Colby Conspiracy

Not a single item that indicated any hobbies he might have enjoyed or friends he might have had.

Emily remembered her mother arguing that he was nothing but a workaholic. But that hadn’t been entirely true, at least not when she’d been a child. She recalled vividly doing lots of family things with her father—ball games, picnics, even camping trips.

She knew that anything her mother said had to be taken with a grain of salt. Her mother felt intense bitterness and resentment toward that time in her life, but Emily felt certain those harsh feelings had more to do with the loss of her son than the divorce.

She thought about the woman she’d met at the service today, Victoria Colby-Camp. Emily’s gaze drifted to the bundle of letters lying on the table near the door.

Maybe she should have thrown them away. Or maybe she should have looked to see what they were about before she passed them on.

No. They weren’t addressed to her or her father. She had no business looking at them.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, she would have a courier deliver them to the woman named Victoria at the Colby Agency. There was no need for Emily to go there personally. She already had enough to do tomorrow, and she didn’t want to feel that awkward tension again.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She just wanted to get her father’s business affairs resolved, to do right by him when the woman he’d loved and had children with refused. It was the least Emily could do.

He had been her father, even if he hadn’t been a part of her everyday life.

And she would miss him.

CHAPTER NINE

FRIDAY MORNING, Victoria was glad to have Lucas back in Chicago. She’d stayed home an extra thirty minutes just to have a cup of coffee with him.

As the elevator opened into the lobby of the Colby Agency, she had to smile. They had been married almost a year now and she still refused to take a single day for granted. When they were apart due to his work in Washington, he called several times to simply say hello and that he missed her.

Warmth spread through her. It felt so good to have the man she loved in her life.

Victoria greeted Elaine, the receptionist who had taken Amy’s place when Amy had moved into the investigative side of the business, as well as several of her investigators as she made her way to her office. Lucas wouldn’t come in until later, after he’d made the final arrangements for the conference call with the specialist who’d evaluated the brainwashing technique used on Jim.

Inside her office, Victoria closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. She was glad Mildred hadn’t been at her desk so she could escape to the privacy of her office without having to answer too many questions this morning.

Jim had finally showed up at his and Tasha’s home last night. He had looked slightly worse for the wear, but he was all in one piece and that was the most important thing. Victoria had called off the massive man-hunt for her son, but her relief was short-lived.

Jim remembered nothing about the past four days. His only blip of memory was of the intense encounter with Tasha. Nothing about the time since—not where he’d stayed, not what he’d done.

At least he was safe. That was something. Tasha would take him to the clinic today where he would be fully evaluated by the team of doctors who had been working with him for the past year. Perhaps they would find some reason for his abrupt regression.

Victoria’s gaze lit on the package on her desk as she crossed the room.

She shrugged off her coat, hung it up and moved behind her desk to see the sender’s name.

Emily Hastings.

A chill went through her, but she shook it off. She couldn’t say what it was about the idea that bothered her, but she’d felt that same sensation of foreboding at the service yesterday when Emily had first mentioned the letters.

Victoria couldn’t imagine what Carter Hastings had been keeping related to the Colby name. Perhaps this was something from the cases he’d worked all those years ago—first her missing son, then James’s murder.

But why would he have kept anything at his residence? And Emily had said letters. What sort of letters?

Victoria sat down and reached for the package. Every instinct warned that she should prepare for the worst, though she couldn’t understand why.

As she opened the package, she considered that she had seen Carter from time to time since those dark, painful days of so long ago, but she hadn’t seen him often. She remembered vividly fourteen years ago when his son had died and then the divorce that had followed. Like hers, Carter’s life had not always been pleasant. But, also like her, the fine detective had been a survivor. She’d noted in the Tribune the numerous times he’d received one commendation or another. Just another thing they’d had in common—when life took a wrong turn, they had thrown themselves into their work.

Victoria withdrew the bundle of envelopes and her heart stumbled as she read her husband’s name penned across the first one. The handwriting was bold but feminine, long, even strokes. The postmark indicated a date six months after her son had gone missing.

Her fingers shaking, she turned over the envelope and withdrew the letter tucked inside.

Dearest James…

Victoria’s heart pounded hard once, then sank low in her chest. But she didn’t stop. She kept reading no matter that the words tore her apart inside.

…cannot help myself…will always love you…

…I live for those moments we spend together…

Victoria moved through letter after letter until she could not bear to read another. She stared at the woman’s name, signed lovingly at the end of each, before allowing the letters to fall from her fingers as her heart shattered into a dozen shards of anguish.

Madelyn Rutland.

How could this be?

How could the man she had loved and trusted…have cheated on her?

One letter had even been addressed to Victoria, but the sender had obviously opted not to go through with mailing it. In the letter, she had warned Victoria that she could not turn her back on her love for James. That Victoria could not expect to keep him…

“Victoria?”

