Prime Suspect Page 5

  A look of uncertainty crossed her features. She stared at the dark window of her apartment for a long moment. “I think so.”

  He held the truck’s door wide for her, and she moved toward it. Then she stopped. “Wait. There’s something else.”

  Grabbing her purse, she fished around inside and came up with her keys. With the punch of a button on the keyless entry device, the trunk of her car popped open. The interior contained a roadside emergency kit, Caleb noted approvingly, a set of jumper cables and a shoe box.

  Darcie lifted the shoe box slowly, almost reverently, and cradled it for a moment in her arms as if it were a baby. What could be inside that box?

  Then he remembered their conversation at the restaurant. She’d found a shoe box of her mom’s things, including the letters from Mr. Fairmont. Compassion stirred in his chest. How sad for someone to not know her father. Even sadder to know his identity but be ignored by him her whole life. Caleb couldn’t imagine a childhood spent without his father, a strong man of God who cherished his wife, loved his sons and considered it his role in this life to demonstrate God’s love to everyone he met. What must Darcie’s childhood have been like?

  He cut off that train of thought. It was one thing to help out a young woman who needed a friend. Another thing altogether to get carried away by feelings. Hadn’t his past proven that to him? First came compassion, and the next thing you knew, you were trailing around after a woman with stars in your eyes and a “kick me” sign plastered all over your stupid self. Like an idiot you were trusting her with the keys to your car and access to your apartment where you kept your spare cash. And then she was gone.

  I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. No way I’m going to be suckered twice. His vow was directed generally in the vicinity of the Lord, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Okay, anything else?” He spoke brusquely without looking at her.

  “No, that’s it.” The trunk slammed shut with a solid thunk, and she climbed into the pickup.

  He rounded the front bumper, glancing around the parking lot as he went. Pools of light illuminated the darkness in regular intervals, cast from tall safety lights. Cars filled most of the empty slots. Not a soul moved anywhere.

  He slid into the cab and started the engine.

  “Your friend didn’t mind if Percy came, too?” Was that nervousness he heard in her voice?

  He shook his head. “Lauren said she loves dogs and can’t wait to meet him.”

  After studying his profile, she nodded and settled against the back of the seat. Between them, the dog shifted around in his plastic box and then became quiet.

  “You don’t like dogs, do you?” The question didn’t sound like an accusation from a canine enthusiast, thank goodness. Instead, genuine curiosity colored her tone.

  Caleb guided the truck out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Let’s just say I prefer to hang with humans. Their teeth aren’t as sharp.”

  “Ah, you were bitten.”

  Without taking his eyes from the road, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and held his arm toward her. “Right there on my forearm when I was ten years old. Twelve stitches, and it left a nasty scar.”

  Creases appeared between her eyes as she examined his arm. “I don’t see anything except ink.”

  “That’s right. When I was eighteen I got my first tattoo to cover the scar.”

  He came to a stop at a busy intersection and glanced in the rearview mirror at the line of traffic behind him. When he looked her way, he saw a smile twitching around her lips.

  “Mickey Mouse?” Her brows arched over laughter-filled eyes that roamed over his tattoo.

  “Hey, don’t knock the Mouse,” he said with mock severity. “He’s my childhood hero.”

  Her laughter bubbled forth. “I’m not knocking him. I watched him, too.”

  The light changed, and he turned left. Most of the cars behind him went straight, but a few followed. A feeling of unease stirred.

  “I do really appreciate you for calling your friend.” The worry was back in her voice. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing her too much.”

  Caleb pressed down on the gas pedal, his gaze switching from the road in front of the car and the headlights in the rearview. The car behind him did not change pace and began to drop away. A couple of seconds later, the one behind that pulled into the left lane to pass it.

  “You aren’t. Lauren loves having people over. Being a hostess is one of her gifts.”

  He spoke without looking at her, his attention fixed on the traffic behind him. He was probably imagining things. After all, Darcie wasn’t the only one who’d gone through some stuff today. Was he as paranoid as she?

  Just to test the waters, he switched on his blinker and made a quick right turn at the next intersection.

  “Okay, good.” Relief sounded in her voice.

  The car slowed, but the turn signal didn’t flash. Caleb heaved out a breath. Yeah, like he thought. Paranoid.

  Then the car turned right, following him onto the street.

  Energy surged through suddenly tense muscles. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Uh, Darcie? Can you figure out a way to strap that crate in?”

  She stiffened, her eyes flying to his face. “Why?”

  His tone sober, Caleb replied, “Because this ride might get a little crazy. It looks like we’ve picked up a tail.”

  SIX

  Darcie wrapped the middle seat’s lap belt around the crate, then gripped her own seat belt’s shoulder strap with unfeeling fingers. “Is it the van?”

  “No, a car. Dark blue or maybe black. Two people in the front seat.”

  She took no comfort from his words. Either her two attackers had changed vehicles or these were two different people. The idea that there might be a whole group after her sent her mind places she didn’t want to go.

  “What are we going to do?” The words squeaked out through a throat tight with fear.

  Caleb replied calmly, “We’re going to lose them.”

