He bit back a grin. ‘I never called you “little lady”.’
She arched one eyebrow. ‘But you thought it.’
‘I can assure you that I did not,’ he said firmly. ‘You said you didn’t plan to live in the house when you first inherited it. When
did
you decide to live in it?’
‘Friday afternoon.’
He let a beat pass, but she said no more. ‘This past Friday? Three days ago?’ The day that Arianna and Corinne disappeared. He didn’t like that at all, but kept his voice mild. ‘Why?’
‘Because I got a job offer.’
‘At a bank,’ he remembered, and she nodded. ‘But you had to have applied for that job before Friday afternoon, so you must have at least considered living in the house before.’
‘Not really. What I knew was that I needed to leave Miami. I didn’t care where I went.’
‘Because of Peter Combs.’
An involuntary swallow. Her pulse had kicked up again. ‘Yes. I feared for my life.’
‘When did you decide to leave Miami?’
‘A month ago, although I’d been thinking about it for months before that. I wasn’t picky about where I went, so I applied for a lot of jobs online, all over the country. The bank job was something of a whim, truthfully. The listing jumped out at me because I’d just come home from Cincinnati after seeing my grandmother’s attorney. I met the job’s qualifications and it paid more than any of the other positions I was applying for. They interviewed me over Skype the following week, but I didn’t hear back from them again until they called me on Friday afternoon. By then I’d nearly forgotten about them.’
‘So you loaded up your Jeep and drove up the next day?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Who knew you were leaving on Friday?’
‘I already told you. No one except my father and stepmother, and they thought it was only for a few days, to meet with a realtor and sell the house.’
‘Why did they think that?’
‘Because my dad is recovering from a stroke. He assumed it and I . . . let him.’
His brows shot up. ‘You mean you
lied
to him?’ he said mockingly, then immediately regretted it because her eyes filled with sudden tears.
She swiped at them with the back of her bandaged hand. ‘To protect him. He knows about what Combs did four years ago.’ She touched the scar on her throat. ‘My dad never left my side while I was in the hospital. But he doesn’t know about the stalking. Combs was paroled a few weeks after my dad had his stroke. I knew it would upset him, so I didn’t tell him.’
Chastised, Deacon found a packet of tissues in his coat pocket. ‘They’re crumpled, but unused.’
‘Thank you.’ She dabbed at her eyes, letting out a teary laugh. ‘I keep expecting robotic arms to pop out of your coat pockets like Inspector Gadget. What else do you have hidden?’
He grinned, relieved to hear her laugh. ‘I’ve been compared to a lot of cartoons, but never Gadget.’ He leaned back, watching her. ‘You’ll have to tell him you’re living here sometime.’
‘He knows now. I called him while I was driving to the house tonight and told him that I was relocating, but I didn’t tell him why. I just said I needed a change. Please don’t contact him about any of this. He might not survive it and I would never forgive myself.’
He wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. ‘I said I wouldn’t lie to you, Faith. You know better than to ask me for that. If I need to talk to him, then I will, but I won’t unless I must. It’s the best I can do. When was Combs paroled?’
She went still, the fear in her eyes giving way to a fiery rage that took him aback, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. ‘December first, a year ago, at 2.15 in the afternoon. At 6.30 that night, he was shopping for vegetables in my neighborhood Publix.’
Sonofabitch.
It was all he could do not to snarl. ‘That wasn’t a violation of his parole?’
A muscle in her jaw twitched. ‘No.’
He needed to find out why, but the look on her face told him it would be better to come back to it later. ‘You must have been scared,’ he said calmly, hoping to soothe her.
She actually snarled at him. ‘Y’think? He’d show up outside the dry cleaner’s, the bank, doctor’s appointments, even my hair salon, for God’s sake. He joined my gym and I’d find him watching me from across the weight room. From the floor when I was climbing the rock wall. He’d come up behind me when I was running on the track and just smile at me. He’d send me
flowers
and
candy
. It went on like that for
months
.’
‘Did you consider a restraining order?’
