Lead Me On (18 page)

“Really? Boxing? That’s kind of hot.”

“You say that about a lot of things.”

“Seriously, you sweating and half-naked while you beat the shit out of that big red bag? That’s hot.”

“Why would I be half-naked?”

“Er…Because you like me?”

Jane rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm.

“Ouch. Do that a couple more times and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Shut up!” Jane laughed, throwing a few light punches at his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Do it, baby.”

“I thought I was supposed to be half-naked,” she teased.

“Shit, you’re right. Come ’ere.” Chase unzipped the hoodie she was wearing while Jane pretended to slap his hands away. He was just sliding his hands under her shirt when his cell phone rang. His hands didn’t stop sliding.

“Chase!” she protested as his palms covered her breasts. “Answer the phone.”

“Later.” His hot mouth sucked at her throat.

“It might be important.”

“
This
is important.”

Yes, it was. It really was. Especially when his teeth scraped down to her shoulder. The phone stopped ringing, and Jane sank back into the couch, sighing when Chase followed her down. His body pressed into her….

And his phone rang again.

“Shit,”
he barked, pushing up to sit on the edge of the couch and grab his phone. “Don’t move.” He flipped open the phone. “This is Chase.” His back straightened, and Jane heard an urgent male voice speaking rapidly on the other end of the line.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, we’ll be right there.”

Jane jumped off the couch and began pulling on her shoes. “What is it?” she begged when he closed the phone.

“My dad has something to show us.”

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “Something to do with a police report. He said he’d tell us when we got there.”

Jane grabbed her purse and coat and they were out the door. The fifteen-minute ride seemed to take an hour, but Jane comforted herself with assurances that he must have found something good.

Jane raced up to the door and knocked, but couldn’t make herself wait for him to answer. Horrified with her own rudeness, she pulled the door open herself. “Mr. Chase?”

“Hello, Jane! Would you like a beer?”

“No, thank you. What did you find?”

“Hey, Billy!” he said when Chase pushed past Jane. “Can I get you a brewski?”

“No, Dad.” Jane could hear the edge of impatience in Chase’s voice. Or perhaps she was projecting her own vibrating impatience onto him.

“Mr. Chase,” she pleaded, “did you find something?”

“Oh, I sure did. I already called Ms. Holloway to tell her. You two want to sit down?”

Jane launched herself toward a chair and sat down so quickly it skidded across the linoleum. She counted to ten while Chase approached and took the chair next to hers. She made it all the way to twenty while his father puttered around, straightening out files and rearranging papers.

Finally he sat down and opened one of the files. “As soon as I heard about the last murder victim, I went down there to see if she’d filed a complaint about a stolen purse in the past couple of months.”

Jane swallowed. Maybe it wasn’t good news after all.

“I found the report. It’s all a matter of public record. Her purse was stolen from a place called Steel. Jessie mentioned it in one of his interviews.”

“Oh, no,” Jane whispered.

“But—and here’s the important part—she said her purse was stolen on May thirteenth.”

Jane frowned. “The thirteenth?”

“Jessie was arrested on the seventh. He was in custody on the thirteenth.”

“It couldn’t have been him.”

Mr. Chase shook his head. “It couldn’t have been him.”

Overwhelmed, Jane grabbed Chase’s hand and squeezed it. “This is it, right? This is why they didn’t arrest him again. They don’t have anything.”

Chase’s dad smiled. “They don’t have anything. Jessie admits he stole Michelle Brown’s purse, but there’s no evidence he was involved in the theft of Kelly Anderson’s backpack, and he couldn’t possibly have committed this last theft.”

Jane nodded, blinking back tears. “So all we have to worry about are the legitimate charges of theft.”

“Probably. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Cops don’t like to give up on a hunch. Right now Jessie is their only lead, as far as we know, and they won’t want to let him go. I want to give them something else to think about.”

“Like what? I don’t understand.”

“We’re going to go through these files and find something they’ve missed. Even if it’s just an idea. Every single page. You sure you don’t want that beer now?”

Jane shook her head, and they got to work.

An hour later they’d made a list of possible connections between the women. Most of them were tenuous, and the police had probably connected most of the dots, but it was better than nothing.

Churches, schools, doctors, friends. If those details had been collected, they hadn’t been included with the evidence provided to Jessie’s lawyer. But despite all their hypothesizing, it was clear that the women were linked by the thefts.

“All the reports were taken by different officers, but that’s not to say another officer couldn’t have taken an interest in each woman as she came in.”

Jane couldn’t quite believe what Chase’s dad was saying. He’d been a policeman himself. “You really think an officer could be involved?”

“I don’t think so, but that doesn’t mean it should be dismissed out of hand. Now then, her purse has been stolen, she’s filed the report—now what does she do?”

“Cancels her credit cards,” Jane suggested.

Mr. Chase wrote that down. “And maybe her cell phone account?”

Chase flipped open a file. “The first two had the same brand of phone.”

