Hot Pursuit (11 page)

Working fast, he sent Shane a text with the phone number and the message:
Run this # 4 me—found a phone, need 2 know owner listed.

Hang on.

Taylor waited what seemed an eternity, but in fact was only a minute. A long one. The answer, when it came, liquefied his guts.

Owner is Max Griffin from San Diego. Our dead guy. Where did u find it?! Call me!

After closing his eyes for a moment, he blew out a deep breath and texted back.

Will do better—bringing in person of interest. C u soon

OK

“Oh, fuck.”
Have I been sleeping with a murderer?
Taylor was turning, pocketing the evidence, which now had his fucking fingerprints all over it, when Cara appeared in the doorway, wide-eyed and disheveled.

Slowly, he held up the device. “Looking for this?”

Every ounce of blood must've drained from her face, she was so white. “I—I . . . It's not what it looks like. I can explain!”

“You're going to get a chance to do just that,” he said coldly. “At the station.”

Her face was priceless. Had she been any other suspect, he would've very much enjoyed that she looked about two seconds from passing out. He would've egged her on, too, baited her about how much jail time she might get for withholding evidence, at the least.

But he didn't have to say a word. Her terror visibly ramped up without his assistance.

“What's going to happen to me?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “That depends on several factors. The most important of which is how you came by that phone.”

“I—”

“Don't say anything just yet. Save it for questioning.”

She flinched, and her fear gave him no pleasure. Typically, when he caught a break in a case, no matter how small, there was the coil of excitement in his gut. Anticipation. Not long ago, he and Shane had discussed this very feeling, and Taylor had told his partner he loved solving puzzles, that piecing together a case was like reading a book backward.

Now he only felt sick with dread. Following a thread back in time to the inciting events always led to someone's pain. He had a suspicion this break was going to lead somewhere he had no desire to go, and he was on the ride whether he wanted to be or not.

The silence was heavy as he waited for her to get dressed, and later grew stifling in his car. She fidgeted with the seat belt, face drawn, but he said nothing to relieve her anxiety. He couldn't, not even after they'd been together.

Especially
not after that.

Cara knew he was a detective. She had in her possession a personal item belonging to a dead man, which she'd claimed she could explain. That had to mean she already knew Griffin was deceased and she'd taken the phone for a reason. He just couldn't imagine what the hell that reason might be.

Walking beside him into the station, she came quietly, eyes darting around as though she expected someone to slap handcuffs on her any second. That remained to be seen. Yet despite how bad it looked, he didn't think her capable of killing a man.

Of course, the graveyard was full of victims who'd mistakenly thought the same.

Shane met them in the hallway leading to the interview rooms and Taylor sighed, glad his partner was here for this instead of out on a case somewhere. “I'll put her in this first room. Give me a sec.”

“Sure thing.” Shane eyed Cara, and gave her a nod to acknowledge her.

Taylor ushered her into the plain room that consisted of a table, three chairs, and a two-way mirror. That's where the captain would stand and watch, if he wasn't busy. A lead in a murder case tended to get bumped to top priority.

“Sit there,” he told her, pointing to the single chair on the opposite side of the table. “My partner and I will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” she said in a small voice. Then, with more confidence, “I didn't kill Max.”

“If not, then you have nothing to worry about.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Except for the withholding-evidence thing. We'll be right with you.”

He felt her gaze on his back as he left. Now he had to face his partner and the captain. Things were about to get pretty damned awkward.

Closing the door to the interview room, he met Shane and they walked down the hall, out of Cara's earshot. Austin met them and the three of them ducked into an empty room.

“All right, what the hell is going on?” the captain barked.

“This.” Removing the phone from his pocket, Taylor held it up for the captain and Shane to see. “I found this in Cara Evans's house. In her, um, bedroom closet.”

“In her closet? Why were you . . .” Austin paused, made a face. “Aw, shit. You're sleeping with a damned suspect?”

“In my defense, she wasn't a suspect,” he said curtly. “As far as I'm concerned, she still isn't. Cara is a person of interest.”

“Of
great
interest,” Shane said. “She was in possession of a dead man's phone.”

