Gilt (16 page)

I decided a love or at least an understanding of baseball was probably genetic, and I gave up, wandering to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. I considered the various ghost books I checked out, but decided I had done enough research for the night. I dropped onto the couch in front of the TV and grabbed the remote. It was almost nine and I figured I'd flip channels for an hour before turning in early to prepare for my drive in the morning.

I was halfway through an episode of one of the
Law and Order
shows when a car pulled in the driveway. I had a firm rule that I never answered the door at night unless I knew who was there, so I dashed for the kitchen and peeked through the window in time to see Paul Denton stride to my front door, his face set and angry.

Oh, shit. Candace probably called him. What to do? I considered ignoring him, but what good would that do? Maybe I should call Dan. Well, damn. I didn't have Dan's phone number, did I? There was some way to retrieve it from my phone, but I had never gotten that far in the phone's manual. While I dithered, Paul rang the doorbell.

Grumble peeked at me from the top step of the basement staircase. "Should I or shouldn't I?" I mumbled. The bell rang again. I opened the door and plastered a smile on my face. "Paul, hi. How's it going?"

He pushed past me and grabbed the door, shutting it behind him with a booming slam. Grumble took one look and fled down the stairs. "Why did you frighten my daughter?" Paul demanded.

I took a step back, trying to get away from him in the narrow confines of the tiny foyer. He seemed even bigger than ever, filling the small space with his body, his dark blue knit shirt stretched tight across his chest and his khaki shorts emphasizing his heavy, thick thighs. As I moved away, I caught a faint whiff of his cologne, something spicy, mixed with a musky fragrance. I wondered if that was the smell of anger. "Frighten her?" I asked as calmly as I could manage. "What do you mean?"

"She said you called and wanted to know what happened the night John died. I don't want my children involved, do you hear me? They had nothing to do with it." He glowered at me and for the first time I really understood what that word meant. He almost
glowed
with anger, as though he had been ignited.

His anger touched off my own anger, which had been simmering for the last few days. I was getting damn tired of having men push me around and I let it show. "They had nothing to do with what?" I leaned forward, my fists clenched. "What do you know about that night?"

His eyes widened and his mouth opened in an O of shock. For a minute I thought he might turn around and flee. Then he straightened. "You have no idea what my family has been through these last six years. I won't have them upset, do you hear me?"

I glared back at him. "My husband was killed in that fire, Paul. What do you know about it? What's going on?" I plunged ahead recklessly, worries about confidentiality agreements and ghosts tossed aside. "You were in trouble, weren't you? Is that why John was killed? You were supposed to be on duty that night. Were you supposed to die instead of him?"

Paul's normally dark face turned an ashy, sickly gray color. "What do you know?"

My pent-up guilt and frustration spilled out. "I know that you were John's friend and he's dead and you know something about it and won't help solve his murder. Because it
was
a murder, wasn't it?"

Paul staggered back, one faltering step that had him leaning against the wall, the light from the entryway shining on his glistening, sweaty face. "You have no idea what it's been like," he whispered, his voice so hoarse and breaking it was to understand his words.

"Tell me." I stared at him, willing him to talk, willing him to, I don't know what, to confess? I wasn't sure. All I knew was that he had something to hide and I damn well was going to know what it was. "What could make you let your best friend to die?"

He winced, looking anywhere but at me, dodging my gaze. I didn't let him get away with it. I bobbed and weaved with him until he was forced to face me. What I saw in his brown-and-hazel eyes was despair. "You don't know what it was like. Roberta had cancer and the insurance didn't cover all her expenses. Candace was looking at colleges and she had her heart set on a private school. She needed a computer and an iPod and a cell phone. Billy was in sports and they cost so much. My investments didn't do well." He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened his eyes, they were damp. Tears? I didn't care. All I wanted were answers. "Michael's investments didn't go well, either."

"Michael," I whispered. "What did he do?"

"He was in an investment club with your aunt, but he also started a club here in town. I don't know what happened, but our club did poorly. I'm not sure where Michael got the cash to cover his losses."

I stared at him when he faltered and he shook his head. "I do know," he confessed. "Michael embezzled from your aunt. I didn't have a rich old lady around, though. I needed cash. I went to an old friend of mine from the neighborhood, a guy I grew up with back in Detroit. He's got a big car and a nice house. He put me in touch with people. I got the money from them. All I had to do was buy and sell a few houses, put the deeds in my name. I did that twice before I realized what they were doing."

Michael embezzled from Portia? Was John right? I shelved that thought for the moment and focused on the confusion that Paul might be able to answer. "I don't understand. How could buying and selling a house be illegal? Were they flipping them or something?"

"Mortgage fraud. They had me buy the house then I signed the property over to them after closing in a quit claim deed. They rented the property until it was foreclosed because they didn't make payments." He turned away from me, stumbling toward the kitchen table where he sank into a chair, cradling his face in his hands.

I followed, slipping into the chair next to him. "How long did that go on?"

"I did three deals for them over the course of a year then I told them I was done and I wanted out." The kitchen was partially dark, lit only by the glow from the entryway and the living room, but even in that poor lighting I could see his face was taut with remembered misery. "They threatened me. Good God, you have no idea what they said."

I grabbed his arm. My pale hand was startling white against the darkness of his skin. My fingers barely covered the top of his thick, muscular forearm but I clung to him to add emphasis to my words. "What could they say that would make you betray the trust of everyone around you? What could they say that would make you ignore what they did to John--he was your best friend, Paul!" I took a steadying breath and forced my voice to calmness. "I don't understand."

