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Nolan’s blood froze, and he had the very real, very scary sense of his career, his reputation, slipping away like a wild mustang jerking the reins from his hands. He struggled for a breath. “What?”
“Special Agent O’Toole came forward last week with claims that you made advances toward her over a period of several days while you two were on assignment. She claims she consistently rebuffed your advances and reminded you such behavior was both unprofessional and unwelcome by her.”
Disbelief clogged Nolan’s throat. He made sputtering noises, but shock rendered him mute.
“Believing she would need evidence of your behavior to substantiate her claim, she hid a camera to capture further incidents as proof.”
More like she wanted to frame me. Nolan’s hands fisted. He’d been set up. But why?
Humboldt tapped the file folder. “There are more if you’d like to see them, but they are much alike and tell the same story.”
Nolan glanced at the incriminating picture again, noting this time that the shot showed him bowing Charlotte back, as if the aggressor, while her hands were against his chest as if pushing him away. Her head was turned as if avoiding his kiss instead of providing access to her slim neck and bared shoulder.
Fighting for composure, Nolan said gruffly, “I’d like to see the other pictures, just the same.”
His boss handed him the file.
Beside Humboldt’s desk, the third man huffed irritably, but Nolan ignored him as he thumbed through the rest of the snapshots. Every one of the images gave the impression that Nolan had been an assailant and Charlotte his unwilling victim. Which was far from the truth. Missing from the file were dozens of other moments in which Charlotte had seduced him, pressured him, ravaged him. He saw now that she’d made a point of staging plenty of poses providing evidence to the contrary. But still he wondered, why?
He and Charlotte had worked well together. He’d liked her—obviously—and thought they had a good professional and personal relationship. So what had made her turn on him? No. Not turn on him. That indicated a change of heart. For her to plant the camera, pose the pictures and pursue him with the fervor that she had—because she had, in fact, been the instigator, pushing him to violate his professional ethics for the one-night stand—this whole situation had to have been premeditated. Charlotte had used him. Betrayed him.
“That bitch,” Nolan muttered under his breath.
The third man puffed up and growled, “I’ll thank you not to speak that way about my wife.”
Freshly stunned, Nolan jerked his gaze to the older man. “Your wife?”
“You didn’t know?” Greenley asked.
Nolan snorted, no longer caring about comportment or respect for his superiors. “Obviously not.”
He was being railroaded with false charges, and he’d defend himself with everything he had.
Greenley turned up a palm. “Special Agent O’Toole married the senator five years ago.”
“Six years ago,” the third man corrected.
Nolan gave his head a small shake as if he’d heard wrong. “I’m sorry…the senator?”
Humboldt nodded toward the man in question. “Yes. US Senator George Dell of Nebraska.”
Holy crap. He’d slept with the wife of a US senator? And Charlotte had said nothing about a husband—certainly not a husband with so much power.
The bad vibe he’d had even before entering Humboldt’s office had cranked up by a factor of ten. A hundred.
Nolan’s entire body tensed. Fire flashed through his veins. He thought his heart might pound right through his chest. A kaleidoscope of emotions battled for dominance as his brain numbly processed the accusation and ramifications. He had to lock his knees to keep his shaking legs under him. “Th-this is all, uh…a big misunderstanding.”
“You’re denying her claims?” Humboldt asked.
He jerked a stunned gaze to his boss. Humboldt had worked with him long enough to know Nolan’s character better than that. How could his boss even think he was capable of such a heinous thing?
He threw the folder of photos back on Humboldt’s desk. “Hell yes, I deny it! I’m not a sexual assailant!”
The senator shoved to his feet, his hands balled. “So you’re calling my wife a liar?”
Nolan reeled in the curt reply on his tongue at the last possible moment. He needed to be careful what he said, how he said it. He didn’t want his accusers to have any more rope to hang him with. As it was, defending himself from charges of sexual assault would be tricky at best.
