The Set Up (29 page)

He nods. “Come with me.”

We walk up a flight of stairs and into a room marked homicide unit, where the detective tosses the bag on the empty desk beside him and then takes a seat. After a moment he points for me to take one across from him.

I do.

Then he looks me directly in the eye. “What am I looking for?”

“I brought a year’s worth of Lanesworth Automotive bank statements with me to the hotel and they are missing.”

He cocks his head to the side. “What are you doing with documents like that?”

Insanity is the plea I’d be forced to take if I never leave this office, because I must have been crazy to come here looking for information like that. “I’m doing some personal research on my father’s company.”

With a jiggle of his mouse, he wakes his monitor. “That was my first crime scene as a detective.”

“The site of the explosion?”

He nods.

I want to ask him a million questions. “So you investigated the explosion?”

He shakes his head no. “I was removed after my first day.”

“Why?”

“The DA insisted it was an open-and-shut case. Said the grieving people of Detroit didn’t need to be left with a cold case after a tragedy like that.”

“And that was legal?”

He shrugs. “No one questioned it. The DA took the case on personally, assembled his own team of investigators and attorneys.”

“And you agreed with the outcome?”

The detective gives me a wry grin. “Wasn’t my place to agree or disagree.”

I say nothing.

He directs his attention back to his monitor.

Waiting, I stop breathing when I glance down at his desk. Photos of Eve’s body are spread all over it. The manila folder tab beneath them reads “Coroner’s Report.”

Noticing my loud gasp, he quickly shuffles the photos inside the folder, but I get the feeling he left them there for me to see. When he’s done, he slumps back in his chair. “Sorry about that. I was just preparing a statement for the press about Ms. Hepburn’s cause of death.”

“How . . . how did she die?” I dare to ask.

“She was strangled.” He says it very matter-of-factly.

Shivers run down my spin.

Picking up a pencil, he taps it on the desk. “While you’re here do you mind if I ask you something? Informally of course.”

I can feel my heart rate pick up. I can tell he knows that I knew I had her things yesterday when he was at my apartment. “No, I don’t mind.”

He falls silent for a bit.

I almost blurt out that I lied to him, that I knew I had her things in my possession, but I keep it together because he didn’t call me on it for a reason.

Finally, he speaks. “Did Ms. Hepburn drive herself to the hotel?”

Not what I was expecting. “Yes, we both did.”

He nods. “It’s just that we can’t seem to locate her car anywhere on the hotel grounds.”

“She drove it to the hotel; it must be there. I assume she would have valet-parked it.”

Since the company was paying, even I had done that.

“We have footage of her pulling up to the valet sometime around six p.m. on Friday, but there was a line. She didn’t wait, and pulled through the drive and headed toward the self-parking area.”

“She must have been running late; the unveiling started at six.”

He nods. “And your car? Where might it be?”

This is starting to feel like an inquisition. “It’s in the shop.”

“Yes. That’s right. You broke down.”

My palms feel sweaty.

He looks at the bag of Eve’s things. “You have your own computer in your possession, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re certain of this?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We haven’t found her computer, her phone, or her purse, either.”

I lean forward. “Her computer was in the hotel room in her orange case. Somehow my computer ended up in her case. I assumed it was a mix-up when the police were in the hotel room.”

He diverts his gaze back to his screen and studies it for a long while before looking back at me. “Only one computer was logged in, and nothing has been entered into evidence that was marked as Laneworth bank statements.”

“There must be some mistake.”

His gaze sharpens. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t. Procedure was followed to the letter. Perhaps you misplaced them?”

I can’t tell if he is lying.

Don’t know if I can trust him.

Uncertain if he’s more worried about his case than anything else.

He keeps staring at me.

Waiting.

For what—I have no idea.

If it’s a confession—it won’t be from me.

I’m at a dead end.

Standing, I place both my hands on the edge of his desk to steady myself. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I have to get going.”

The detective jots “Bank statements” on his pad of paper.

Slowly, I start for the door.

“Miss Lane,” he calls.

I look back.

“I’ll be in touch.”

And I’m certain
he
will.

OVERHEATED

Jasper

I CONFESS—I
get angry in confrontational situations. And this trait is often disastrous. I blew my cool with Hill earlier today and it was more than detrimental because he blew his cool too, and then walked out.

Not cool.

Not cool at all for either of us.

“He just called and said he wants to give it another try,” Todd Carrington tells me the minute I walk into his office after being summoned to return.

“Shit!” I throw my arms in the air.

“Calm down, Jasper, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. We get a do-over, and this time you’re going to remain even-tempered and answer his questions about that night in a straightforward manner without all the emotion.”

Balling my hands into fists, all I can do is nod. Now that I’ve had a chance to go home and shower and think about things, I realize I shouldn’t have lost earlier today the way I did.

The best criminal defense attorney in Detroit points his finger at me. “I mean it, Jasper—you have to learn to control that temper of yours. He’s not your arch enemy, but you’ll turn him into one if you keep it up.”

Placing my elbows on my knees, I look out the window. “I didn’t do it, Todd. I didn’t kill Eve.”

