“But. I hear the but in your voice.”
No, he didn’t, Sophie thought. She certainly wanted him to think she was calm enough to sound logical and honest. “But,” she echoed softly, “when it’s over, it’s over.”
“It’s not over.”
“I realize that. But giving that drive to Jan was a start. Something’ll happen from here. No one else will be breaking into my place-at least I hope not, because I’m certain she was the culprit. One by one, other suspects could be eliminated if they’re pushed a little, too. Layers are getting peeled off the onion. The smell’s out there.”
Cord was silent for a mile, maybe two. She saw the turn for his drive. Even if she wasn’t clear on the directions yet-generally, she could get lost in an elevator-she recognized the nest of white birches, the skinny creek gleaming pewter in the fading sunlight.
“Soph?”
She turned her head.
“I’m in love with you. Even if I want to wring your neck right now, I’m in love with you. We’re going to fix this mess. And then we’ll finish talking about this.”
She thought that maybe he believed that. God knew, she felt love when she was with him. But when he’d kept so much from her, especially the police’s suspicions, she felt as if something just…crushed…in her heart.
It was so hard for her to trust that she shouldn’t have been surprised Cord couldn’t find it in himself to trust her. She got it completely. It was life as Sophie always knew it. The only surprise was realizing that she’d still had a heart that could be broken.
Chapter 12
When Sophie woke up, she was certain she had a fever of one hundred and ten. A few yawns later, she realized that she was at Cord’s, that Cord was gone, that his couch was wonderfully comfortable, and that the source of the heat was the four blankets he’d heaped on top of her.
Sometime in the night he must have worried that she’d be cold.
Truthfully, the only time Sophie figured she’d ever be warm again-warm where it counted-would be in his bed. And that wasn’t likely to happen.
Around 3:00 a.m., when she’d been staring at the dust motes on the ceiling, unable to sleep, the obvious occurred to her regarding Jan Howell. If Jan hadn’t killed Cord’s brother, then someone else must have.
She was relieved to have a place to hide out. It just felt…off…to be taking advantage of Cord’s protection when the two of them were barely speaking.
An oomph leaped on her stomach. The purr machine.
Caviar hadn’t stopped purring since he’d been let loose in Cord’s place. Maybe one tomcat appreciated another tomcat’s lair. Caviar obviously didn’t care where he was, as long as the food was good, he was free to prowl around, and on demand, he could get his share of love.
She loved him hugely…then made up the couch bed and started her day. Concentration might be tough, but she still had a living to earn, and God knew, piles of work to do. Her laptop set up readily enough in a corner of his living room.
She was translating Danish to English-always harder than translating English to Danish-when Cord’s landline rang. He would have used her cell if he needed to contact her, so she ignored it. After several rings, though, the voice mail kicked in, and she heard a familiar voice.
“Pruitt. This is George Bassett. I know you returned our call, set a meeting time around one. Need to make it closer to three. And listen. I know you were pissed off about how we handled the Campbell woman last Thursday, but she’s disappeared now, if you didn’t know. Jan Howell, now, she didn’t show up for her job today, either. Got more than that to discuss with you, but it’s time you quit dicking around. Bring all the stuff you know on the Campbell woman. Let’s get it all on the table.”
That was it. The whole message. In the total silence after Bassett hung up, Sophie’s heart was suddenly pounding, pounding. It had been such a slap, when Cord let it slip how she’d been on the suspect list for the police.
This was a whole new slap, though. The detective had clearly been implying that Cord was spying on her. Collecting information on her, that he was supposed to report to the cops.
Cord? Spying on her? The one man she’d allowed to let down her guard to, for the first time in eons? The one man where she’d let her inner, wild, impulsive, emotional self out of hiding, the Sophie she thought was long dead and buried? The one man who’d invoked the utter panic and joy of falling in love completely?
She tried to grasp it. That nothing she’d believed about their time together was true…that nothing she’d felt was real.
Caviar pawed at her leg, clearly bored with not being the center of the universe. Sophie bent down, picked him up. “You’re going to get cat hair all over his house,” she told the feline. “I don’t suppose you have any more flash drives you’ve been hiding? Treasures? Money? I can’t take much more of not knowing the truth, Cav. This has got to get over with.”
The cat stood vigil while she showered, washed her hair, brewed a pot of coffee, and then hunkered back down in front of her computer in old jeans and a Smithsonian T-shirt and big old, warm socks. She tried working again. A couple of times, she gave up, curled up in a ball and just tried to wrap her mind around the whole situation, make some sense of it. It just made her more miserable. She went back to work.
When the landline rang a second time, she closed the door so she couldn’t hear any more voice messages. One step at a time. That’s how she figured she was going to survive this day. But when a car pulled up in Cord’s driveway in midafternoon, she was stuck with the interruption.
The striking woman who stepped out of the lipstick-red Mazda had an upswept hairstyle, kick-ass boots and a suede skirt to die for. Sophie saw her, took a breath and acted astonished as she pulled open the door.
“How on earth did you know I was here? Or did you come to see Cord?”
“I came to see you! I picked up so much gossip about Jon and Jan Howell since yesterday that I couldn’t wait to share it. I just ducked out of the office and decided to play hooky.” Penelope Martin rushed up the steps and gave her a big hug. “You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?”
“Hell times three,” Sophie agreed.
“I brought fancy coffee. And chocolate.” Penelope lifted the gilt-wrapped bag.
“Good, come on in,” Sophie said.
The interview room was enticingly decorated with dirty gray walls, gray floor and a gray conference table. It smelled of stale coffee and old doughnuts. Various signs claimed it was a smoke-free building, but a plastic ashtray took center stage on the table. In fact, it was the only decoration-beyond heaps of files and CDs and drives being run through the laptop that Bassett carted in.
Cord had been stuck here since…well, he wasn’t sure how long, but it was surely in the ballpark of when hell froze over. Bassett, Ferrell, two other men in old suits and one quiet woman in uniform had been crammed in together for the same interminable length of time.
Bassett was so excited his jowls were bouncing. They’d been eliminating name after name. Bringing it all down, as he put it.
They’d tracked down his brother’s illegitimate daughter. Now-or soon-Cord would be free to see his baby niece privately. Payments going to her, however, were established as child support. The mother of Jon’s child was nowhere near D.C. when Jon was killed, so she was readily eliminated as a potential suspect.
“Lover” CDs had been viewed, dating as far back as seven years before. All but five women had been identified. The others had all been investigated, resulting in either the women and/or their spouses being alibied on the day of Jon’s death.