Playing With Fire (26 page)

He leaned against the counter, staying as far away from her
as he could. Her confusion pained him. She was pale, her voice shook.

“I don’t understand. Why… why would you—”

“Erin, I’m a cop. And a damned good one. I knew from the
beginning that you didn’t commit the murders. Yeah, I was angry when I learned
the identities of the bodies. When I discovered who you were. I was mad as
hell, when I found out you lied to me. That you didn’t trust me enough to come
to me for help. It hurt. It still does. But I put that aside, because like the
good cop I am, I needed to find the killer or killers. And I needed to protect
you in the process. Someone wanted me to think you were the murderer, Erin.
That much was clear. But they kept upping the ante. Trying to force my hand. To
make me charge you. Today, whoever it is must have decided it was taking me too
long to bust you. He decided to take you out himself.”

“What? What are you saying, Nate? I don’t understand…. You
mean you used me? You used me as
bait
? This whole time you knew I was
innocent and you didn’t tell me? You let me believe that you thought I was a
killer
?”

“It’s worse than that, Erin. I let you think that and then I
couldn’t keep my fucking hands off of you. At some level I needed to make you
understand how I felt about you, how I wanted you. I wanted to come clean but I
couldn’t. Clean? Hah. What a joke, given what I was doing to you. I must have
driven you as crazy as I was driving myself. I’m… I can only say that I am
sorry. As ridiculous, as pitiful as that sounds, it is the truth. I am sorry
for hurting you.”

“Stop, Nate. Tell me the rest. I can’t begin to deal with
this until I understand what you are saying.”

Nate rounded the table and sat across from her. He grasped
both of her hands and held them in his not allowing her to look away.

“I’ll try. I’m a good cop, Erin. I’m lucky. I’ve got a gift.
I seem to know who ‘did it’ before the perp does. Except in this case. I knew
who didn’t do it — you. I’ve know that from the beginning. But I couldn’t get a
bead on the rest of it. Couldn’t figure it out. There were too many things that
didn’t make sense. Part of it was that I’ve been so damned worried about you. I
knew I was hurting you, and it was clouding my vision. But I also knew the
killer or killers were watching. Either from up close or more likely from a
distance. I couldn’t let my concern for you give it away. I needed them to
think I suspected you.”

“I was bait? You used me to bait the person who killed three
people?”

“Yeah, Erin. That’s exactly what I did. I was convinced that
if they thought you were the prime suspect, then that protected them. As long
as I was trying to convict you I wouldn’t be looking for anyone else. That was
my plan. Until today.”

He grimaced and couldn’t hold back a shudder. The memory of
her mangled car perched on the edge of the cliff would haunt him forever.

“You could have been killed, Erin. Someone wanted you dead.
We’re done now. No more subterfuge. We’re going to put the word out that you
have been cleared. That I have new information. That implicates other people.
If Kaitlin ever shoots that kid out of her, I’m gonna give Connor about ten
minutes to be a daddy. Then Chief Roberts, Dan and I are gonna brief him and
Halloran. Among all of us we’re gonna figure out how to wrap you up so tight no
one can get near you. I need their help, because it’s likely I’m gonna have to
head back out to California.”

“Nate, I don’t understand. Who is doing this? Why me?”

“I don’t know yet, Erin, but we’re getting closer. I’ve got
a team of men in California. I’ve had them working the case since the day we
identified the bodies. My lead guy, Eric Jacobs, served with me in Iraq. A
crazier bastard you never want to meet. He crossed over the line so long ago he
wouldn’t recognize it if you tied it in a bow around his neck. He makes me look
like a fuckin’ choirboy.”

“Is he a cop?”

“Hell no. Even I wouldn’t ask a cop to do the things I’m
asking Eric to do.”

“Dan knows? And is in on it?”

“Yes. And Chief Roberts. And my guys in CA. I couldn’t even
let Connor know. He’s so protective of you he would never have gone along with
it. As it was he almost blew it unintentionally. Forced me to be even more of a
bastard to you in public. He’s going to want to cut off my balls when I tell
him the truth. The only person who has a right to be angrier, is you, Erin.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and was silent for a long moment.
Nate kept hold of her hands not wanting to lose what fragile connection they
had.

“Who is it, Nate? Who is doing this to me… and to us? Why…?”