‘Of
course
I considered a restraining order!’ she hissed. ‘Why the fucking hell do you think I went to all the trouble of filing all those complaints? I’m not
stupid
, Agent Novak.’
‘I haven’t thought that for a single moment, Faith.’
She took a deep breath and then continued. ‘To answer your question, I did get a restraining order. A few weeks later, I’d gone out to dinner with my boss and some people from work. Came out of the restaurant and got in my car, then Combs walked up and got into his – the one parked right next to me. When I filed the complaint that he’d violated the TRO, he told the police that he didn’t know I’d be there, that his girlfriend had sent him to the drugstore to pick up her prescription. The girlfriend excuse checked out.’
Sonofabitch.
‘What happened to his wife – the mother of the girl he molested?’
‘She found another man while Combs was in prison and divorced him.’
‘Poor guy. My heart bleeds.’
Faith sighed. ‘She never got her daughter more therapy after the court mandate was no longer in effect. She’d moved in with someone else the day after Combs was sentenced.’
That she knew the family’s business struck him as odd, but he pocketed that for later, too. ‘What kind of car does Combs drive?’
‘Nissan Sentra, red. It’s registered to his newest girlfriend.’ She grabbed his pad and wrote down the license plate number. ‘I know it by heart.’
‘Give me a minute.’ Deacon texted the information to Bishop, Adam, and Crandall, then put out a BOLO for the vehicle.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked warily, leaning over to look at his phone.
Giving him a perfect view of what lay under her sweater. His heart skipped a beat, then thudded to beat all hell. Rounded breasts swelling above black lace. Creamy white skin.
Soft
, he thought. Her skin would be so soft. And he needed to look away.
Now
.
With an effort, he did so, turning his phone so that it captured her attention for the moment it took to get his racing pulse under control. ‘Putting out a BOLO on Combs’s car.’
She looked up at him, genuinely confused. ‘Why?’
‘Just in case he followed you, or might follow you later.’
Or followed you before
. That Combs was involved in this case was still not out of the realm of possibility. ‘We’ll do our best to keep your name out of the press, but it’s going to happen sooner or later.’
She returned to her chair, sitting back with a rigid control that clearly broadcasted her fear. ‘I know. I knew it as soon as I called 911 tonight.’
Yet she’d called anyway. She wasn’t guilty. Deacon’s gut and brain were in complete agreement. ‘We need to find out how he knew about your schedule. Do you store your calendar on your phone?’
‘I did. But my phone was always with me.’
Deacon gave her a rueful smile. ‘These days it doesn’t matter. If he hacked into your phone, he’d know everything about you.’
‘He hacked . . .? I never even . . .’ She paled. ‘He could have been tracking me all this time. Dammit. That was so stupid of me. He was a programmer too. Why didn’t I see that?’
‘It wasn’t stupid,’ he said firmly. ‘It wasn’t your job to see it. It was the job of the cop who took your statement. You’d been contemplating leaving Miami for months because he was stalking you. What made you finally decide to leave a month ago?’
She looked down at her hands, front and back, as if seeing something he could not. ‘My boss was murdered. His blood was on my hands.’
Deacon frowned. ‘Literally or figuratively?’
‘Both.’ Her mouth twisted bitterly and her green eyes filled with self-contempt. ‘I tried to save him, but he bled out before the EMTs arrived. Gordon was a good man. Decent. He had two kids and a pregnant wife. He didn’t deserve to die because of a bullet meant for me.’
Deacon sat back in his chair, studying her. There wasn’t an iota of melodrama in her eyes. She was coldly, brutally serious. ‘How do you know it was meant for you?’
‘Because a few days later, Combs shot at my car and tried to force me off a bridge.’
Hiding his shock, Deacon had to take a moment to decide which question to ask first. He needed to know how and when, he needed to know if she’d been injured in any of the attempts. He needed to know what was wrong with the cops who’d taken her statements that they’d let this go on, but mostly he needed to know
why
.
Because although his emotions were worrying about the woman, his mind remained rational. Stalking her would have been bad enough. Attempted murder – several times – was unexpected. Being sent to prison wasn’t normally enough to motivate such violence. If it were, cops would have a hell of a lot more homicides on their hands – and cops and prosecutors would top the list of victims. Therapists seemed like they’d be at the bottom of the list.
