Wicked Intentions (11 page)

“But if you didn’t shoot him surely there was no gun residue on your hand?” Nathan asked.

“There was gun residue,” she said. “The prosecutor said I shot him twice. But I only remember one wound on his upper chest and his body disappeared before they could certify the timing of the second one.”

“They never found him?”

“Never.”  Without a body, Charlie had no tales to tell. Every piece of evidence the prosecutor had given was speculation – convincing but speculation. The state had even tried to pin his disappearance on her too, but they’d had no proof. Everyone might’ve doubted her innocence but as long as there was no proof, they couldn’t tuck her into a neat little cell.

Did Nathan doubt her innocence too? She turned her gaze upwards as she said, “You don’t think I did it, do you?”

She caught the hesitation in his eyes before he could wipe it off his face with a slight smile, “No, I don’t.”

“I didn’t.” She shrugged, through the dismissive action reflected none of her disappointment in her heart. It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t quite believe her. The evidence was too damning for any logical person to doubt. The only person who’d believed her was London and that was only because they’d known each other for so long. But for some reason she’d expected more from Nathan.

Forcing a smile, she sat up on the bed. “I have to go and shower.”

He grabbed her wrist before she could stand up. “I believe you.”

“Okay,” she said, even though she didn’t believe
him
.

Though she and Nathan had agreed to meet for lunch at one, Shakira left the house two hours earlier courtesy of a call from Wayne. Wayne’s response when she’d asked him whether he’d made any progress was that the FBI wanted to talk to her before they could unfreeze her assets.

He claimed that it was just routine questioning, but that didn’t keep Shakira’s pulse from speeding up or her palms from sweating as she walked toward his office. Those ‘few routine questions’ had landed her in front of a judge just a few months ago.

Through the glass she could see a man and woman seated on one of the couches at the corner of the office directly opposite Wayne. The three seemed intent on their conversation, but they turned towards the door when Shakira pushed it open.

“Shakira.” Wayne stood up with a wide smile to meet her. “Thank you for getting here so fast.” He gestured for her to come forward as he introduced his guests. “These are Agents Stephen Gates and Karyn Ruxton from the FBI.”

Agent Stephen Gates had cop written all over him from his short haircut, to his watchful eyes to his upright sitting stance. He was attractive enough if you liked the wiry body, lined craggy face and hard eyes type. Agent Karyn Ruxton on the other hand was stunning. The tight chignon she’d drawn her auburn hair into emphasized her high cheekbones and slightly slanted hazel eyes. Though like Agent Gates, she was wearing a black coat over a white shirt, she’d traded black slacks for boot-cut jeans.

Hoping her anxiety didn’t show on her face, Shakira moved towards them and stretched her hand to greet them. “Shakira Dalton.”

“Call me Karyn,” the female agent greeted.

Gates upper lip curled up in derision as he looked at Shakira’s hand like it was slime before turning furious eyes upwards towards her face. “I know who you are.”

Hoh boy!

“Gates,” Karyn reprimanded.

“Now, now, we all agreed to play nice.” Wayne glared at Gates, before turning to Karyn. “If your partner can’t be civil then my client won’t answer any question you have.”

“Why are you talking to her?” Gates taunted. “She’s just a glorified babysitter.”

“This meeting is ov-”

“No. No. Give us a minute.” Karyn threw a frustrated look at Gates before standing up. “Outside. Now.”

For a moment it looked like Gates might refuse but with a disgusted snort, he stood and followed Karyn outside the office. The moment she was alone with Wayne, Shakira asked, “A few routine questions?”

“I don’t know what’s going on with him.” He shook his head as he led Shakira to the couch. “Look, we can cancel this meeting if you don’t want to answer their questions.”

“But then they won’t unfreeze my assets.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“This is the easiest way though, isn’t it?” she asked. Wayne didn’t respond because they both knew the answer to that question. Shakira threw a look towards the agents who were arguing outside with Gates making frustrated motions with his hands while Karyn stared at him with her arms folded over her chest. Shakira asked, “What kind of questions do they want to ask?”

“I have no idea.” Patting her hand reassuringly, Wayne offered, “But if they get uncomfortable, I’ll handle it.”

By the time the agents came back to the office, Gates seemed ‘nicer’ albeit reluctantly. Karyn took the lead on the questions. “How long did you and Charles Welden date?”

“About a year,” Shakira said.

“At about the same time he was dating Rochelle McPherson?”