Nate breathed a sigh of relief. She was asking the question
he had a chance of answering, not the ones that it would take him a lifetime to
explain.

“We’re not sure, Erin. But we are getting closer. Someone
wants you out of the way — bad. Whoever it is seems to have given up on me
taking you out. Which can only mean we are looking at other possible suspects.
In a hideous way, the fact that someone tried to kill you today confirms that.
‘He’ or more likely ‘they’ know we’re closing in.”

“But who?”

“The police chief, Brad Warner, for one. We’ve got him dead
to rights for multiple crimes including procuring underage girls and boys from
jail for his ‘clients,’ erasing records, taking bribes. He will spend the rest
of his life in prison as the ‘cultured girlfriend’ of every sadistic badass in
lockup, and I’ll tell them to have at it. But we can’t tie him directly to the
murders yet. Eric is following up an on instinct I had that’s been churning in
my gut. That son of a bitch Warner was dead-on about motive. As he said, it’s
always one of two things: sex or money. In Dylan’s case it’s the money. Whoever
killed him did it for the money. “

Nate glanced at the clock.

“I expect to hear from Eric soon. And I pray to God he has
information that will help us.”

Nate studied her. Her anger was rippling off of her in
sheets. That he could handle. It was the hurt in Erin’s eyes that was killing
him. He wished he could stop. But like the asshole he was, he couldn’t. He
needed more from her. As if he hadn’t already taken her spirit.

“Erin, I need your help. You were closer to Dylan than
anyone — at least any of my team. I need you to think hard. To see if you can
answer some of our questions. Who was angry at Dylan? Why? Did he have enemies
that you knew of? Was he afraid of anyone? Did he have a lot of arguments? If
so, with whom?”

She looked puzzled then awareness crept into her eyes.

“You want
me
to help you, Nate. Genius psychic cop?
After all of this time and all the things you have done and said to me, you
want me to help
you
?”

Her voice rose. Her incredulity was clear.

He nodded. “Yeah, Erin. I do.”

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. He
looked at her, his unspoken question between them.

“This is Eric now. I’m gonna put him on speaker if it is
okay with you.”

She shrugged, her expression was flat. For once he couldn’t
get a read on her.

“Yeah, man. I’m here. I’m gonna patch in Dan, and then put
you on speaker. I’m with Erin. I’ve told her what I can. I want her to hear
your report.”

Eric’s voice was soft in his ear.

“Damn, Nate. This is a hard time to lay it on her. Dan told
me what happened today. Nothing like landing a one-two punch in her gut.”

“Yeah buddy. If you could see what I see, you’d know you hit
that one on the head. Just a minute, Eric. Let me answer this. Dan, I’ve got
Eric on the line. And I’m going to put this call on speaker, so Erin can hear.”

Dan whistled. “Shit, Nate I always knew you were a brave son
of a bitch….”

Nate merged the calls, put the phone on the table, and
turned up the volume.

“Okay guys, you’re on speaker. I’ve filled Erin in. At least
to the fact that we always knew she was innocent, and that I am a lying
bastard, and that she should hate me to her dying day.”

Eric’s soft voice, laced with humor, came across the line.

“Lo there, Erin. Not that it helps, but Nate isn’t the only
lying bastard in this equation. We can only hope that we’re more devious than
the killer.”

Dan chimed in. “I hope you will accept my apology, Erin. This
has been a hard gig — for both me and Nate.”

Erin turned away from Nate’s questioning gaze, her
expression stony, cold.

When she didn’t answer, Nate took the lead.

“Okay Eric, let’s hear it. And if you don’t have news you
can take that cyanide they gave us in Iraq and swallow it down now. Better you
off yourself than have me do it.”

Eric’s soft laughter filled the air.

“Erin, I know you aren’t speaking to any of us right now.
And I agree with you. Nate is about the cockiest son of a bitch I know, and
that is saying something. But without a doubt he is
also
the smartest.
You were right on, Nate. Thanks to you, we just may have gotten a break. I
don’t know how you figure this stuff out, man. Christ, you did it in Iraq and
you did it here. It’s as though you can get inside the criminal mind.”

“Let’s hear it Eric. I don’t think even your silver tongue
is going to get me back in Erin’s good graces. But come to think of it, I never
really was. Lay it on me buddy and make it good.”

