Questioning the Heiress

“Evacuate now—there’s a bomb in the garage!” he shouted. Which, in turn, caused more shouts from the cops and the security guards.

All of them began to run. Egan didn’t stop, either. He hauled her through the kitchen, then the living room, and they exited through the front door, on the opposite side of the house from the garage. The cops were ahead of them. The two civilian guards, behind.

The rain was coming down harder now and lashed at them like razors. So did the blinding blue strobe lights from the police cruiser parked at the end of her cobblestone drive. It didn’t hinder Egan. He barreled down the front porch steps with her and made a beeline to the driveway, getting her even farther away from the garage.

“Call the bomb squad,” Egan shouted over his shoulder to one of the guards who was sprinting along behind them. He glanced around through the rain and the night until his attention landed on the other guard. “Keep everyone away from the house.”

Because the place might blow up.

That “bottom line” realization sent Caroline’s heart to her knees. Someone might get hurt. Also, her house might soon be destroyed, and there was apparently nothing she could do to stop it.

But who had done this?

A car bomb certainly seemed like overkill for an overly zealous competitor in the antiques business. Sweet heaven. Had the intruder also been the one to plant that bomb? And if so, why?

Of course, she couldn’t discount the four previous murders. All people she’d known. All of them involved in some way with the City Board, of which she was a member.

Was she now the killer’s next target?

Her legs and thighs began to cramp from the exertion. She wasn’t much of a runner, and the heels didn’t help. Caroline was wheezing for breath and her heart was hammering in her chest by the time they made it to the end of her drive.

Egan stopped, finally, and pulled her in front of him. Actually, he put her against the wet stone pylon that held the open wrought-iron gate in place. He got right behind her, pushing her face-first against the stones.

“Don’t look back,” he warned. “And shelter your eyes just in case that damn thing goes off.”

That’s when she realized he was sheltering her. It wasn’t personal; Caroline was sure of that. She’d seen the disdain in his eyes. Sgt. Egan Caldwell was merely doing his job, and right now, she was the job.

“You really think the bomb’s about to explode?” Caroline asked.

“It’s a possibility, but I don’t believe the device is large enough to create a blast that’ll reach us here. At least, I hope not,” he added in a mumble.

But the officers apparently didn’t believe that because one of them began to sprint in the direction of her nearest neighbor. “I’ll have them evacuate,” the Hispanic cop relayed to Egan.

Mercy. Now her neighbor and best friend, Taylor Landis, was perhaps in danger.

Caroline wiped her hand over her face to sling off some of the rainwater. She wished she could do the same to the adrenaline and fear because it was starting to overwhelm her. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“If we have a vigilante killer on our hands, it doesn’t have to make sense,” he reminded her.

Yes. She’d heard that theory. Or rather the gossip. That Vincent Montoya might have been murdered by a vigilante who maybe wanted to tie up all loose ends of the hit-and-run.

“I can understand why a vigilante would go after Montoya,” she mumbled. “But why try to kill me?”

“You got an answer for that?” Egan asked.

Since that sounded like some kind of challenge, she looked back at him. She didn’t have to look far. He was there. Right over her soaking wet shoulder, and the overhead security light clearly showed his rain-streaked face.

Surly, beyond doubt.

Caroline tried not to let the next thought enter her mind, but she couldn’t stop it. Egan Caldwell was a goodlooking man. Okay, he wasn’t just good-looking.

He was hot.

Dark blond hair, partially hidden beneath that creamywhite Stetson. Eyes that were a brilliant, burning blue. He had just enough ruggedness to stop him from being a pretty boy and just enough pretty boy to smooth out some of that ruggedness.

And Caroline hated she’d noticed that about him.

“What are you waiting for me to say?” she snapped. “That this guy wants me dead because I saw or heard something the night of the hit-and-run?” She didn’t pause long enough for him to confirm it because Caroline could see the confirmation in those eyes. “Well, if that were true, why didn’t he come after me nine months ago? If this is truly some vigilante killer, then I should have been one of the first on his list.”

