Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (6 page)

If she hadn't been so unsettled by seeing him, Rikki would have laughed. “I'm glad you approve.”

He sat down and turned to business, his whole demeanor turning as black as the coffee. “I need to ask you a few more questions.”

Rikki sank down on the other side of the sectional. “Of course.” She swallowed and tried to calm herself.”

She willed herself not to break down in front of him. She'd cried enough yesterday and last night, seeing her mother so frail and knowing she'd never see Tessa alive again. “Okay. Well, I'd like to help with her funerals expenses whenever that's possible. I owe her family a lot.”

“Why's that?”

Did he have to distrust everything she said?

“When I first left Millbrook, they took me in and let me stay with them until Tessa and I could go to FSU together. She was my roommate all the way through college.” She stared out at the water beyond the yard. “Her mother died of lung cancer when Tessa and I were in college and her father died later in a boating accident. I miss them and now I'll miss her.”

“So you two were close.”

“Yes. I told you she was my best friend. I don't know what I'll do without her.”

Blain lowered his gaze and took a sip of coffee, but Rikki thought she'd seen a trace of compassion passing through his inky eyes. Gone in a flash but something to remember when he started grilling her.

He studied his notes then glanced back up at her. “Okay, so, your ex might have an alibi. We haven't located him yet, but several neighbors saw him at a company Christmas party the night of the murder. We checked with his coworkers and several of them vouched for his whereabouts yesterday.”

Rikki nodded. “Probably at that party with his new girlfriend.”

“So he still stalks you while he's dating another woman?”

She colored with humiliation. “I tend to attract real losers. He dated other people while we were together, too.”

He gave her another in-depth sweeping gaze that didn't seem to have anything to do with the conversation. Almost like a silent compliment.

“So...your Charming Chad was in Tallahassee with a roomful of people at the time of the murder. We have pictures and we have statements that both support his statement. He's in the clear for now since the ME established the time of death at around 6:00 p.m.”

“So you can mark him off your suspect list?”

“Yes. For now.” He studied his notes. “But he didn't show up for work today. We're still trying to locate him.”

A thread of apprehension curled down her spine. “That's odd. Chad never misses work.”

“We'll keep checking. He might have a hangover or maybe he took a day off.” The detective didn't look too concerned. “Now on to you.”

Rikki knew this man still had his doubts about her. “And what about me, Detective? What list am I on?”

SIX

B
lain wasn't sure how to answer that question. He leaned forward and cupped his hands together. “I'd like to believe you're on the good list but I haven't talked to Santa yet.”

Her smile wasn't as confident as she probably hoped it would be. “Don't do me any favors.”

“Hadn't planned on it,” he retorted, thinking he'd have to go to the extreme to make that a true statement. “But I still need to ask you a few more questions.”

Rikki sat back on her side of the couch, her hands clasped. “I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just please find Tessa's killer.”

Blain intended to do just that. “Tessa's boyfriend's alibi held. He had several witnesses, one who rode with him to a dinner where they were all night.” Blain sipped his coffee. “From the reports, he's very upset and wants to come here, but the locals have suggested he stay away for now. He seems to be unavailable at the moment, however.”

“Harry Boston.” Rikki's frown said it all. “I'm surprised he hasn't come looking for me. He'd want answers.”

“You don't like him?”

“He hangs out with Chad a lot and reports back with whatever he can drag out of Tessa about me. Or he did.” She shrugged and played with the zipper on her jacket, a deep sadness moving through her eyes. “He always seemed a tad shady to me. But I couldn't tell Tessa that. She loved him.”

“Would he murder for Chad?”

She shook her head. “He wouldn't kill Tessa. He truly loved her. I'm sure he's devastated but since you won't let me talk to him, I have no way of knowing what he's thinking.”

“You don't need to call anyone connected to this case. For your own safety.”

“Harry didn't approve of Tessa and I being so close.”

“But you two were close before he came into the picture, right?”

“Yes, before Chad or Harry either one came into the picture. Why is it that men are so needy? Always wanting us to themselves?”

Blain did a mock frown and glanced behind him as if she were talking to someone else. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Of course it is,” she said. “Besides, you don't strike me as the needy type. Dark and brooding and dangerous, yes. But then that sounds so cliché, doesn't it?”

She was making him forget why he came here. “Hey, I'm the one asking the questions, okay?”

“And another typical male tactic. A nonanswer.”

“Let's go back to Chad and Harry,” he said with a slight grin to hide his discomfort. “Do you think they could be off somewhere together, like on a fishing trip or maybe a business deal?”