She jumped at the sound of Mildred’s voice on the intercom. Scrambling, she shuffled the letters back into a bundle and shoved them into her desk drawer.

“Yes?” Victoria’s skin felt hot, but she was freezing inside. This couldn’t be right; there had to be a mistake. James had been her rock…

“Tasha is on the line,” Mildred said hurriedly. “She says it’s an emergency.”

Victoria’s heart surged back into her throat. Dear God, what now? She pushed thoughts of the letters out of her mind and grabbed the phone. “Tasha, what’s happened?”

“The police have taken Jim,” she said in a rush, her voice quavering with barely restrained emotion. “He’s a suspect in a murder investigation, Victoria. Murder.”

Ice formed in Victoria’s veins. “What?” She shook herself. “For whose murder?”

“That Detective Hastings,” Tasha explained, tears causing her voice to wobble even more. “They think Jim killed him.”

“Don’t worry,” Victoria told her, but her own fear made the words feel wrong, “Zach and I are on our way.”

Victoria hung up the phone and buzzed for Mildred. “Tell Zach I need him ASAP.”

Mildred didn’t ask any questions. She would recognize the desperation in Victoria’s voice, had heard it before…far too many times.

Grabbing her coat, Victoria rushed to the door, forgetting the letters. She didn’t have time to worry about the past right now.

Right now, she had to help her son.

Zach Ashton was the best attorney on staff at the Colby Agency. She needed him on this. And Ian, she considered on second thought. She could use Ian Michaels, as well.

Just then, it didn’t enter Victoria’s mind; she was too caught up in the frenzy Tasha’s call had set off. But later, when she’d had time to think, she would wonder what it was about her old friend Carter Hastings that had suddenly turned her entire existence upside down.

CHAPTER TEN

EMILY SAT IN the stiff chair of the small conference room. Detective Franko, the homicide detective in charge of her father’s murder investigation, had called her just before noon and asked her to come in for a meeting.

She had expected to receive an update on her father’s case and perhaps answer any final questions as to how they could reach her if need be. Not that she was in a hurry to get back to California. She wasn’t, not really. She wanted to close up her father’s house and take care of his affairs.

But the moment she had arrived at the homicide division, she had been hustled into this cramped conference room with a cup of stale coffee. And that had been almost an hour ago. She had things to do. Sitting here idly wasting time was not on today’s agenda.

She exhaled loudly and tucked her impatience away. Her father’s fellow officers were doing all they could to find out what really had happened in that alley on Monday night. She shouldn’t be cross about having to wait a few minutes. She wanted her father’s killer found, wanted him brought to justice.

The door opened and Detective Franko stepped into the room. Good. She pushed a polite smile into place. Maybe they could get this over with now. She had things to do for her father, as well. And, the truth was, she couldn’t bear to think about his manner of death. If she dwelled on it, she would never be able to maintain her composure and she simply couldn’t fall apart. There was no one else to do what needed to be done.

Detective Franko looked to be about thirty-five. Tall, thin, kind, the sort of man who looked as if he would be an animal lover. The weapon that bulged beneath his jacket didn’t fit with his persona, she considered as she watched him sit down across the table from her.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Emily.”

“That’s all right. Do you have any leads on my father’s case?” She prayed his case would be resolved quickly. The people here who cared about him needed that closure as much as she did.

The detective glanced at the file in his hands. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her nerves jangled. Had they found her father’s murderer already? She’d been in such a daze she’d barely noticed that Chicago PD had a car watching the house—watching her, actually. It followed her everywhere she went. She supposed it was just a precaution, since the police couldn’t be sure of the motive behind her father’s shooting.

Franko looked from the file to her. “Emily, how would you define your relationship with your father the past year or so?”

To say the question startled her would be a vast understatement. But she’d never been involved with a homicide investigation. Maybe this was part of the routine.

“I don’t know,” she said, considering the question carefully before answering. The truth made her sound like a bad daughter. But, she reasoned, it made her look no more like a bad daughter than it did her dad as a bad father. “We talked on the phone occasionally, but I didn’t get back here often and he was always busy, so we hadn’t seen each other in a while.”

She didn’t see any reason to tell him it had been two years. She’d persecuted herself about that reality since learning of his death; enduring the look she would no doubt get from this detective was more than she could deal with just now.

“So you have no idea about any personal relationships he might have gotten involved in over the past year?”

A frown furrowed across her brow. “No. He never mentioned anything but work when we talked.” She shrugged. “And I haven’t found anything around the house that would indicate he entertained or kept in contact with anyone in particular.” That fact saddened her. She wished her father could have gotten on with his life like her mother had. Well, maybe not exactly as her mother had, but similarly.

“I noticed you speaking with Victoria Colby-Camp at the service yesterday,” Franko commented. He made the statement offhandedly, but there was nothing casual about his scrutinizing gaze.