Egan stood there, staring at her, with the summer rain assaulting them and the sounds of chaos going on all around. The cruiser’s lights pulsed blue flashes over him. Flashes that were the same color as his eyes. “Maybe the killer hasn’t come after you before because you supposedly have no memories of the hit-and-run.”

Again, that wasn’t new information, either. “Nothing has changed about that. It’s not supposedly.” Caroline froze and then eased around so that she was facing him. “But I have an appointment the day after tomorrow to see that psychiatrist to help me remember what happened.”

He nodded and snorted slightly as if annoyed that it’d taken her so long to figure it out. “Did you tell anyone about that appointment?”

Oh, mercy. “Yes. I was talking about it today when I had lunch at the Cantara Hills Country Club.” Actually, Caroline had verbally blasted the Rangers, Egan and Brody, for demanding the appointment. She’d already been through hours of therapy and had zero recollection of the time immediately before, during and following the accident. The dream log and the appointment seemed not only unnecessary but intrusive and a total waste of time—and hope.

“Who was there at this country club lunch?” Egan asked. He used his snarly Texas Rangers’ tone that was only marginally softened by his easy drawl. Words slid right off that drawl.

“My parents. They were leaving on vacation this afternoon, a second honeymoon they’ve been planning for months, and I wanted to see them before they left.” In the distance, she could hear the sirens. Probably the bomb squad. Maybe they’d get there in time to disarm it before it could hurt anyone. “And Kenneth Sutton and his wife, Tammy, joined us.”

His mouth tightened. “Kenneth, who’s chairman of the City Board. He’s also a suspect.”

“Only because the hit-and-run driver, Vincent Montoya, worked for him. But Kenneth told me he had no idea what Montoya had done.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Egan grumbled. “Because according to Kenneth, Vincent Montoya killed Kimberly McQuade in that crash because he was jealous she’d rebuffed him and had had an affair with another man. An affair she’d never mentioned to anyone. Funny that the guy’s never surfaced, either, and there’s not a lick of proof that Montoya had had any sexual interest in Kimberly. Or vice versa. According to people who knew her well, Vincent Montoya wasn’t her type.”

“Because he was a lowly driver?” Caroline instantly regretted her question. It sounded snobby, especially since Egan’s own father was a chauffeur. And not just any old chauffeur but the one who worked for her father’s close friend who lived in Cantara Hills.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Talking about that night isn’t easy for me.” Caroline was still grieving. Always would. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t regret what had happened. Yes, Montoya had caused the fatal crash, but Caroline couldn’t help but wonder if there was something she could have done to stop it.

“Murder is rarely easy to talk about,” he countered.

When Caroline continued, she softened her voice. “I’m just having a hard time believing that Kenneth Sutton, a man I work with on the City Board, a man I’ve known my entire life, is capable of ordering his driver to murder someone. Yet the Rangers seem to think that might have happened.”

“You might think that, too, once I’ve had a chance to question Kenneth further and have more information.” He shrugged. “But the point right now is Kenneth was there today at lunch with you. He heard you say that you had an appointment with the shrink. Who else heard?”

She started to shake her head but stopped. Oh, this was not good. “My parents, Kenneth and his wife were the only people at the table with me, but some of my other neighbors were there. They could have heard.”

“Give me names,” he demanded, while he made a visual check of the area around them.

“Your father’s boss, Link Hathaway, and his daughter, Margaret. Miles Landis was there, too. He’s my best friend’s brother. Half brother,” she corrected. Miles had dropped by to hit her up for a loan, again. Caroline had turned him down, again. “Your father even came into the restaurant for a couple of minutes to talk to Link.”

Egan mumbled some profanity under his breath. “So, what you’re saying is that everyone in Cantara Hills knows about your appointment?”

She silently repeated the same profanity as Egan. “Yes. But I didn’t think I had to keep it a secret. My parents and I were discussing it because my mom’s upset about me being sedated with this drug and then interrogated. She wanted to cancel her trip, and I had to talk her out of it.”

Egan jumped right on that. “Why is she upset?”

Caroline groaned. The adrenaline and bomb scare had obviously made her chatty. “Long story.”