“Chad and Harry liked to hang out all the time without us, so yes, that is a possibility. Long weekend or something. Chad might have taken Harry off to help him through this. They hated it when Tessa and I would go shopping or if we planned a girls' weekend.”

“A weekend kind of like this weekend?”

“Yes. But Tessa assured me that Harry didn't mind her coming to meet me here. And again, he wouldn't have done this. Not to Tessa.”

“Maybe he thought she was you?”

“He'd know Tessa.” She shook her head. “I just can't see him doing this. He might not be on my top-ten list but I know he loved her. They were planning to get married next year.” She stared at the fireplace. “He might show up here yet.”

“What kind of things would the boys say to you about your girls' night and other such stuff?”

“Stay home. Let's go out. Why do you need more shoes?” She shook her head. “None of that matter now, does it?”

“It does if they're the jealous type. Domestic violence isn't pretty.”

“It's never gone that far,” she said. “Well, Chad's come close, which is why I got away from him.”

Blain cataloged that comment for the future. “What does Chad do for a living?”

She frowned and tossed ribbons of hair off her shoulders. “He owns several restaurants in Miami and a couple in Tallahassee.”

“So he's successful in his own right?”

“Yes. No, he does not hope to get his hands on any Alvanetti money if that's what you're asking.”

Blain let that one slide. “And Harry?”

“Harry works in finance. He likes to take other people's money and make even more for them and himself.”

Blain made a note of that. He tried to stay focused but all that hair falling around her shoulders kept distracting him. And that cute lounge outfit only added to that distraction. She was a petite little dynamo who'd withheld information—good intentions but bad judgment.

Shouldn't he hold that against her?

Yes, he reminded himself. “I need a list of any other acquaintances that might have had a grudge against you or Tessa. Anybody you'd had words with, or had a run-in with.”

“Okay.” She got up and found a pen and paper. “Starting now with you?”

He ignored her little joke. “Yes, and going back as far as you can remember.”

“I...I don't think I have any known enemies,” she said. “I work hard and I've built up a strong client base around the entire state. I've never had a client turn on me, mainly because I'm willing to redo anything that isn't right or that they don't like.”

Blain put down his phone and notebook and decided to try some small talk for a few minutes. “Tell me about your work.”

She shrugged. “I decorate houses. I like beach themes with a bit of understated elegance. Not too much of any one thing and not too kitschy.”

“Yes, too much of any one thing can be dangerous.”

She pushed at her fringe of bangs and gave him a daring stare. “Or boring.”

Blain couldn't imagine anything this woman did as boring. “Could you have seen something or heard something that might put you in danger?”

“I don't think so.” She hesitated and then added, “But I do deal in a lot of priceless art and antiques.”

“Now we're getting some ideas,” he said.

“But murder?” She looked pale and unsettled.

“Yes, murder.”

“So now my career is in jeopardy?”

He nodded and refocused. “And you're comfortable financially?”

Her dark eyebrows winged up in two perfect slants. “Isn't that a bit too personal?”

“Yes. But that's the point.”

She shot up off the couch. “You aren't making any sense, Detective Kent.”

“None of this makes sense,” Blain countered. “I have to look at every angle. Did someone have a grudge against either of you? Did someone want to steal from either of you or take you hostage in exchange for millions of dollars in ransom? Did you order a priceless antique or doodad that someone wanted? Is this some kind of vendetta against your family? Or Tessa's? Who would follow you here and kill another woman who looks almost exactly like you? And why?”

“I don't know,” she said, tears forming in her dark eyes. “I've told you over and over that I don't know. I came here to visit my mother and I also planned to use the time to get my head on straight and finally get over Chad. Tessa wanted to visit with me and have some fun. I...I needed my best friend and so she came.”

She shrugged, hugged herself as she stood in front of the fire. “That's all I know. I hoped to get some work done for clients who have summer homes in the area too—mainly to give me something to do that would distract me from all my problems.”

Blain held firm against her misty gaze and resisted the need to tug her close and comfort her. He didn't do comfort very well. “I'll need a list of those client names.”

“My clients aren't killers,” she retorted.

“Anyone can become a killer for any kind of reason,” Blain replied. “Anyone.”

They heard a door open and then a shuffling set of footsteps coming from the hallway from the garage. Blain stood up, prepared for a guard coming to tell him he needed to leave.

But this man was not a guard.

“What's going on here?” Franco Alvanetti stopped just inside the kitchen, his hostile gaze scorching Blain with disdain.

Rikki's gaze locked with Blain's in what might have been a warning and then she turned to face her father. “The detective is following up with some more questions for me, Papa.”