Taylor pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know that. I brought her straight here when I realized what it was.”

“Was it hidden?” his partner asked.

“Yeah. I was borrowing a fresh shirt and a box fell out on the floor. The phone tumbled out of the box.”

“Has she given an explanation for having it?”

“She tried, but I told her to wait until we got here. I didn't want to compromise the investigation more than it already has been.”

“Good thinking.”

“How serious is it with you and this girl?” Austin probed.

He shook his head. “I don't know. We've been together a couple of times.”

“Could get messy.”

Damn.
“Yeah. Shall we?”

Shane followed Taylor down the hall and into the interview room, but the captain stopped him.

“No way. Chris will handle this with your partner.”

With a resigned sigh, he followed Austin into the room next door to watch and listen behind the two-way mirror. Chris walked into the room, and Shane took the lead. Taylor tensed as the scene unfolded.

“Could you state your name and address, please?”

“Cara Ann Evans,” she said nervously. Then she rattled off her house number and street.

“Where did you get the phone my partner found in your closet?”

She swallowed hard, her attention divided between the two men. “I took it from Max's hotel room.”

The dread that had been sitting in Taylor's gut like a rock grew fangs.

Shane leaned forward. “Which hotel room? Where?”

“The one he rented here in town. I don't remember the name.”

“Did Griffin give you the phone? Ask you to hold it for him?” He was giving her an easy out or trying to trip her in a lie.

“No. I—I took it because I thought it might contain a clue as to who killed him.”

Shane exchanged a look with Chris. Now they were getting to the nitty-gritty.

“And why would you be concerned about who killed Max Griffin?”

“He was a friend of mine. I've known him for years, and he's been like a father to me.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Okay. You know he's from San Diego, then.”

“Yes,” she said, wiping a tear from her face.

“Do you know why he came to Sugarland?”

“No, and I didn't know he was coming until he was already here. He called me when he arrived and wanted me to meet him at his motel, but he wouldn't say why over the phone.” She paused. Taylor had an awful feeling he knew what she was about to say next, and he was right. “I went to his room, and the door was cracked open a little. When I pushed it open and stepped in, I saw him d-dead. He had a hole in his forehead.”

“Goddammit,” Taylor hissed, pushing a hand through his hair. In the small room before him, Cara's expression was one of pure misery.

Shane went on. “What did you do next?”

“Nothing. Except I saw his phone on the nightstand, and I took it on impulse. I shouldn't have.” Her expression begged them to understand. “I didn't touch anything else, and I left.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home. I looked through the phone, but none of the numbers looked familiar except mine. And, well, my mother's.”

There was a new twist.

“Your mother?”

“Yes, Melinda Evans. She lives out in San Diego, at our family estate. Max is a family friend and attorney, not just a friend of mine. He paid my mother a visit before he came out here, but I didn't find out about it until after he was killed. My mother called and said Max came by and yelled at her, but she wasn't sure why.”

“She doesn't know
why
he was upset? How could she not know if he was there in person?”

“My mother is an addict.” Her tone was bitter. “A well-dressed, attractive, upper-class junkie. I control the money, give her an allowance and such, but that doesn't always stop her from getting drugs. A lot of what she says doesn't make sense anymore, even when she's not using.”

There was one of Taylor's questions answered: Cara came from family money. That was how she could afford her lifestyle. It wasn't a stretch, given the picture she painted of home, to see why she'd move across the country to sing and tend bar.

“All right.” Shane fell silent, regarding her for a moment. “Anything else you'd like to tell us?”

She bit her lip. There
was
something else, he could tell. After an internal debate, however, she slumped in her chair. “No.”

“Then you won't have a problem with us searching your home.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as she gaped at his partner, eyes darting between him and Chris. “What? You want to go through my house? I just told you I didn't touch anything else and I didn't kill Max!”

“Then you won't have anything to worry about, Miss Evans.” Shane stood. “We'll see about getting a warrant. In the meantime, sit tight.”

“I'm not free to go?” She swung her gaze to Chris. “Why can't I leave if I'm not being arrested?”