His father raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s someone working at the local cell phone store.” His hand flew over the notebook. “I noticed all the women reported that their keys were in their purses. They must have had their locks changed, too.”

Jane added, “And they would’ve needed a new driver’s license first thing.”

She felt Chase’s elbow touch her. “Don’t go down to the DMV anytime soon. There could be some psychopath there taking license pictures.”

By the time they left, Jane was nearly giddy with hope. Mr. Chase would give all these ideas to Ms. Holloway, and Ms. Holloway would make clear to the police that they’d better start following up on these other leads before the press got the idea that they weren’t doing their jobs.

Pretty soon Jessie would be cleared, and Jane’s life would get back to normal. Only, she was beginning to suspect she no longer knew what normal looked like.

But her sense of amazement had nothing to do with her personal little
Da Vinci Code
and more to do with the utter calm around her. Jessie’s lawyer had played her cards with great success. It had helped that the lead detective on the case was losing faith in the Jessie-as-serial-killer scenario. A preliminary report from the medical examiner placed the girl’s death at a time when Jessie’s alibi was strongest.

The detective hadn’t appreciated the lawyer’s suggestions of how to conduct the investigation, but Mr. Chase had dropped the same thoughts into the ear of his contact at the sheriff’s office. Hopefully someone would pick up on a hotter trail than Jessie MacKenzie. But regardless of whether or not they found the real killer, the D.A. in charge of Jessie’s case had made overtures of a deal. They were no longer awaiting additional charges. The case was moving forward.

“Thank God,” Jane murmured just as Outlook notified her that Mr. Jennings’s phone call with a reclaimed-wood dealer was coming up in five minutes. She hit the intercom button. “Mr. Jennings?”

Silence.

She tried again. “Mr. Jennings?”

Experience had taught her that she might startle her boss from his work with that second inquiry, but once he ignored that, it was hopeless. Jane got up and walked to his office. His door was partially open, and she could see him hunched over his drafting table, glaring at a quiver of straight lines that meant nothing to her.

“Mr. Jennings.” She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hmm?” he grumbled, not looking up from the sharp edge he’d started to draw.

“You have a call coming up in three minutes with Hatlock Wood. Shall I go ahead and place the call?”

He finally looked at her, eyes cloudy with distance. “What?”

“Hatlock Wood, Mr. Jennings. Are you ready for the call?”

“Oh.” He cast a mournful glance at the sketches before rolling his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Still no idea about the ‘south boy’ note?”

“The what?”

“I thought so. I’ll have Hatlock on the line momentarily, sir. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

He said yes, and she was so thankful to be busy again that she grinned while rushing around to get coffee and place the call. She had her own meetings this afternoon. One with their accountant and another with a school representative interested in placing an architectural intern with Mr. Jennings. Adding a young kid to the office would upset Jane’s perfect balancing act, but Mr. Jennings seemed enthusiastic. She needed to be sure they got a quality candidate and a school willing to work carefully with the office. Then there was Lori’s bon voyage party to nudge along…

A landscape architect came through the front door to drop off a series of sketches he’d done for one of Mr. Jennings’s clients, and Jane noted that his eyes looked right through her. Despite the way she’d been living for the past two weeks, her disguise hadn’t been compromised. This man didn’t see her as anything other than an office fixture. The scarlet letter on her head was still invisible. He hadn’t heard any rumors, didn’t notice any difference in her body. She was still invisible Jane. And that was the biggest relief of all.

She’d had a wake-up call, at least. Her family was still her family, no matter how sharply she’d tried to separate herself. She wasn’t foolish or naive. She didn’t plan to throw a party to introduce all her colleagues to her leather-clad kin, but she realized she needed to find a better balance. A less fragmented way of living her life while still working toward the white picket fence.

No problem.

A glitch appeared in her bubble of calmness when a client called in a panic. The woman had finally gotten a look at the stone the builder had installed around the outdoor fireplace, and she was convinced that it wasn’t the stone Mr. Jennings had described. Jane made a note and set it in front of Mr. Jennings, who was deeply absorbed in a conversation about old beech wood.

When she walked back into the reception area, Greg Nunn had appeared like an inexplicable ghost. He stood in front of her desk, hands in his pockets, smiling with all the confidence in the world. Alarm rang through her. Surely he hadn’t come to deliver good news.

“I’ve got good news, Jane,” he said.

Well. She glanced toward Mr. Jennings’s office to make sure he was still on the phone. “What’s going on, Greg?”

“You asked me to take another look at the case.”

“Yes.”

“I decided to do it. For your sake.”

“Oh, well…Thanks.”

He walked farther into the office, stopping to lean against the wall only two feet from her. “I’m sure you’ll be very pleased to hear I’ve recommended that we turn our focus elsewhere.”

“Oh. Really?” Jane made herself smile despite the fact that she’d already heard this, and she didn’t believe for a second that the suggestion had come from Greg Nunn. “That’s great.”

“So how are you going to thank me?”