Shakira didn’t answer.

Ignoring the lack of response, Karyn continued, “Did he ever tell you what he did for a living?”

“He was a freelance accountant,” Shakira said, ignoring Gates watchful gaze piercing into her.

“Aren’t these questions you could’ve just read the case file and answered yourselves?” Wayne interfered.

“We want to hear them from Miss Dalton.” Karyn’s voice was pleasant but there was a steel of command beneath as she asked, “Did you know any of his clients?”

“Apart from McPhersons?” Shakira shook her head. “Charlie wanted a Chinese wall when it came to our work.”

The insistence on confidentiality had always surprised Shakira. It wasn’t like they were doctors or anything. But Charlie had insisted that money was just as important as health – if not more. She’d left him to his foibles.

“You deposited four thousand dollars in your account on the sixth of January. Where did you get it from?”

“How do you expect her to remember?” Wayne protested. “That’s five months ago.”

“I remember,” Shakira said before Karyn could explain herself. She remembered because that had been just when she’d hit the anger stage after their breakup and was feeling vengeful and petty. “Charlie owed me some money and I insisted he pay me back.”

“So you’re claiming Charlie gave you that money,” Gates asked, speaking for the first time.

“I’m not claiming anything.” Shakira glanced at him. “I’m saying he gave me the money.”

“Do you have any receipts?” he asked.

There was just something about the man that prickled her and Shakira returned smartly, “From where? He was my ex not a bank.”

Gates’ eyes narrowed. “What about Rochelle?”

“What
about
Rochelle?” Shakira returned.

“Was she-”Karyn started.

Gates interrupted Karyn’s words as he asked, “Did Rochelle know about this money that Charles supposedly gave you?”

The way he said that ‘supposedly’! Ugh! Why would she lie? Shakira shrugged, “I wouldn’t know.”

Gates gaze hardened, obvious anger in his expression as he asked, “Is that why you killed her?”

The question caught Shakira off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse my partner he’s-”

“This interview is ov-” Both Karyn and Wayne rushed to intervene.

“Is that why you killed Rochelle, Charlie and Fenton?” Gates yelled loudly over their words as he jumped to his feet. ”Because they knew about that little ring you were running.”

CHAPTER 12

“I’m really, really sorry,” Karyn apologized profusely. At her bidding, Gates had stormed out of
Green, Green & Becket
, headed to God knows where and leaving the intended interview in shambles in the wake of his exit. Karyn explained, “He’s just been a little wound up since his partner disappeared.”

“Well then you should carry a leash for him or at least keep him away from my client,” Wayne announced. “I should report him to your superiors.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Perkins, it will be handled,” the agent assured, an intent look in her eyes.

“It better be,” he threatened ominously.

Karyn turned to Shakira, “Again, I’m really sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Shakira said even though it was anything
but
okay. Gates’ accusations had shaken her. Being accused of killing Charlie was one thing, but Rochelle and Fenton, Gates’ former partner, was ridiculous.

Okay, so she hated Rochelle and probably would’ve slapped the shit out of her if she met her on the street - but kill her? Shakira wasn’t that stupid. Of course she’d be the first suspect. As for Fenton, before today Shakira hadn’t even known what an FBI agent looked like so why in the world would she know anything about the man’s disappearance a few days before Charlie had repaid her.

It was absurd.

Gates didn’t have the right to make such claims, especially when he had no bodies to back them up.

Once Karyn left the office, Wayne released a deep gush of breath as he dropped on the couch next to Shakira. “I’m sorry I put you in that situation.” He turned to her with a pained expression. “They said it was just some routine questioning.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Resisting the urge to run a comforting hand over his mane of copper curls, Shakira settled for lightly patting his shoulder. “There was no way you could’ve known where the interview was going.”

“Gates is a psycho.” Wayne kissed his teeth. “Rochelle McPherson is probably on some beach somewhere cleaning out some tycoon’s bank account.”

‘Maybe!” Shakira doubted it. Rochelle was many things but a gold-digger was not one of them. The McPherson’s family wallet was plump enough that she didn’t need to be. As much as she hated Rochelle, she couldn’t help but wish that the woman was okay wherever she was, beach or not. At the very least it would clear Shakira’s name.

“What does the four thousand dollars Charlie gave me have to do with any of this?” Shakira asked.

