucking the last photo back into the envelope when Dylan joined her.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Almost.”

She put the envelope and binder in her overnight bag.

Dylan was folding linens and placing them back on the bed with the pillows he’d already picked up. He noticed what she was doing and asked, “Don’t you want to take that binder in the car so you can look it over?”

“I’ve already looked through it.”

“Were you impressed? I got the idea that whoever put it together for you thought you would be.”

“I wasn’t.”

She checked the bathroom and closet to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, but Dylan had already straightened them. Even the damp towels in the bathroom had been folded and left on the vanity.

They stopped for breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, but neither one of them was very hungry. As soon as they were back in the car, he checked the map again so he could avoid highways as they made their way toward Silver Springs.

“I should call Anderson,” she said. “I don’t want him to plan on seeing me at three.”

“But you might see him at three,” he said. “It all depends on how we work things out.”

“We’re going back to Savannah? Won’t that be dangerous? That’s a terrible idea. I’m warning you now. If we walk into that office and I see a basket of flowers anywhere in the vicinity, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I’ll do something terrible. I just know I will. I don’t know exactly what that will be, but I assure you I cannot endure getting blown up again, and I won’t let you get hurt. No, it’s out of the question. We simply can’t go back there. My mind’s made up.”

He did try to interrupt her during her tirade, but she was on a roll and wouldn’t be stopped. When she finally had to take a breath, he said, “We don’t know yet if we have to go back to Anderson’s office. He might be able to bring the papers to us.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it?”

“I might have overreacted . . .”

“Might have?”

She reached behind her seat for the briefcase. “If you had mentioned this sooner, I wouldn’t have gotten upset.” She found the file folders she was looking for and pulled them out.

“What’s all that?” he asked.

“Loan papers my mother signed. I want to read them again. The other folder is from one of the hospitals. In the last year of her life she spent more time there than at home.”

Kate took the next twenty minutes to read each paper, each bill, and each receipt, and she at last understood. Tears clouded her vision. What little insurance her mother had, had run out, and in desperation she’d signed away everything so that her daughters wouldn’t be saddled with her debt.

The hospital bills alone were astronomical. How she must have worried, but in silence, telling no one and keeping the heartache and fear inside.

Tears streamed down Kate’s face. She turned away so Dylan wouldn’t notice. She found a tissue in her purse and quickly wiped the tears away.

“Kate, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I need information,” she said. “And fast.”

“All right.”

“Do you think Anderson is ethical? If he’s going to become my attorney, I’ll need to know he has scruples. Is there a way to find out quickly?”

“I’ve already got someone looking at him. We’ll know something soon.”

“I like him. But he did represent Compton MacKenna, and that worries me.”

“He’s an attorney and obviously a good one or your uncle wouldn’t have hired him. It’s naÏve to think Anderson had to like or respect him or any of his other clients.”

“There are other people I want checked out. Who would give us the name of a good investigator?”

“I could do it for you. This is about your company, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “But you’ve got enough to deal with, and I need this information soon.”

He didn’t argue. “Let me think about it,” he said.

She put the folders in the briefcase and sat back. Her mind was racing with details she needed to take care of.

“After you sign those papers, what are you going to do with all that money?” he asked.

The question reminded her of yet another errand. “I need to go to a bank in Silver Springs.”

He thought she meant she would transfer the money there. “Anderson will do that for you.”

“You don’t understand. I need to get a loan.”

Chapter Thirty

Dylan had the uneasy feeling that he was forgetting something. He kept replaying conversations in his mind and going over various details again and again, and still he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him.

He knew he was missing something, but what? What wasn’t he seeing?

Kate noticed how preoccupied and withdrawn he had become. It didn’t take long for her to catch on that he didn’t want to talk—his abrupt one-word responses were a dead giveaway—and for over an hour neither of them said a word. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. Had she become that comfortable with him, she wondered, that she could feel so at ease?

They had reached the outskirts of Silver Springs. When he suddenly took an unexpected turn, she asked him where they were going.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered. “And quiet.”

“It’s quiet at my house now,” she said. “We could go there.”

He shook his head. He bypassed her neighborhood and continued down Main Street to the Silver Springs police station.

He drove around the corner to once again park in the back lot.

“What are we doing here?”

“I need to check in,” he said.

He got out of the car and came around to open the door. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why do you have to check in?”

He offered her his hand. “Even though this is a temporary assignment, I’m working for Chief Drummond, and I answer to him, so it’s my job to keep him informed. I don’t want to do that over the phone. I was also thinking that the chief could be a big help to you with your company problems.”

“He could? How?”

“You said you wanted an investigator to check out the weasel. Drummond’s got the resources, and I know he won’t mind helping. You’ll have to explain why you want the information, but he’ll keep whatever you tell him confidential. I know how worried you are.”

“It would be wonderful if I could get something in my life straightened out. Thank you,” she said, overcome with gratitude.

“The chief’s helping me out, too,” he said. “I’ve already called him several times and given him names to run for me. Hopefully, he’ll have something by now.”