  The next instant Darcie was pitched sideways as he executed a sharp right turn. From inside the crate came the sound of claws scrabbling against plastic, and Percy yelped in protest.

  Heartbeat thudding in her ears, she was afraid to look. “Did they turn, too?”

  His mouth clamped in a grim line, he nodded.

  She risked a backward glance. The twin spots of light behind them looked like normal headlights. Why, then, did they seem to wink at her with ominous intent? She slid down in the seat so her head was shielded from view from the rear. Another turn, this one left, and she was tossed against the door like a rag doll. Her head connected with the glass, but she barely noticed. She focused, instead, on Caleb’s face. His eyes moved constantly as his gaze volleyed back and forth.

  “They know we’re onto them.”

  “Is that bad?” she asked.

  “Well, it ain’t good.”

  How could he speak so calmly? Couldn’t he feel the icy rope of panic slipping around his neck, as she could?

  His leg moved as he stomped on the gas pedal. The truck leaped forward, swerving alarmingly as he jerked the wheel again. Breath hissed through her teeth when their bumper barely cleared the rear of the car in front of them. As they sped past, she caught sight of the driver’s startled expression.

  The car behind followed.

  “They’re determined, I’ll give them that.” Caleb leaned forward until his chin was inches from the wheel. “Hold on.”

  I am holding on, she wanted to answer, but terrified lungs held her breath captive.

  Their speed increased. Tall buildings on either side of the four-lane highway whipped past at dizzying speeds. She was tossed back and forth as the truck wove in and out of tr
affic. Horns blew as drivers trumpeted their displeasure, and still Caleb pressed forward. Beside her, Percy whimpered inside his crate.

  If we crash, there’s no way we’d survive. The look she gave Caleb now was fearful. He hadn’t seemed like a reckless man, but only a fool would drive at these speeds in city traffic. A fool or someone who was desperate.

  A sound penetrated her whirling thoughts. High, wailing. A siren. Caleb turned a satisfied smile her way.

  “Who says there’s never a cop around when you need one?”

  Darcie twisted in the seat and looked through the rear window. A trio of police cruisers, blue lights flashing and sirens blazing, bore down on them from behind. The car that had been following slowed and was soon overtaken by a stream of cars that rushed to get over, out of the cruisers’ way.

  “But they’re going to get away.”

  Caleb took his foot off the gas pedal. “Sister, the good book says there’s a time for everything under heaven. Kenny Rogers sang the same thing in one of his songs. Right now’s the time to walk away.” He stepped on the brake as the first police car slid in behind them. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling those jerks will be back.”

  With grim certainty, Darcie knew he was right.

  * * *

  The police station was full of drunks, addicts and derelicts. Caleb made a point of smiling and making eye contact with as many as he could while following the stern-faced officer through the waiting area. God’s children, every one of them, even if most of them didn’t know it.

  The officer led them through a security door and into another room, this one smaller and less crowded. His finger stabbed toward the front row of hard plastic chairs.

  “You two sit there,” he barked. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Caleb kept his expression pleasant. They’d already told their story to this officer, who clearly didn’t know what to make of them. They’d been clocked doing ninety-five in a fifty-mile-per-hour zone. If he’d let them go, Caleb would have been surprised. No, he’d hauled them downtown so somebody higher up could be responsible for them.

  He gestured for Darcie to precede him past a dozen or so rows to the front. She did, careful not to jostle the dog crate as she walked. Percy had settled down inside, thank the Lord. The high-strung pooch had not been fond of the sirens or the city traffic or, apparently, the officers who questioned them. His ceaseless high-pitched barking had set everyone’s teeth on edge, even Darcie’s. Only when she finally snapped, “Percy! That’s enough,” did the dog quiet down.

  Darcie set the crate carefully on a chair before lowering herself gingerly into the one next to it, wincing. Perched on the edge, she noticed his quizzical expression.

  “I landed on the ground kind of hard back at the restaurant,” she explained. “I’ve probably got a bruise the size of Georgia on my, uh...” Pink spots appeared on her cheeks. “Rear bumper.”

  “Ah. I’m sorry.”

  Her head tilted. “It’s not your fault. You saved me from much worse.”

  “I’m expressing sympathy, not apology.” He slid onto the chair beside her. “At least my goose egg is only the side of Rhode Island.”

  She laughed, though the sound held no humor. He examined her face. Dark circles smudged the smooth area beneath her eyes. Her skin, creamy with a healthy glow that afternoon, was now pale. Fine blue lines showed clearly at her temples. No doubt he looked just as exhausted. What they needed was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to clear their heads and restore their bodies.

  Not gonna happen. At least not for a while.

  “I hope we don’t keep your friends waiting long.”

  Caleb had called Brent and Lauren as soon as his truck came to a stop. “I told them to go on to bed and we’ll wake them up when we get there.”

  A nod and then she faced forward, presenting him a view of her profile. She’d tucked her hair behind her delicate ear, all but one silky lock. His hand moved almost of its own accord to smooth it in place, but he caught himself. With a grunt, he twisted around in the chair and faced forward.