“I’m listening.”

Of course he was. And he was scowling again. He apparently thought she was concerned about revealing something incriminating.

Which she was.

In a way.

But Caroline couldn’t think about that now, and she didn’t dare voice any of it to Egan. She’d already blabbed enough tonight.

She chose her words carefully. “My mother’s afraid I’ll say something about a personal incident, and that the information will get around to everyone,” she admitted. “The incident isn’t pertinent to this case.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Caroline was sure her scowl matched his, and she had to speak through nearly clenched teeth. “All right. Three years ago I was involved with a jerk. Everybody knows about the broken engagement, but no one else knows that the jerk stole money from my parents. I want to keep it that way, understand?”

Egan responded with a noncommittal grunt. “I’ll keep it that way if I decide it’s not vital information that can help me catch a killer. You’re not my priority, Ms. Stallings. And neither is your parents’ need to keep their skeletons shut away in their walk-in closet.”

“Oh, God,” she mumbled, ignoring his last zinger. She checked her watch. “My parents. They’ll be in Cancun by now, and one of the neighbors might have called them at their hotel. They’ll be worried.” She glanced in the direction of her parents’ house. Just up the street. And even though she knew her parents weren’t home, her concerns were verified.

The cruiser’s lights had attracted the neighbors. All of them. One of the officers was guarding the street in front of her house and preventing anyone from getting too close. Including her parents’ nearest neighbors, the Jenkins. She spotted them, a perky yellow umbrella perched over their heads. They were frantically waving at her, and Mrs. Jenkins had a cell phone pressed to her ear.

“They say they have your parents on the line. They want to know if you’re all right,” the officer relayed to her. Because of the sirens and the rain, he had to practically shout.

“Tell them I’m fine,” Caroline shouted back. “And that I love them. I’ll call them later.”

If Egan had any response to her message, he didn’t show it. He looked at the approaching trio of bomb squad vehicles before turning his attention back to her. “Other than you, who had access to your car today?”

It was something that hadn’t occurred to Caroline. Yet. But it would have once she’d caught her breath. “I was the only person in the car. My family’s business office is on San Pedro Avenue, and I parked there in my space in the building garage. I came back here to Cantara Hills for lunch around noon, and then I met with a client at his office just off Highway 281 before returning to work.”

He glanced around them again. “I noticed your car doors were unlocked in the garage. Were they locked when you were at any of these other places?”

Caroline really hated to admit this, but, hey, she hadn’t known that her every movement might have been watched by a killer. “I had the top down most of the day so it wouldn’t have been hard for anyone to get inside. And since it’s a vintage car and I don’t keep anything valuable inside, it doesn’t have a security alarm.”

The bomb squad vehicles braked to a stop by the gate.

Egan stared at her. “So anyone could have overheard your conversation at lunch, and those same anyones could have gained access to your car and planted a bomb.”

Because he made her sound like a careless idiot, Caroline frowned. “That about sums it up.”

But Egan was right. She hadn’t been cautious, driving with the car top down with a killer on the loose, and it could have cost others their lives. She already blamed herself for Kimberly McQuade’s death.

She didn’t want this on her conscience as well.

The bomb squad personnel barreled out of their vehicles, and Egan stepped away from her to speak to a burly blond man wearing dark blue-gray body armor. Caroline listened as Egan briefed the man, describing the location of the device and the size.

The man tipped his head toward her. “Go ahead and get her out of here. I want those guards and uniforms out, too. I don’t want anyone near the place until my guys have checked out this thing.”

Egan turned back to her. There was more displeasure in his body language and expression, probably because he had to babysit her.

“Let’s go,” he grumbled.

But the grumble had barely left Egan’s mouth when the sound of the blast rocketed behind them.

Chapter Three

Well, at least no one was dead.

That was the only good thing Egan could say about the events of the night.

First, an intruder. The intruder’s escape. Then, an explosion. Egan was waiting for a call from the bomb squad so he’d know the extent of the damage, but he didn’t have to hear a situation report to confirm that the killer had a new target.

Caroline Stallings.