“I suspect it has something to do with this Fenton guy.” Wayne tapped his chin in contemplation as he added, “But I’ll find out more. After that stunt Gates’ just pulled, I’m sure I can pull some information out of Karyn.”

“So this means I still can’t touch my money?”

“I’m sorry.” He paused before rising slightly and reaching into his back pocket. When he sat back down, he had his wallet in his hand. “Look, if you need some cash I can-”

“No. No. No.” Shakira rushed to forestall him. Her hand covered his over the black leather wallet as she said, “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay.”

It was bad enough that she was living off the charity of one man. Wayne had already put in so much – some would even say too much – of his time to help her solve her legal issues. She didn’t want to stretch their relationship anymore than it already was.

“Are you sure?” Doubt wrinkled his brow, drawing her attention to the freckles tempering his skin.

“I’m-”

A brief knock halted her answer. The door swung open and Wayne’s assistant peeked in, “Mr. Perkins, Donny Tellathe is here.”

“Gimme a minute.” Wayne shooed the assistant off.

Recognizing the name of the popular Olympian, Shakira stood up with her bag in hand. “I should go. I know you’ve got other clients to deal with.”

Already slipping into lawyer mode, Wayne nodded briskly as he too stood up. “I’ll find out more about this money and what it has to do with your account then let you know.”

She wanted to ask for a firm date so she’d know exactly how much more time she had with Nathan but she had no right to push Wayne. She settled for, “Okay. Thank you.”

By the time she left the building that housed
Green, Green & Becket
, it was only thirty minutes to her date with Nathan. Food was the absolute last thing she wanted right now. She wasn’t even sure she could swallow through the stress clogging the back of her throat. She needed someone to talk to, and after the doubt he’d displayed this morning, she just didn’t feel like Nathan was the one she should be downloading her troubles on.

Extracting her phone from her bag, she dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring, “Hey, baby.”

“Hey,” she greeted. “Can I take a rain-check on lunch?”

“Is something wrong?”

She grabbed the first excuse that floated by. “I’m feeling a bit unwell.”

“I’m on my way.”

“No. Please don’t leave work.” She scrambled to avert him. “It’s just a little headache. Nothing an Aspirin and a nap can’t fix.”

“Are you sure?” The concern in his voice was palpable. It was almost enough to make up for his not trusting her.

“I’m sure,” she soothed. “I’ll see you when you get back from work, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. She was about to end the call when he called out, “Kira?”

“Yeah?”

There was brief pause of static before he quietly said, “Stay safe.”

“I will.” Despite the distance between them, she had the feeling that he wanted to say a lot more than just ‘
stay safe
’ but he didn’t. They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Her next call was to London.

“I’m on my way,” London said the moment Shakira briefed her about what had happened in Wayne’s office. Considering that it was probably peak time at
Nappy Palace
, Shakira would’ve told her not to come over but she knew her friend well enough to know it was an exercise in futility. When it came to their friendship, London would step in front of a train, as Shakira would for her.

The drive home was shorter than she expected and in a few minutes she was in front of their building. After parking Jeanine, Shakira took quick steps up the stairs. She must’ve been preoccupied because she walked right into a hulking silver-haired man.

“Sorry,” she apologized automatically.

He removed the piece of grass sticking from his teeth to say, “No problem,” before walking off.

She’d never seen him before but that wasn’t strange. Most people in the building kept to themselves and with the constant sub-letting it was hard to keep count of new faces. She probably wouldn’t have looked back at the man if it wasn’t for the fact that though he was wearing a rumpled suit, he had a college bag hanging off one arm and was carrying a large cubed metallic box in the other.
Strange
.

Shrugging the silver-haired man out of her conscience, she made her way to the apartment. Barely twenty minutes later, there was a buzz a door. A smile already creasing her face, Shakira opened it.

London was standing on the other side. “Ding dong, the bitch is dead.”

“Rochelle isn’t dead.”

“I think Charlie killed her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shakira’s lips curled derisively. “Charlie’s dead. How’s he supposed to have killed her?”

“No, hear me out.” London’s eyes widened. “You remember when I was having that
Republic of Doyle
phase?”

“I remember.” Shakira rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t stop talking about how Canadian men are fine.”

“That Allan Hawco.” London trembled slightly drawing a chuckle from Shakira before she added, “Anyway, so in one of the episodes a doctor helped a prisoner escape by injecting him with some drug that made him look dead for a couple of hours. Maybe that’s what happened with Charlie. He got a hit of that dead-crack and then when everyone was busy blaming you, he whistled himself right out of the morgue.”