“You
can
leave, though I suggest you stay here for now,” he explained. “It'll be easier for everyone involved.”

The look of betrayal pierced Taylor, and it hurt.

“In case you decide to place me under arrest.”

Chris didn't deny the charge.

“You all think I had something to do with Max's death,” she whispered.

At that point, Taylor couldn't stand to stay away another second. Ignoring Austin's muttered oath, he pushed out of the observation room and into the interview room next door. “Can I have a minute with Cara?”

Glancing at each other and exchanging a meaningful look, Shane nodded. “Now that we're done, sure.”

He and Chris left Taylor alone with Cara. Her pale face made his heart clench, and he quickly crossed to her, hoping to reassure her in some way.

“It's obvious you're connected to Griffin's murder in some way. You might even be in danger, since it was you he was coming to see. But, personally, I don't think you did it, and I don't think anyone else does, either.”

“Do you think . . . maybe whoever killed him wanted to stop him from talking to me?”

“It's possible.” For the first time since he'd found the phone in her closet, he gave her a small hint of encouragement. “I don't want anything to happen to you. So let's do this my way, all right?”

“Sure,” she answered with a tremulous smile.

Touching her face briefly, he turned and left. Austin was waiting down the hall, and spoke quietly. “I don't like her for the murder, either. I do agree she's connected, however. If the search of her house turns up nothing, I suggest we keep an eye on her.” He shot Taylor a meaningful look. “And not from under her sheets.”

Ouch.
“If she's cleared as a suspect, then there's no reason I can't see her.” He was pushing that issue and he knew it.

“She's a witness, dumb-ass. Do I have to use small words so you can understand the fucked-up nature of this situation?”

He winced, and Shane sent him a look of sympathy. “No, sir.”

“Good. Now get going on that warrant so we can figure out why some douche bag offed some lawyer from the land of fruits and nuts in
my
county. Scram.”

Taylor stopped by Chris's desk. “Hey, man. Thanks for handling my part of the interview with Cara. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Chris eyed him in concern. “You okay?”

“I will be. Just as soon as we find something useful and clear her, too.”

“What else can I do to help?”

“I need you to take a look at Griffin's phone. See what you can find that might give us a lead.”

Chris eyed the device. “I'll check out the incoming and outgoing calls. I'll let you know what turns up.”

“Thanks again.” Some of the tension eased inside him.

“Don't mention it. Just be careful, all right?”

“
Careful
is my middle name.” That earned him a snort.

Leaving Chris to his new task, Taylor suddenly stopped, smacking his forehead. “Shit! Blake.”

He was at Cara's house, probably still asleep. The kid was going to freak when he showed up with Shane to search her place. God, he hoped this didn't undermine the trust he was building with the younger man. He'd just have to make him understand.

Shane requested the warrant and it didn't take long for the judge to grant one. Cara had been holding a piece of evidence in the murder and had admitted to being on the scene and seeing Max's dead body. That was enough. While Taylor waited, Shane went back to the interview room, showed her a copy of the warrant, and retrieved her house key.

Outside, they climbed in the car, Taylor behind the wheel. He expected Shane to launch into a thousand questions or give him a lecture. He did neither of those. When the silence grew too heavy, Taylor glanced at his partner.

“Whatever is on your mind, spit it out.”

“Nothing . . .”

“Bullshit. Come on, you've never held back before. If you start now, you might pop a blood vessel.”

“This girl—”

“Cara,” he supplied tersely. “She has a name.”

Shane paused, gave him a hard stare. “O-kaay. You seem to have it bad for
Cara
. I'm not trying to piss in your Wheaties, but I want you to be careful because something's not adding up with her.”

A sharp retort formed on his lips, then died. He'd say the same thing if their situations were reversed. A tired sigh escaped him. “Duly noted.”

In less than fifteen minutes, he pulled up in front of Cara's house and they got out. On the front porch, he knocked and waited, in case Blake was still here. He was kind of hoping the boy was out, but no such luck. Time to face the music.

“Hey, dudes,” Blake said cheerfully, opening the door for them as they stepped inside. “What's up?”