What did her having spoken with Victoria Colby-Camp have to do with anything?

“Yes, she shook my hand and told me how sorry she was my father had died.” Emily shrugged. “She mentioned that they were friends.”

Her frown deepened. “You’ll have to excuse me, Detective, but I’m not following here. What does my talking to someone at the service have to do with my father’s murder investigation?”

“You also had a delivery sent to her at the Colby Agency, didn’t you? First thing this morning, I believe.”

Irritation needled Emily. “What are you trying to get at, Detective Franko?” she demanded. Enough was enough. She was beginning to feel like a suspect rather than the victim’s only family.

“We have reason to believe the Colbys were involved with your father’s murder,” he said bluntly.

“You’re saying the woman I met yesterday had something to do with my father’s murder?” How was that possible? Had Emily been in such a daze that she had so thoroughly misjudged the woman?

“We found evidence at the scene that implicates her son, James Colby, Jr.”

The name echoed inside Emily. She thought of the name on the letters. Surely he couldn’t be the same James Colby…

“I’d like you to tell me what you sent to the Colby Agency this morning. It may be relevant to your father’s case.”

This didn’t make sense. The letters were old. She hadn’t read the contents of any of them. There had been no reason to.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said, confusion and uncertainty reigning supreme. “I don’t understand what a handful of old letters has to do with my father’s murder.”

“Tell me about the letters,” he pressed.

Why hadn’t she looked at the letters? It had seemed like nothing at the time. How could it be significant to the investigation?

“I didn’t read them,” she explained, exasperated. “The postmark was nearly twenty years ago and they weren’t addressed to my father.”

“Who were they addressed to?”

“James Colby.”

Franko leaned back in his chair. “We’re going to need to execute a search warrant of your father’s home, Miss Hastings. Is that going to be a problem? Just so you know, we’ll be executing several.”

A search warrant? What would they expect to find in her father’s home? Would he be doing this same thing at the Colby Agency, too? No doubt.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” she said, her thoughts fragmenting as she tried to make sense of what all Franko’s questions meant. “But I don’t understand. You’re telling me that you have evidence that James Colby, Jr., had something to do with my father, and I get the impression that I’m a suspect, as well. What’s going on, Detective Franko?”

His gaze fixed on hers. “Right now, Miss Hastings, anyone connected to your father is a suspect.”

This was insane. She hadn’t even been to Chicago in years.

“As difficult as it is to say that to you, Emily,” Franko went on, “this is standard procedure. It’s not personal.”

She blinked, unable to rally a response. Her father was dead, for God’s sake. There was no way it could be anything but personal.

Her father had been murdered and she was suddenly a suspect. This couldn’t be right.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

VICTORIA SAT perfectly still, uncertain she could bear to hear what Lucas had to say. But it was, unfortunately, necessary. She couldn’t let this fester. The hurt twisted inside her, tearing apart all she’d ever believed in…all she’d managed to rebuild.

Lucas sat down in front of Victoria’s desk and heaved a weary sigh.

He’d wanted to discuss this at home, but she’d refused. She felt stronger here at the Agency. She needed that strength right now, that and more.

“Yes, I knew about Madelyn.”

Victoria’s eyes closed as the hurt squeezed her heart.

“But it wasn’t what you think—”

Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t even try to pardon what he did.” The words roared out of her with more strength than she could have imagined she possessed just now.

Lucas leaned forward, settling those caring gray eyes on her. “Victoria, I’m not pardoning anything. The truth is, I’m not certain there is anything to pardon.”

“I read the letters, Lucas!” How could he tiptoe around the issue? James Colby had had an affair. Pain stabbed deep all over again.

“That was a tough time for both of you,” Lucas reminded her, as if he’d needed to. “The strain on your marriage was immense. James needed someone to talk to. To my knowledge, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

“She was in love with him,” Victoria countered, the word relationship making her seethe.

Lucas nodded. “She probably was, but that doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”

Victoria held up her hands in an act of self-protection. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“Why don’t you let me have a look at the letters and I’ll try and get to the bottom of what really happened, if you’re certain that’s what you want.”

“No,” she said sharply. “I’ll do that myself. But there’s no time now. Our full attention has to be on Jim. It’s going to take both of us working together to get him through this.” Victoria closed her eyes again and tried to find a place of calm in her mind where she could think straight.

“We have to assume that they have some sort of evidence against Jim or they wouldn’t have been prepared to make an arrest,” Lucas offered.

That much was true. Thank God Zach had been able to get a jump on the detective in charge of the case, Detective Franko. Apparently under Zach’s legal eagle scrutiny, whatever Franko had hadn’t been sufficient to proceed against Jim just yet. But Jim’s arrest was imminent. They’d taken him in with the intent of pressing formal charges. After tangoing with Zach, the district attorney, rather than risk running into a double-jeopardy wall, had suggested that Franko hold off until his facts were further substantiated. But that had only bought Victoria a little time; it hadn’t actually changed anything.