“To begin with, we lucked out that the junior partner at
Willoughby and Finch was there, and that his boss is on vacation. From what
I’ve learned, Damon Willoughby would have been a hard nut to crack. But his
partner Mike Finch? A pussy. Ah… sorry, Erin. Especially when I told him that I’d
recorded everything he had told me ‘off the record.’ He threatened me —- which
I also recorded. Said that he was calling the police and that I would never get
out of his office with any recording device. He mellowed when I showed him on
my phone that I’d already sent the transcript to none other than the lead
detective in the case with a copy to his boss.”

“And you did all that dressed in a $500 pair of blue jeans.
You’re the man, Eric. But I just might climb through the ether and pull your
gut through your throat if you don’t tell me PDQ what the legal beagles were up
to.”

“Ah, so, the ever cool Nathan Stryker is impatient? Must
have a lady to impress. Okay, okay, Nate, I’ll let up. Turns out Erin’s former
husband was as crazy as most geniuses but perhaps more crazy than genius.
According to his ‘friend’ and advisor, Mike Finch, Dylan had one breakthrough
invention that was truly his, the rest he stole.”

“What the hell?” Dan spoke for the rest of them.

“Of course lawyers don’t use those kinds of words. They
prefer ‘ascertained’ or ‘made a similar discovery’ or, if they are getting
blunt, ‘poached an idea.’ Never truly ‘stole’ it. Seems that Dylan was skillful
at convincing his competition, those with the revolutionary ideas, that they
should partner. The ‘partner’ was thrilled that he had the attention of a
genius of Dylan’s stature. Only once he turned his idea over to Dylan’s
techies, Dylan reneged on their agreement. Indicated that he felt he had been
too generous. Enter Willoughby and Finch. Somehow, some way, they always found
a loophole in the agreement. Relatively easy for them to do because they had
drawn up the original document. Instead of becoming a partner in the venture
Dylan offered the chump a sum of money to get lost. Evidently many investors
don’t protect their intellectual property as well as they should. Dylan never
stole the idea outright. He hired Willoughby and Finch to do that. The sharks
gave the investor two choices. They could accept the ‘generous’ lump sum Dylan
offered or they could sue them. Perhaps 15-20 years from now, after they’d
spent millions of dollars in legal fees, they might recoup some small portion
of the fortune they expected.”

Nate whistled. “Damn. There must be some very unhappy
investors who didn’t shed tears when Masterson met his fiery death.”

“No tears indeed, my friend. By the end of our conversation
Mike Finch was gracious enough to indicate that he knew of eight individuals
who no doubt celebrated Dylan’s demise. Mike became positively verbose when I
showed him the portfolio of photographs of him and a male partner that one of
your team ‘procured’ from the local BDSM club, “Hot Snatches.” Sorry, Erin,
that actually is the name of the establishment.”

“You followed up with the investors?”

“Damn straight. We’ve interviewed six of them already. Six
very angry men, all of whom indicated that if they could have killed Dylan and
gotten away with it, they would have.”

“Please tell me one of them was Chief Bradley W. Warner.”

“Wish I could, Nate. Nope; you’ll just have to be satisfied
seeing that son of a bitch in prison, convicted of more than twenty crimes. But
the murder of Dylan Masterson is not among them.”

“I guess I can live with that. But this is amazing, Eric. Didn’t
any of Dylan’s marks call his bluff? Get legal shysters of their own to contest
their agreements?”

“A couple of them did. Enter none other than Police Chief
Bradley W. Warner.

He really is a despicable SOB. He was in a position of
trust, and misused that trust every day of the week. He’s so arrogant, he
thought it was his prerogative. In addition to everything else we have on him,
turns out the good Chief was Dylan’s fixer, his enforcer. Anyone who flirted
with the idea of taking Dylan on either in the press or legally, suddenly
discovered that his deep dark secrets — the fact he liked young boys, or had a
drug habit, or cheated more than usual on his income taxes, weren’t secret any
more. And if it was up to Chief Warner those secrets would be widely known.”

“Blackmail?”

“Yep, flat out. Certifiable and provable. Apparently the
Chief was brazen about it. Involved much of the department. We now have four of
his lackeys singing to the DA, in hopes of getting a plea bargain.”