What would drive Combs from stalking to repeated attempted murder? This was . . .
Personal.
Deacon’s gut did a slow roll as he thought about the accusation Combs had made during his trial – that Faith had been his lover. Looking at her now, he couldn’t believe that.
No
, he thought. He didn’t
want
to believe it because he genuinely liked her. He was letting his feelings take the reins, and this he couldn’t allow.
‘Maybe we should start further back than your inheriting the house,’ he said carefully. ‘Let’s go back to Combs. He was your client, right?’
Revulsion flashed across her face for a split second before her expression flattened to that of a statue, every flicker of emotion disappearing from her eyes. The transformation made him want to flinch. He didn’t, of course, keeping his own expression passive as he waited for her answer.
She leaned back in her seat, mimicking his pose as she studied his face, and he had a bad feeling he wasn’t going to like her answer.
‘You think I somehow brought this on myself,’ she said. ‘And now you think that Detective Kimble was right, that I may be compromised after all. You might even think Combs was telling the truth about me.’ She smiled at him mockingly. Coldly. ‘Do you know what I think, Agent Novak? I think I should get a lawyer. Now.’
Cincinnati, Ohio, Monday 3 November, 10.40
P.M.
Faith was furious. Partly with Novak. Mostly with herself. She’d kept telling herself that she wouldn’t fall for a cop’s BS again, yet here she was.
‘You’re not a suspect,’ Novak said, but she could tell that she’d surprised him. He’d thought she’d just spill her guts because he’d been kind enough not to alert the press to her presence. Because he’d made her feel safer.
‘Goody for me,’ she said sarcastically. ‘But you also said you wouldn’t tell me when I became one, and I appreciate the warning. I’ve been on this carousel before. I’m done here.’
His eyes flashed, darkening as they narrowed. She’d made him angry.
Good.
‘Were those just pretty words, Dr Corcoran? Are you willing to let a rapist go free? Are you willing to allow Corinne to die? You had a bad experience and I’m sorry, but that wasn’t Corinne’s fault.’
‘
It wasn’t mine either
,’ she shot back, slapping her palms on the table, then sucking in a pained breath as she pressed her bandaged hands between her breasts. ‘Dammit,’ she breathed quietly. ‘What happened to not jumping to assumptions based on my background?’
‘I hadn’t. Yet.’
‘Yet. But it was coming.’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t know that.
I
don’t even know that. What I do know is that a young woman will die if we don’t figure out who took her and what he’s done with her.’
‘I had nothing to do with what happened to those girls. I don’t know who took them.
He got my name off the deed.
Just because I had the bad luck to inherit that damn house doesn’t mean I can help you. I don’t even know why you’re here.’
‘What if he didn’t get your name off the deed?’ Novak asked quietly. ‘What if he does know you? What if he came here because of you?’
Faith’s mouth dropped open as his words sank in. ‘What? What are you saying? That Combs is here? That . . . that he took those girls?’
He braced his forearm on the table, leaned forward. Invading her space. ‘Is it possible?’
She stared at him, wondering if he could be serious. He stared back, his mesmerizing eyes full of challenge. His lips formed a hard line within the frame of his white goatee. His jaw set like granite.
This is the real Novak,
she thought. He was grim, hard, large, and intimidating. And desperate. He cared about those two women.
‘Of course it’s possible,’ she said. ‘But it’s highly unlikely. You’ve made a connection that doesn’t exist. It’s like . . .’ The connection she sought snapped into her mind. ‘It’s like the wolf beating me to Grandmother’s house, for God’s sake. You’re crazy.’
He leaned closer. ‘I might be crazy, but
you’re
a coincidence. I don’t like coincidences.’
‘I can’t help what you don’t like.’ Her heart began to race as she considered the possibility of what he was suggesting.
Combs here.
In my grandmother’s house.
Waiting for me.
And torturing two young women as he did. ‘There isn’t a single shred of evidence to back it up.’