She had seen the way the very men who just a few days ago had respected her agency had looked at her son. One of their own was dead, and they believed they had his killer. She knew exactly how hard they would work to prove their theory.

Jim was at the clinic undergoing a full evaluation. He would not be allowed to return home unless the doctors were confident that Tasha could keep him under control and under constant supervision.

Tears burned in Victoria’s eyes. She didn’t want to believe that any of the men or women she knew and respected in Chicago PD would harm her son. But right now, considering the current circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could say that.

When a cop died, the whole law enforcement community wanted justice. She could understand how they felt. She wanted justice for Carter Hastings, as well. But not if it meant railroading her son for a crime he surely could not have committed. Her son hadn’t even known Carter Hastings.

“We need to know what they’ve got,” Victoria agreed.

“Ashton will get that for us,” Lucas voiced his certainty on the matter.

He would, in time. But did they have time? That was the question. Could they sit around here like this and assume that the police—who were obviously less than objective on the matter since one of their own had been murdered—would conduct a thorough investigation? Or would the boys in blue simply go after what they considered the sure thing?

Victoria knew human nature, and human nature would scream for vengeance.

None of this made sense.

Carter had been murdered. Then his daughter had mentioned the letters at his funeral service. What did his murder and those old love letters have to do with each other? And why now? After all this time?

Another wave of hurt washed over Victoria. How could her husband have turned to another woman when Victoria had needed him so very badly?

James had always been like a rock, unshakable. He’d survived being a prisoner of war, had stood fast by her side when Jimmy had gone missing. How could she not have known that there was someone else?

Someone involved in the investigation, for God’s sake.

Carter had known. A new kind of ache welled inside her. He’d been so kind to Victoria. Somehow, he must have found out after James’s murder and hidden the letters to keep Victoria from finding them. To protect her. Her gaze moved to her new husband. Just as Lucas had protected her from what he had known.

He would do the same thing now. Lucas loved her, would do anything to save her from further devastation. That’s why she had to do this herself.

Victoria thought of her faithful staff and, without doubt, knew that any or all of them would do whatever it took to clear Jim’s name, ultimately protecting her.

No one wanted Jim cleared more than Victoria. But more importantly, she wanted the truth.

There was only one way to be sure she had the whole truth when all was said and done.

She would oversee this investigation personally. She would allow no one whose first priority was to protect her to be involved.

That left her with only one option.

CHAPTER TWELVE

AT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE two on Friday afternoon, Daniel Marks stepped off the elevator in the lobby of the revered Colby Agency.

The receptionist greeted him immediately and promptly called Victoria Colby-Camp’s personal secretary to come and escort him to his appointment.

Victoria met him just inside her office.

When the initial formalities were out of the way, she suggested they sit. He took a seat at the small conference table and she did the same. He’d declined any coffee, but two bottles of chilled water with accompanying glasses sat on a tray in the center of the table.

“What do you think of the Windy City?”

Daniel came prepared to answer that question. He’d all but made an offer on a loft less than ten minutes from the Colby Agency. “I’m impressed.”

Victoria nodded. “You found the information packet we sent you informative?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t mention that he’d already scouted out his permanent residence. He didn’t have the job yet, though he fully suspected that’s what this meeting was about. Since his arrival, he’d decided that this was what he wanted. He felt comfortable here, liked the pace of the city. Its location midway meant that either coast was a simple two-hour flight away.

“Mr. Marks,” she began, “I thought I’d learned everything there was to know about this business. I’ve been operating under the assumption that I’d seen the worst it had to offer. But then, just today, I learned something new.”

It was more the expression on her face than her words that made him uneasy. The meeting had definitely taken a different turn than what he’d anticipated.

“How’s that?”

“Trust has always been a major foundation of my life,” she explained. “As long as I had trust, I had no fears where anything else was concerned, but it seems I was wrong.”

Daniel tried to reason how her recent revelations tied in with his consideration for a position within her agency but found no connection. Obviously, he would have to let her lay it on the table for him.

“I’ve reviewed your record thoroughly and checked your references. I’m fully convinced that you would fit in perfectly here,” she told him bluntly.

There was a but coming, one he couldn’t quite nail the motivation for.

“I appreciate your confidence, Mrs. Colby-Camp. I have to tell you that I’ve done the same. I’m confident your agency is where I’d like to begin my new career.”

Victoria opened a bottle of water and poured herself half a glass. She sipped it a moment before continuing.

Daniel couldn’t help wondering if this was a test of some sort. His work and personal history were impeccable, as were his references. Whatever was going on wasn’t about his qualifications.