He didn't speak for a long minute, his gaze resting on my hand on his arm, his eyes thoughtful. When he spoke, he stared at the oak table as though he couldn't bear to meet my eyes. "They threatened my family. They told me if I didn't help them, they'd take Candace and make her one of their women. They're called turnouts. You have no idea. They brought a woman to our house and she told how she was used for sex, whenever and wherever they wanted her. Any man could take her and use her however he wanted. She was Candace's age. She was only sixteen years old and she was so hard, so used."

Paul's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, his eyes as haunted as John's had been the other night. "My children and my wife had to listen to that. What could I do? They threatened to kill Billy. They said they could watch him while he was playing soccer and take him afterward." Paul grabbed my hand, pulling it off his arm and clasping it in his. "They talked about raping him and killing him or selling him to a pedophile. My family had nightmares after that. We're still looking over our shoulders. I swear to God, it quickened Roberta's death. She was terrified for our children, for me, for herself. What could I do against something like that? I kept doing deals for them, one here and there, for years." His hand tightened on mine as though pouring all those violent images through our tenuous link.

"You couldn't go to the police?" I asked weakly. His words stunned me. Yes, I knew people like that existed in the world, but Good Lord, please, not here, not threatening people I knew! I thought about Dan. He dealt with people like that when he was a cop. How did someone face animals like that and come home and have a family? How did someone interact with creatures like that then go to a barbeque and to baseball games and live a normal life? Wouldn't it rub off on someone? Wouldn't they be tainted?

Paul laughed bitterly. "I didn't go to the police. The police came to me. The FBI came." He saw my startled expression. "It wasn't the agent they have now. It was somebody else. I don't know how they knew, but they suspected I was involved. They asked me to inform on the gang."

"Good heavens," I murmured. "When did this happen?"

"Two years ago." He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot with unshed tears. "They said they had years of data but they needed a witness. I didn't know what to do. Roberta was gone. I had to protect my family."

"Were you supposed to die in that fire?" I whispered.

He closed his eyes and his throat worked convulsively, his Adams' apple bobbing as a tear rolled down his cheek. "They called me at the station house and told me to leave. They told me to watch what happened and learn what they did to informants."

I wiggled my hand free of his, stunned. Of all the possible scenarios, this was one I had never imagined. Who could imagine such horror? "I don't understand."

Paul drew in a long, shuddering breath. "The little girl in that fire was the daughter of an informant. They killed her, Gen. They kidnapped her, put her in that building, lured her there with that puppy. They set the building on fire to warn the girl's parents and to warn me. It was a clear message. Don't inform on us or your children will die, too." He sat back, wiping his face with his hand. "Her family left town after that. No one's seen or heard from them since. They may be dead for all I know."

I rose and poured us each a glass of water, my legs weak. I set his glass in front of him before sipping from my glass, hoping to erase the taste of bile in my throat. "What about Michael?" I asked. "Where does he fit in?"

Paul took a long swallow before answering. His hands shook when he set down the glass. "My contact in the gang wanted an introduction. They asked to meet him. They must have figured out who my friends were. You know how Michael is. He immediately tried to impress this guy about his connections and who he knows."

I nodded. I could easily imagine Michael doing that.

"What I didn't realize was why they wanted to meet him."

I sipped my water as I thought. "Something to do with his law office?"

Paul nodded. "That was part of it. The other part was your aunt."

"Aunt Portia?" Was Dan right? Did Portia really have something to do with this? "How could she be involved?"

"She owns some very valuable land. Michael made it sound like he could get his hands on it. My contact was very, very interested."

"What did he mean he could get his hands on it? It's not valuable, it's only a bunch of farm..." My voice dried up as I remembered what Michael said earlier. How much was someone willing to pay for that land, to build a casino? Why did he think he could get access to it?

Good Lord. Did he have something to do with Portia's illness?

"Michael told me that they researched your aunt. He told me they knew that she was related to John and to you and to Amy." He frowned, his dark eyes confused. "They were interested in Amy. Michael didn't understand it."

I leaned back. "I don't understand it, either. She lives in Baltimore. What does she have to do with anything?"

"I don't know, but Michael said they asked him a lot of questions about Amy and her son and where she lives. He didn't know much, but he told them everything he knew." Paul hung his head as though exhaustion gripped him. "The gang has left me alone for the last year but I'm not in the clear. I know I'm not. I'll never be free of them. I didn't want to tell you, but you need to know what an investigation might uncover." He stared intently at me, his face so close I could see the fine lines around his eyes. "Michael told me you're dating that Steele guy. You have to promise me you won't tell him anything about this. My family is still in danger, Genny. I know John died in that fire, but I think his death was an accident. Can't you let it all go?"

I leaned back. "You have to talk to the FBI about this, Paul. Wait a minute." Then his words soaked in. "You talked to Michael tonight about me and Dan?"

Paul nodded. "He called me. He's worried about you dating Dan Steele. It surprised me when I first heard it, but the more I thought about it, the better it seemed."

"We're not really dating," I said quickly. "It's just, you know, coffee now and again."

"Whatever." He got to his feet, looming over me. I peered up at him. "Promise me you won't say anything to Steele. Promise me you'll back off."

I hesitated. All of this was information that Dan could use. If he couldn't use it, maybe that FBI agent could. I got to my feet. "I can't do that, Paul." When he started to object, I said, "I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure you and your family stays safe. But I won't stand by and see other innocent people be hurt." I thought of John, who gave his life to rescue that child and my anger flared again.

Then I thought of Dan's wife. "Why was Dan's wife murdered?"