“Detective Kent, does my daughter need a good lawyer?” Franco asked, his hands in the pockets of his expensive trousers, his frown etched in fatigue and overindulgence.

Blain gave Rikki a questioning stare and then met her father's disapproving frown. “Not yet, sir.”

* * *

Rikki wanted to drop off the face of the earth. Her father and the law—not good in one room together. And especially not good with this one. Blain had that I-won't-back-down attitude perfected. The clinched fists, the daring solid wall of an expression and the buff body braced for action.

Lots of action.

She shouldn't be attracted to a man who hated her family and had her on a suspect list. But there it was, plain and simple. Instead of wanting him to leave, Rikki just wanted to protect him from her father's wrath.

As if Blain Kent needed protecting.

“It's okay, Papa,” she said to prove that point. “I can handle this.”

“Can you, really?” her father asked. “You've brought danger to your sick mother's door. After refusing to associate with this family for years, you decide to come home and bring murder with you. I'll never understand you, Regina.”

“That's enough,” Blain said.

Rikki blinked away the raw pain that made her eyes swell with moisture and turned to find Blain standing by her side. “Your daughter is cooperating with us in every aspect of this investigation. Whoever did this also came after her last night. And regardless of how I feel, that's why she's staying here.” He glanced around and pointed a finger at Franco. “You have a fortress here so even I agree this is the best place for her right now. Unless you want something terrible to happen to her, too.”

Rikki expected her father to tell Blain to get out of his house. Instead, he took a deep breath and stared over at Blain with puffy eyes and a deep, puckered brow. “Do you think the killer mistook Tessa to be my daughter?”

“I do, sir,” Blain said, his arm brushing against Rikki's like a warning caress. “But I can't give you a conclusive comment on that yet. Rikki is going to put together a list of everyone she's talked to or worked with over the last few weeks. And in the meantime, I'll keep in touch with the Miami and Tallahassee authorities and see what we can come up with.”

Franco moved into the big den, his power practically radiating off his body. “You will keep me informed.”

Blain's expression looked like jagged ice. “I don't usually keep anyone outside the department informed on an active case, sir.”

“But you'll make an exception.”

Blain's body went rigid again. He braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest, the rustle of his leather jacket sending out “keep off” vibes. “I don't make exceptions, Mr. Alvanetti.”

Her father actually looked nonplussed and confused. Rikki seriously wanted to kiss Blain Kent. Nobody ever talked back to her father.

Then she realized she wouldn't mind kissing Blain Kent, regardless of her father. Which would only make things worse for both of them.

Franco sank down in his favorite leather chair and uttered a tired sigh. “So we have a dead woman who was found at my daughter's home. Her best friend, Tessa Jones, who just happens to resemble her. Interesting, isn't it?”

Did he even care? Rikki wondered.

“Very interesting,” Blain said. “The whole town is buzzing with scenarios. Which is why I don't want to release the details. Brings out a lot of wackos and wannabe-snitches.”

Franco patted the cushy arms of the chair with his meaty hands. “I see.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I will make sure my daughter is safe while you do your job.”

Her father nodded. A dismissal.

Rikki breathed a sigh of her own and motioned to Blain. “I'll show you out, Detective Kent.”

Blain gave her a surprised glance but followed her. He stopped near her father's chair. “I want to find the person who did this so I hope you understand. And I hope you'll trust me.”

“I do not trust easily,” Franco replied, his gaze on the roaring fire.

Blain didn't move. “Neither do I.”

“Let's go,” Rikki said, almost a plea.

Blain put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and followed her toward the side door to the garage.

When they were outside, he turned to her. “I know a threat when I hear one but I'm okay with that. But you need to understand something, Rikki.”

She shivered in the wind. “And what's that?”

“I'm trying to protect you, so don't do anything stupid, okay?”

“I'll try not to,” Rikki retorted, anger warming her now. “I plan to stay right here and visit my mother while I try to get some work done.”

“Good plan.” He looked sheepish. Swiping at his hair, he glanced over at her. “At least you have a nice place to stay hidden.”

“Yes, a virtual paradise,” she quipped. “A comfortable prison.”

“Is that what it feels like?” he asked, his gaze tearing at her with his unspoken questions.

“It's always felt that way but I try not to complain. I have everything here I could ever possibly need, except freedom.”

He drew closer and touched at her hair. “Hey, I know this has been tough and I'm sorry I've had to drill you. But I have a job to do.”

Before she could pull away or respond, he leaned closer, his eyes as dark as driftwood at midnight. “But you call me anytime, you hear? Anytime.”

Then he dropped his hand and walked to his car.

And left her there shivering in the wind again.