She was in the corner of his temporary office. Soaked to the bone. She’d gotten even wetter when they had run from his car and into the country club. Her clothes were clinging to her body, and there were drops of rain still sliding down her bare legs and into those pricey, uncomfortable-looking heels. She was shivering. And using his phone to call her parents in Cancun, Mexico. Her calm, practically lively tone didn’t go with her slumped shoulders and shellshocked expression. The rain, and possibly even a tear or two, had streaked through what was left of her makeup.

“No. I’m fine, really,” she assured her parents. “There’s nothing you can do, and I have everything under control.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, probably to stop it from trembling. “I’m with one of the Rangers,” she went on. “We’re at his office at the Cantara Hills Country Club.” She paused. “No. I’m with Sgt. Egan Caldwell.” Another pause. “No.” She glanced at him and turned away. “He’s the surly one,” she whispered.

Egan was just punchy enough that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He didn’t let Caroline see it, of course.

While she continued her call, Egan went to the closet behind his desk and took out one of the four freshly laundered shirts hanging inside. His jeans were soaked, too, but changing them would require leaving Caroline alone. Because they had a killer on the loose, that wasn’t a good idea. So he settled for a fresh blue button-up. Either that or a white shirt and jeans were his standard “uniform” when he was on duty, which lately was 24/7. He changed and put back on his shoulder holster. Later, he’d have to give his gun a good cleaning to dry it out as well.

“Please don’t come home,” he heard Caroline say. She’d repeated a variation of that at least a half-dozen times since the call began. “Yes, I’ll have the locks changed on all the doors and windows at the house. I’ll make sure the security system is checked. And I won’t stay there alone. I promise.” She shivered again. “I love you, too.”

She’d said that at least a half-dozen times as well. I love you. The words were heartfelt. It was hard to fake that level of emotion. Even though he was thirty years old and had been in his share of relationships, it still amazed Egan that some people could say those words so easily.

Not him.

But then, he’d never tried, figuring he was more likely to choke on them than say them aloud.

He finished transferring his badge to the dry shirt, turned, and Caroline was there holding out his phone for him to take. “Thank you,” she said. No more fake cheerfulness. The shock was setting in, and she was shaking harder now.

Egan hung up the phone, extracted another of his shirts from the closet and handed it to her. “Put this on. As soon as the bomb squad clears the area, you can go to your friend’s house and get some dry clothes.” That might not happen soon, though, and her friends wouldn’t be able to get to her since no one could use the road to drive to the country club. The bomb squad had sectioned it off.

She made a small throaty sound of agreement and slipped on his shirt. “Thank you again.”

Caroline wearily sank down into the studded burgundy leather chair next to his desk and closed her fingers over the delicate gold heart necklace that had settled in her cleavage. Like the words to her parents, she’d done that a lot tonight as well.

Egan anticipated what she’d do next. She was wearing two dainty gemstone gold rings on her left hand. Opals on one. Aquamarines on the other. Another opal ring was on her right hand. She began to twist and adjust them. She was obviously trying to settle her nerves. But Egan was betting that settled nerves weren’t in her immediate future no matter how many rings she twisted.

“I suppose the bomb squad will call when they know anything,” she said. Not really a question. He’d already explained that.

Still, Egan nodded and started a fresh pot of coffee. Thank God for the little premeasured packets because that was the only chance he had of making it drinkable, and right now, he needed massive quantities of caffeine that he could consume in a hurry so he could stay alert and fight off the inevitable adrenaline crash.

“You didn’t get to finish your dinner.” Caroline pushed her damp hair from her face and tipped her head to the now-cold burger and fries on the center of his desk. He’d managed only a few bites.

“It’s not the first time.” And he hoped that wasn’t concern for him in her voice.

Wait.

What was he thinking?

It couldn’t be concern. He was the surly one, and she was the richer one. She was an heiress. He, the chauffeur’s son. Concern on her part wasn’t in this particular equation, and the only thing she cared about was getting through this. The only thing he cared about was keeping her alive and catching a killer.