She watched the shameless smirk twist his lips and could hardly believe she’d ever liked this guy. Chase had been right. Greg was a jackass.

“Why don’t we go out for drinks tonight and toast your good luck?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“You should wear that red lingerie I like so much.”

“Greg, we’re not dating anymore, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He winked. “I’m talking about you making sure the heat stays off your brother.”

Jane stepped back in an effort to avoid shoving him away. “Get out of here, Greg.”

Greg stepped closer. “You don’t get to brush me off, Jane. You don’t get to look outraged. Your whole life is a goddamn lie.” He was close to shouting now and Jane looked frantically over her shoulder.

“Get out of here,” she whispered furiously.

“What, you don’t want your precious Mr. Jennings to know about your past?”

His face was pure ugliness now. She should have expected it. On the rare occasions he’d lost a case, his fury would show itself like that. Fury. Disbelief. Petulance at having been bested in public.

He could be petty, and she didn’t want his pettiness anywhere near Jessie.

Jane took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Greg. Thank you for helping. I mean it. But I can’t meet you for drinks.”

“
Can’t
is a strong word, and one you’d better reconsider. I’ll let you think about it for a few days…
Dynasty
.”

It didn’t quite register for a moment. She’d heard that name too many times over the past week.

Dynasty.

No. Oh, no. He knew. That little rat
knew
. He’d snooped around her past, and oh, my God…

“Yes,” she rasped. “I changed my name. It wasn’t dignified. I hated it. So I’d appreciate it if you’d—”

“Have you ever looked up old classmates online?” he purred.

“What?” Again there was a sweet, welcome moment of blankness over his implication. And then the blast of it hit her.

“The social networking sites make it so easy. Type in the name of a high school. Type in a year. Pages and pages of names pop up. And boy, do people love old gossip.”

The air inside her lungs was rushing to get out. Fighting. Struggling. No matter how hard she gasped, she couldn’t seem to move enough air.

He was going to tell. He would tell his friends, her friends. He would tell Quinn Jennings.
Your precious Mr. Jennings
, he’d threatened.

Greg would tell Mr. Jennings that Jane Morgan was a lie. He’d reveal that she was really Dynasty Alexis MacKenzie. That she’d taken a new name with the sole purpose of covering up her past. That her father and her stepfather were both convicted felons. That her brother was a thief. He’d probably even bring up Jane’s two citations for underage drinking. And he’d definitely tell him what kind of woman she really was.

Quinn Jennings would feel betrayed. He’d feel lied to. He wouldn’t trust her. She’d no longer be Jane, the perfectionist office manager and partner. She’d be that girl from a family of criminals who was probably embezzling money from the business. That girl who drank and slept around. And what if the police report from Denver turned up?

Lori wouldn’t want Jane in the office, wouldn’t want her so close to Mr. Jennings every day.

Jane finally managed to draw a deep breath into her lungs. Some oxygen leaked into her tumbling brain and calmed her down a little.

Okay, maybe she was overreacting.

She took another deep breath.

Probably
she was overreacting. Even if Greg found out the very worst things she’d done…would Quinn Jennings hate her? Or was it just fear telling her that?

“You don’t get to end it with me, Jane. I’ll pick you up tomorrow after work,” Greg said. His mouth smirked, but his eyes were cool and grim. “Wear something I’ll like.”

Her mouth was still parted in shock when he turned and opened the door. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

“Oh,” Greg said, pausing for a moment, “that guy you’ve been hanging out with? William Chase? I don’t ever want to see you with him again. I don’t want to see you with anyone until
I
say it’s over.”

He tried to slam the door when he walked out, but the pressurized hinge kept the landing soft. What an utterly civilized, polite evisceration.

Lowering herself into her seat, Jane closed her eyes.

What was she going to do? She’d hidden her past for so long that she couldn’t imagine people knowing about it. Now she realized just how much trust she had in Chase. She didn’t like him knowing—not at all—but she’d never truly feared he would expose her to the world.

But Greg? She’d made him feel stupid. First by breaking up with him, then by revealing that she’d lied about who she was. She’d hurt him and used him and he was angry.

It seemed as if the whole world were conspiring to reveal her for who she was. Even her own body was pushing her back toward the past.

She stared at the door. The clock on the far side of the office ticked loudly, the second hand counting down to disaster. What the hell was she going to do?

Just as the question threatened to overwhelm her, an Outlook window popped up on her computer with a little ding. The meeting with the accountant. It was time for her to head over.

She gaped at the computer. Going to this meeting seemed an impossible task in her current mind-set. And yet, as she stared at the familiar shape of the Outlook alert, her frantic pulse slowed. This
was
something she could do. She could meet with the accountant for Jennings Architecture. She could do her job. Calm down. Think.

Jane had a big decision to make. Would she continue to run from her past? Or would she turn around and face it?

She had no idea. So in that moment she made an easier decision. She gathered her papers, picked up her purse and headed to see the accountant. Her past would still be there when she returned.