“Is that even pos-” Shakira halted her words on their tracks and she shook her head as if to clear it. Standing up, she said “No. No. No. I can’t believe I’m even entertaining your wacko ideas. Be gone, Satan.”

“Come on. It’s a legit theory…” London insisted as she followed Shakira to the kitchen.

Nathan tapped on his keyboard, switching the view of the house from that of the living room to the kitchen as he tracked the two women. Only a few minutes ago Randall had left his office. Amidst complaints that Shakira had almost caught him while he was wiring the house, the PI had dropped off the already set-up laptop. After promising him a hefty bonus for his quick reaction, Nathan had sent him back to watch Shakira.

Even though she was in the house and he could see her, he wanted someone close to her when he wasn’t there, just in case Alim tried something. Recent photos showed that Alim was still on her tail.

He’d stopped trying to figure out his feelings for Shakira. Yes, he was still suspicious, but slowly the concern for her safety was taking over. The money her mother had filched from him seemed inconsequential when compared to everything else that was going on in her life. From what he’d gleaned from her phone conversation with London, she was now under suspicion for two other possible murders.

Ludicrous!

Shakira wasn’t capable of murder.

The only reason he’d hesitated when she’d told him about Charlie was because considering all the evidence and everything he knew about Shakira and her mother, his first instinct was doubt. His mind told him that trusting was what had gotten him into her mess in the first place.

However, his heart told him to believe her.

It’d reminded him of how giving she was in and out of bed. How honest she’d been with him. Even when she was being evasive, she’d never deliberately lied. His heart told him to look at her again. Did she look like a woman capable of murder? By the time she came back from her shower. He’d decided she wasn’t. She was telling him the truth – at least when it came to Charlie. Her story was too fantastic to be a lie anyway.

Watching her conversing with London had only sealed his perception. Shakira had no reason to lie to her best friend. The barely leashed anger in her body as she’d related the FBI’s accusations had been real as had been her attempts to figure out what was going on. Nathan wanted nothing more than to drop everything at work and rush home to reassure her.

But then he’d have to explain how he even knew what was going on.

Shit.

This situation was getting complicated by the minute and his feelings thornier by the day. Instead of easing his need for her, their mating had only increased it. When he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her. When he wasn’t cussing her and her mother for putting them in this situation, he was trying to figure out ways to protect her.

When he wasn’t finding ways to get more information on her, he was wondering if it’d be easier to just ask her where Eve was. But she wouldn’t tell him, would she? Their conversations had showed him one thing, Shakira was loyalty personified. Something told him that despite Eve’s sins, the allegiance still applied.

He sighed in frustration. Why was everything so complicated?

“…you know if Charlie is alive he’s gon’ come back for his thumb-drive,” London said on-screen, drawing Nathan’s immediate attention.
What thumb-drive?

“Charlie’s dead.” Shakira frowned uncertainly as she handed London a glass of juice.

“Keep telling yourself that.” After taking a healthy gulp of the juice, London asked, “Have you cracked it yet?”

“Not yet and I’ve tried
everything
.” Shakira sighed. “Can we change the topic?”

Don’t!
Nathan mentally begged. The thumb drive might be the clue to this Charlie fiasco.

“Okay,” London shattered his hopes. She reached into a pocket and extracted a folded piece of paper and handed it to Shakira. “Look what I found.”

Nathan zoomed in on the glossy paper. The moment Shakira unfolded it, he recognized it as one of
Extreme Expression 104
’s flyers.

“Your boo is holding auditions for dancers, singers, actors and comedians-”

“I am not hooking you up,” Shakira interrupted.

“Come on. What’s the point of sleeping with the boss if you’re not gon’ throw some favoritism our way.”

“No.” Shakira shook her head. “Besides, I thought the Xin Monsters valued their art too much to let the mainstream suck the life out of it.”

“A bitch’s gotta make money and if the mainstream is where it’s at…”

Their conversation gave him an idea; a way to boost his campaign to ingratiate himself into Shakira’s good graces. After muting the conversation and minimizing the screen, he called his personal assistant. “Kasey, I need you to prepare a VIP audition invite for the Xin Monsters. I think they perform at that rockers club near L&G, but I’m not sure.”

“I’ll find them,” Kasey assured him. Then before he could end the call, Kasey asked, “Mr. Hollis, did you find the card I set on your desk?”