She was smiling. “You must have really impressed him. I remember what Nate told you about the chief.”

“Yeah? What was that?”

“He said he was tough . . . or difficult . . . and because he was retiring soon, he didn’t care who he offended.”

“He is retiring,” he said. “I don’t know how old he is or how long he’s been at the job, but I’ll tell you this. He hasn’t lost his edge. After I met with him to get the badge and gun and we talked, I made a couple of calls of my own. I wanted to know that, if I had to, I could trust him.”

“And can you?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically. “He’s got an impressive record, and he’s a good man. I respect him,” he added, “and I definitely trust him.”

“Okay. Then I’ll trust him, too.”

They started to cross the parking lot, but Kate turned back. “I’ll need my briefcase. The chief might want to look at some of the papers in my mother’s file . . . if he has time to help.”

“He’ll make time,” he assured her as he retrieved the briefcase.

After he’d handed it to her, she whispered, “And you’re certain he’ll keep this confidential?”

“I’m certain,” he said. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about—”

She interrupted. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m just trying to protect my mother’s reputation. I know you think I’m being silly. My mother wouldn’t care. I just don’t want anyone to think less of her.” They started toward the path again. “I’m glad the chief is helping you,” she said.

“I’m trying to take some of the load off Nate’s shoulders,” he explained. “He’d do whatever I asked him to do, but he’s overworked as it is. He’s trying to track down Jackman, who seems to have vanished from Las Vegas, and he’s also keeping a tail on Roger and the two brothers. I doubt he’s asking for any outside help. He’s new to the Charleston department, and I know he wants to prove himself. The FBI is focusing on the bomber, and from what I understand, they’ve got a couple of solid leads there. They’re also searching for Jackman, and according to Nate, everyone’s still tripping over everyone else. It would look real good on his record if Nate brought Jackman in.” He glanced at the station and said, “It will be less chaotic here.”

Chief Drummond must have spotted them from the window. The back door swung open and he beckoned to them.

“Don’t you listen to your messages?” he asked Dylan in lieu of a greeting.

“I was just about to do that,” he replied.

“When you do, you’ll hear me tell you to call me. We’ve got a real interesting situation here,” he announced.

He tipped his head to Kate and said, “Good morning, Miss MacKenna.”

“Good morning to you too, Chief Drummond, and please call me Kate.”

“All right then.”

Southerners, Dylan was learning, were always polite, no matter what the circumstances.

“You have a situation?” Dylan asked, trying to get his attention.

“Real interesting,” he said. He stepped out of the way so Kate and Dylan could go inside first, then made sure the door locked behind him.

“A fella came in here about a half hour ago. Said his name was Carl Bertolli.”

“Carl’s here?” Kate asked.

The chief nodded. “You heard right. He’s here.” He led the way up the stairs to the first floor.

Kate waited impatiently for him to explain, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry as he proceeded down the back hall and pushed open the door to his office.

She hurried inside and turned to face him. “Why is he here?” she asked.

“He said he drove all this way to pay you a call, Kate, but you weren’t home, and so he decided to come on down here and turn himself in. Please, take a seat.”

She dropped into one of the chairs facing his desk. “But what is Carl turning himself in for?” She was thoroughly confused.

Drummond made himself comfortable in his old squeaky chair. He folded his hands on his desk and said, “He told me he was responsible.”

Kate looked at Dylan, who had closed the door behind him and was leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest. He seemed to be taking the news in stride. She wasn’t. She was flabbergasted.

She carefully placed her briefcase and her purse on the floor next to her chair, her mind racing with questions.

“What is Carl saying he’s responsible for?” she asked the chief.

Drummond shifted his weight and tilted his chair back on two legs. “That’s a good question. I thought I would give him a few more minutes to settle down, and then I’d try once again to get an answer out of him.”

“Settle down?” Dylan asked, not understanding.

Drummond nodded. “I want to question him, I sure do, and just as soon as I can figure out a way to get him to stop crying, I’ll start in.”

Kate now understood why the chief looked so bewildered. He’d obviously never encountered anyone quite like Carl.

“He’s . . . dramatic,” she said.

“Yes, he is,” the chief agreed.

“And he can be temperamental. He’s an artist,” she hastened to add, so Drummond wouldn’t think she was criticizing her friend. “He majored in drama at the university, and he’s been in several local theater productions. And as I’m sure you know, some creative artists are high-strung and . . . emotional.”

“He’s emotional all right.”

“How do you suppose he knew you were looking for him?” she asked Dylan.

“I’m guessing his fiancée,” he answered. “The police questioned her about his whereabouts. She must have gotten word to him.”

“You want to take a shot at him?” Drummond asked Dylan. “He should be calming down about now.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Kate said.

“I don’t know about that,” Drummond said.

Dylan was shaking his head, but she ignored him as she stood, picked up her things, straightened her skirt, and asked the chief to please take her to Carl.

When he didn’t immediately hop to, she said, “Where is he waiting? In a conference room or a lounge? Chief, if I have to open every door on every floor to find him, I’ll do it.”