“I know that, Jasper; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be representing you.”

I feel slightly better. “So when are we doing this thing?”

He looks at his watch. “It’s Friday, so it won’t be tomorrow. I’ll let you know when. Go home, rest up over the weekend, and we’ll hit it again on Monday.”

I nod. His plan sounds perfect.

Fifteen minutes later I’m in my car with the windows down, speeding down the highway, but I’m not heading home, not to my current home anyway. I’m heading to Eastpointe. My childhood home has been on my mind all week and for some reason I feel the need to see it. Remember what my life was like back then. How happy I was. Reconnect with who I once was.

Why I want to torture myself, I don’t know.

What I do know is that I can’t get her out of my head.

It’s been five fucking long days since I saw Charlotte.

Every day that passed I wanted to forget the fact that I shouldn’t be involved with her during this dark time in my life, but then every day I remembered just how bad things are. It’s not the right time.

Between lawyer visits and trips to the police station, my head is a fucking mess and my temper is at an all-time high. Then there’s the damage control Will is working on. Soon enough the story of that night will break, and let’s just say I’m not going to look good. As it stands now, a few of the investors Jake had secured to back the plant have already pulled out.

Whitney, Will’s girl—that’s what I call her now instead of the naughty secretary—suggested hiring an image consultant. Will being Will, he got right on it. In fact, he’s been interviewing firms and getting estimates on how much it will cost. The prices are astronomical. But in true Will form, he hasn’t given up and is interviewing a few more firms on Monday.

There is plenty of sun in the sky left, but nothing seems bright. Before I know it, I’ve passed the Eastpointe exit. Loving the feel of being on the open road, the freedom it gives me, I drive and drive and drive. Faster and faster, and faster still.

That storm within me raging almost out of control, I feel completely torn. I can’t stop thinking about Charlotte, and not in an
oh-I-miss-my-friend
kind of way.

My thoughts are dirtier.

Picturing her naked beneath me, screaming out my name as I take her to the edge over and over and then finally let her fall. How good her sweet pussy would feel. Fucking her all night long as if my need for her is insatiable. These are thoughts I shouldn’t be having. Nothing good can come of them. There is too much bad that would accompany the good, and in the end, regardless of what everyone always says, good does not defeat evil. The truth is the bad has a way of taking over the good and tarnishing it.

The sound of my phone ringing jolts me out of the fog I’m in. “Hello,” I answer.

“Hey, Jasper, it’s Craig from the body shop.”

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Listen, I hate to bother you, but you know that car you had me pick up last week?”

Instantly I go on alert. “Yeah, the black Honda Civic.”

“Well listen, I need to get it out of here but I can’t get the owner to call me back. Is there any way you might be able to get in touch with her and ask her to call me?”

I answer without hesitation. “Sure, I can do that. What’s wrong with the car?”

“Transmission issues. She said she had to see if she could get the money together and I haven’t heard back from her. I left her a message earlier in the week that she has until Friday to decide.”

A quick glance in the rearview mirror tells me no cops are around, and I swerve onto the median and do a U-turn so that I can head back home. “Do me a favor, let me get in touch with her and hold on to it until Monday. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, sure, but then it has to go.”

“How much is it to fix it?”

“Over three grand, man. The entire thing is a mess.”

“Ouch. Is there any cheaper fix?”

“There probably is, but nothing I could guarantee.”

“I understand. I’ll call you Monday.”

“Cool. Take it easy,” he says and hangs up.

Minutes later I’m back at the Eastpointe exit.

Screw it.

Weaving in and out of traffic, I take it. Not much longer, I pull up in front of the house I used to live in and shut the engine off. My gaze flickers between the brick house and its matching twin, the one the Lanes lived in. To the window I used to sneak into. The backyard we played in. The front porch we sat on. The sidewalk we rode bikes on.

We—me and Charlie.

To the people who live in these houses now they might be just bricks and mortar surrounded by grass and trees. For me, they represent the only happiness I can remember as a child, and that happiness will forever be tied to Charlie Lane—Charlotte.

The girl I always took care of.

The girl I shouldn’t turn away from.

The girl that needs me now.

The girl I
can’t
turn away from regardless of my situation.

How to handle the car?

I know she won’t let me pay for it. She thinks she’s needy. She’s not; it’s just years of negative reinforcement drilled into her head. As I look at her house the memories of why she thinks that way, what was instilled in her from such an early age, come rushing back.

“For Christ’s sake, Charlotte, you’re almost nine. You can stay by yourself for a few hours while I go out.”

“Mommy, please don’t go—it’s scary when you leave me home alone at night.”

Mrs. Lane shakes her head at Charlotte. “Stop with the weeping, will you? It’s not that big a deal. Besides, you’ll be asleep soon enough.”

Charlotte sucks in a breath and I know she’s being brave, trying not to cry.

Her mother huffs in frustration. “You act like I do it all the time.”

She did.

I shuffle my feet, biting my tongue so that I don’t say what I’m thinking out loud.

As if just noticing me, she glances in my direction. “It’s getting late, Jasper—you should probably be getting home.”