The silence came like the soggy downpour that was occurring simultaneously outside. They weren’t comfortable with each other, and they weren’t comfortable being in the same confined space. Hopefully, that confinement would end when the bomb squad finished, and he could pawn this “richer” leggy brunette off on someone else.

Anyone else.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help more with the investigation of the hit-and-run,” Caroline whispered.

That comment/apology came out of the blue, and Egan certainly hadn’t expected it. More ring twisting, yes. Ditto for touching that gold heart pendant. But he hadn’t anticipated a sincere-sounding apology. “And you’re probably sorry that you were driving the car that night.”

“That, too.” She nodded. “But my memory loss is only of that night. I remember Kimberly.”

So did Egan. Kimberly had grown up on the same street that he had. And her brother, Brody, was now Egan’s boss.

“She was a kind, generous woman who worked hard as an intern for the City Board,” Caroline continued. “I’m glad her killer is dead.”

And yet her killer was also someone whom Caroline had known. Vincent Montoya, who’d rammed his vehicle into the passenger’s side of Caroline’s vintage sports car. The impact had thrown Kimberly from her seat, and she’d sustained a broken neck. Death had come instantly.

But not for the two other men Montoya had murdered.

Two men, Trent Briggs and Gary Zelke, who Montoya likely believed had seen him ram into Caroline’s car, had been killed months later. Montoya had murdered them to eliminate witnesses and probably would have done the same to Victoria Kirkland, a third possible witness, if someone—the vigilante maybe—hadn’t killed Montoya first. Since it was possible that Victoria was now in danger from this vigilante, she was out of state in Brody’s protective custody.

Unlike Caroline.

She was here at Cantara Hills. Right in the line of fire.

“We still need to find out if Montoya was working alone, or if someone hired him to commit those murders,” Egan reminded her. He stood and poured them both some coffee. “And if he was working alone, then who’s this new intruder who came into your house tonight?”

She took the mug of coffee from him, gripping it in both of her shaky hands, and she sipped some even though it was steaming hot. “And you think that intruder might be Kenneth Sutton, the chairman of the City Board?” Despite all the other emotions, skepticism oozed from her voice.

Egan shrugged and sank down in his chair. “Stating the obvious here, but Montoya was Kenneth Sutton’s driver, personal assistant and jack-of-all trades.”

“That doesn’t mean Kenneth ordered Montoya to kill anyone. Kenneth’s a career politician and is running for the governor’s office. He can be ambitious when it comes to politics, but I don’t think he has murder on his mind.”

Egan was about to remind her that rich politicians hid behind their facades just like everybody else, but his cell phone rang, and he snatched it up. “Sgt. Caldwell.”

“This is Detective Mark Willows from the bomb squad. We’ve done a preliminary assessment. No injuries. Property damage is minimal. Definitely nothing structural. A few holes and dents in the garage wall. For the most part, the impact was confined to the Mercedes.”

Well, that was better news than he’d expected. That blast had been damn loud. “There was enough damage to destroy the car?” Egan asked.

“It’s banged up pretty bad, but we’ll tow it to the crime lab and look for prints and other evidence. The explosion happened at 8:10 p.m. You’ll probably want to question the owner to see if there’s anything significant about that time. We’ll question her, too, but it can wait until tomorrow. We’ll be here most of the night collecting the bits and pieces so we can reassemble the device and try to figure out who made it.”

“Thanks. Call me if you have anything else.” Egan clicked the end-call button and looked at Caroline. Who was looking at him, obviously waiting. “Good news,” he let her know. “No one was hurt. Your car is totaled, but the house is okay.”

The breath swooshed out of her, and her hand was suddenly shaking so hard that she sloshed some coffee on her fingers when she set the cup on his desk.

“Good. That’s good.” A moment later, she repeated it.

He debated if he should check her fingers, to make sure she hadn’t scalded them. She certainly wasn’t doing anything about it. Egan finally reached over and caught on to her wrist so he could have a look. Yep. Definitely red fingers. He rolled his chair across the floor to get to the small fridge, retrieved a cold can of soda and rolled back toward her. He pressed the can to her fingers.