  A white-faced clock hung in front of them, small enough to look like a postage stamp on the otherwise blank wall. The second hand swept its circuit around the face, but he began to wonder if the battery was low. That minute hand didn’t move nearly as quickly as it should. And yet, every time he checked his watch, the clock was right on time. Periodically officers came through the door and called one of the handful of others waiting behind them, but there was no sign of the patrolman who brought them in.

  At eleven-fourteen, nearly an hour after they arrived, the door finally opened and a familiar figure strode into the room.

  “Detective Samuels.” Dread weighed down Darcie’s tone.

  The man wore jeans and a white polo shirt, which gave him a far more casual look than that afternoon’s business suit. His expression, however, was anything but casual. A tight-lipped scowl gave his youthful countenance a more mature, stern look. When he crossed the room and came to a stop directly in front of Darcie’s chair, Caleb didn’t blame her for shrinking against the molded plastic back.

  “Seems you two have had a busy day.” Though he spoke evenly, Caleb detected not one trace of sympathy in the man’s bearing. In fact, his eyes held a hint of accusation that sent steel into Caleb’s spine.

  “Ms. Wiley’s apartment was broken into, and then she was brutally attacked. And now the thugs are following her.” Caleb folded his arms across his chest and speared one of the officers hovering behind Samuels with a glare that nearly matched the detective’s. “Seems to me like somebody ought to be asking why.”

  Samuels’s head turned toward him. “Ah, yes. Mr. Caleb Buchanan. You certainly have managed to be useful to Ms. Wiley today. Why didn’t you tell me this afternoon that you’re a private investigator?”

  Talk about accusing. If looks could burn, Caleb would be a flaming marshmallow right about now.

  “I’m not a private investigator. But I do work with one.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He propped an elbow on his other arm and rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger, watching Caleb closely. “Mr. Sinclair, I believe. And your other associate is Mr. Emerson.”

  That set Caleb back a second. The man had investigated F.A.S.T.

  Samuels’s eyes narrowed. “What I’d like to know is what you were doing on the Fairmont Estate when clearly you are not a painter by trade.”

  Caleb held his gaze steadily. “Exactly what I said—painting. If you’ve checked into my life, which you obviously have, you know that I do a lot of odd jobs. It helps pay the bills between clients.”

  A long moment passed during which Darcie shifted uncomfortably in her chair and Caleb fought the urge to stand up and tower over the slight detective. But why lower himself by resorting to petty intimidation tactics?

  Samuels stepped around him and pulled an empty chair forward. He placed it in front of the two of them, facing backward, and straddled it. With an elbow planted on the edge and his chin resting in his hand, his gaze slid from Caleb to Darcie.

  “First I’ll tell you what I think. I think the two of you are involved in something that has an impact on my murder investigation. Whatever it is might even be the cause of the murder.”

  Beside Caleb, Darcie sat upright, her mouth open to speak.

  Samuels stopped her with a raised finger. “Let me finish. Perhaps you’ve stumbled onto a situation that escalated out of control, and you had nothing to do with killing that man.” His mouth hardened. “Or perhaps you killed him yourselves.”

  “And then we hired a pair of criminals to attack me and crack Caleb’s skull with a hammer, and then we hired a couple more to chase us through the streets of Atlanta?” Darcie’s eyes snapped with indignation. “That’s ridiculous.”

  The detective silenced her with a look. “That�
��s what I think. What I know is this.” He leaned forward across the chair back. “You’re neck-deep in my murder investigation. I know that Mrs. Fairmont, a woman of impeccable character, has some reason to dislike you even though you both claim never to have met before today. I know that Mr. Buchanan concealed the true nature of his employment during questioning.”

  If you’d asked, I would have told you. Caleb bit down on his tongue. Truthfully if he’d thought his association with F.A.S.T. had any bearing on the murder at all, he would have said something. But there was a time to defend himself and a time to keep his mouth shut.

  Samuels continued, “Maybe you’re both innocent, or maybe you’re working together to cover something up.” He caught and held Caleb’s eyes in a hard stare. “Or maybe you’re trying to protect someone. But hear me on this—I will not have you messing around in my murder investigation. If I suspect you are, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction or some other charge that will get you out of my way. And I will get to the bottom of your involvement.”

  Know when to walk away, Caleb recited the words of the song to himself.

  If continuing to argue his and Darcie’s innocence would accomplish anything, he’d be up to the task. But Samuels’s mind appeared to be made up. Seemed like a good time to walk away. At least until he had more evidence to back him up.

  After a long and uncomfortable period during which Samuels switched his stare from one of them to the other, he finally stood.

  “Go on. Get out of here. But don’t leave town.”

  In the act of standing, Darcie cast a startled glance at the detective, but he had already turned toward the door. When he disappeared through it, his silent convoy of uniformed officers behind him, she turned to Caleb.

  “Why did he say not to leave town?”

  Caleb picked up the empty chair and restored it to its proper place. Then he answered grimly, “Because according to him, we’re both murder suspects.”

  SEVEN

  Darcie preceded Caleb through the doorway into the crowded police waiting room. When a group of people leaped out of chairs and rushed toward her, she skidded to a halt. If there’d been only the two men she would have screamed and fled, but there were also two women, their expressions kind.