“We do have a nice conference room, and we’ve got a lounge with a soda machine, but Carl isn’t in either one of those rooms. He’s in a cell.”

“You locked that dear man in a cell?”

He didn’t give her time to get all worked up. “Now hold on. I didn’t want to put him there. It wasn’t my idea.”

“Then whose idea was it?”

“His,” he answered. “He insisted that I lock him up.”

That didn’t make any sense to her. “But why did you arrest him?” she asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t arrest him. He wanted me to lock him up, so I did. I figured a cell was as good a place as any for him to calm down.”

“Where are the cells?”

“Upstairs.”

“Will you please take me to him? He must be beside himself with worry.”

“No, I’m not taking you to his cell, but here’s what I will do. I’ll bring Carl down to the first floor and put him in the interrogation room. You can talk to him there.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me yet. You’ve still got to get around him,” he said, nodding at Dylan.

“I’ll talk to him,” Dylan said. “And I’ll tell you what he had to say.”

“She could stand on the other side of the two-way mirror and watch and listen,” Drummond suggested. “We just had it installed,” he announced proudly.

The chief was clearly on her side, and that made her like him all the more.

“Kate has something she would like to talk to you about,” Dylan said. “Now would be the perfect time.”

“Oh, that can wait until after I talk to Carl.”

“I plan on being here all day,” the chief said.

She took a step toward Dylan. “Carl and I are friends. He’ll talk to me. He isn’t going to hurt me, and if that’s your reason for not wanting me to talk to him, then come in with me. Just don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

She sighed. “Scare him.” He looked exasperated. “And don’t intimidate him.”

“How old is this guy? Ten?”

“He’s sensitive,” she muttered. “Unlike you.”

Dylan had to move out of the way so the chief could open the door and leave. Kate seized the opportunity and slipped past Dylan on Drummond’s heels.

Drummond pulled a huge round key ring with only three keys dangling from it off a wooden peg attached to the wall and headed toward the open staircase. “The interrogation room is the second door on the right. You two wait in there, and you better decide who’s talking to him and who’s listening, and then get on with it because, Dylan, you know you’ve got to call this in to Charleston and let Detective Hallinger know Carl’s here. And he’ll have to let the FBI know, and that means that you’ve got about an hour tops after you make that call before they all come tearing in here to snatch Carl away.”

“They’re going to have to wait,” he said. “I’ll make the call after I find out what Carl knows. I also want to run a couple of things past you,” he explained.

“After
we
talk to Carl,” Kate said.

He finally relented but with conditions. “If I think he’s playing you, you’re out of there. Understand?” Before she could agree or disagree he continued, “And if I don’t like the way he’s talking to you, you’re out of there.” He let her go ahead of him, and when they reached the interrogation room, he added yet another condition. “And if I think he’s becoming belligerent or threatening . . .”

She turned around. “Let me guess. I’m out of there?”

“That’s right.”

“Would you like to know what I think?”

He grinned. “Not really.”

“You’re going to listen anyway. If he plays me, I’ll know it and I’ll tell him to knock it off. And if I don’t like the way he’s talking to me, I’ll tell him to stop. Should he threaten me, I’ll threaten back.”

The interrogation room was tiny. There was a small oblong table and four chairs, two on either side. The two-way mirror was on the wall opposite the door. Dylan pulled out a chair for Kate, but he remained standing as they waited.

Carl turned out to be a surprise. Dylan had made a couple of snap judgments about the man, but as soon as Carl walked into the room, he knew he was wrong.

Carl was extremely happy to see Kate, and before Dylan could stop him, he hugged her.

“Thank God you’re safe. This is all my fault, darling. I’m so sorry.”

She quickly disengaged herself and made the introductions. Once the formality was dispensed with, she sat down, and Carl took the seat across from her. She put her hand out and he clasped it.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I am tired. That’s why I went away. I need to rest and rejuvenate, but I’ve been so worried.”

Kate was sympathetic. “It must have been upsetting for you to find out that the police were looking for you.”

“Yes, it was most distressing.” His eyes welled up with tears. “But not nearly as upsetting as it was for Delilah. My fiancée worries about me, you see,” he added. “I should call her. I’m allowed one phone call, aren’t I?”

Dylan pulled out a chair next to Kate and sat down. “You can make as many phone calls as you want. You’re not under arrest.”

“Am I a suspect?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Kate said at the same time.

“Depends on what you have to tell me,” Dylan explained.

“I should be arrested. I’m responsible for everything that’s happened to Kate.” He looked at her and summoned a weak smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” she said. “Would you like something to drink?” Oh my, she was sounding like Isabel again.

“A decaf latte would be lovely, but I don’t suppose there’s a Starbucks close by.”

“No, sorry, not yet.”

Dylan had had enough of the chitchat. “Tell me why you think you’re responsible.”

“Because it was my idea.”

“What was your idea?” His voice took on a sharp edge. He wanted some answers now.

“It was my idea to display Kate’s products at the event I was hosting. All of Charleston’s elite were going to be there. They wouldn’t dare miss,” he explained. “And I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to present her.”