He struggled for a calm tone as he faced the senator, but a throbbing pulse pounded at his temples. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t know Charlotte was married, and what happened between us was not assault. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it was one hundred percent consensual.”
Nolan stood his ground as the senator took two aggressive steps toward him, the man’s teeth gritted and bared, his face florid. “You son of a—”
Greenley caught the senator’s arm. “Sir, please. Have a seat.”
Turning back to Humboldt, Nolan scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sir, you know me. You know these charges are preposterous. I would never…could never…”
“My personal opinion doesn’t matter.” Humboldt’s expression was stern but apologetic. “A matter of this magnitude requires an internal investigation.”
An investigation. Somehow knowing the incident would be explored gave Nolan a seed of hope. Surely the investigation would uncover the truth. He’d be exonerated and his name cleared, his reputation—
“Until the investigation is complete, you’re hereby suspended without pay—”
“What!” he shouted, gut punched.
“Effective immediately.” Humboldt stuck his hand out. “I need your badge and your service weapon.”
Nolan gaped at his boss. This couldn’t be happening. His career was everything to him. This smear to his character and reputation, even if found innocent, would follow him forever.
He cut a glance to Greenley, praying for reprieve, but met a stony countenance.
“I swear I didn’t… I’d never…” He shook his head, and his chest contracted so hard he couldn’t catch his breath.
Humboldt’s hand was still extended to him, but Nolan refused to let the senator, whose smug grin gnawed at Nolan, see him surrender his weapon.
“This is bullshit!” Nolan turned on his heel and marched out of the office.
He’d made it as far as the elevator when Humboldt caught up to him. “Nolan, wait!”
Whirling around, he jabbed a finger toward his boss—ex-boss?—and growled, “You know I didn’t do what she’s accusing me of. I would never take advantage of a woman that way! Hell, man, you trusted me to drive your daughter to her apartment after the barbecue back in July!”
“I have no choice,” Humboldt said, holding out his hand, palm up, again. “Damn it, Nolan. My hands are tied. It’s your word against hers, and she has incriminating photographs.”
Seething, Nolan unfastened his holster and slapped his service weapon into his boss’s hand. “Yeah, well-selected photos. But where are the ones of the times in between the posed shots? She was all over me, Dean. It was her idea, and she took the lead, no matter what the pictures say.”
“Your badge and ID.”
Nolan groaned his frustration as he fished in his pocket for his credentials. “We’ve had this discussion before—how much we both abhor the sort of man who harasses and demeans women. God, it makes me sick to be lumped in the same category with scum like that!” He smacked his FBI shield and ID wallet into Humboldt’s hand. “I have no idea what’s behind all this. But, please, Dean, don’t let them railroad me. This has to be political, or… I don’t know. But it’s a load of crap. I swear!”
To his credit, Humboldt looked grief stricken as he shook his head. “Go home, Nolan. Use the time to…go fishing or see old friends.”
He scoffed. “Fishing? That’s all you have for me?”
His boss lifted a shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Nolan jabbed the elevator button before deciding to take the stairs. He had adrenaline to burn off. Stalking away, he fisted his hands at his sides. The injustice clawed at him. After so many years working to get where he was within the Bureau, it had been snatched away in a heartbeat. And the best his boss had was “Go fishing or see old friends”?
As he slammed through the stairwell door and descended the steps two at a time, an image came to him, fixed itself in his head. And he knew where he’d go until this nightmare was resolved.
Whisperwood.
Chapter 1 (#ud0f1c5d7-9c94-52bc-ba49-07a524334a90)
Whisperwood, Texas
“It’s been a nightmare. My daughter, my precious girl, was murdered, and I need you to find out who did it.”
Summer Davies held the haunted gaze of the man seated across from her, and her first thought after his pronouncement was, The poor man. How he must be suffering! Her second thought was Finally, a real case!
Since opening Davies Investigations LLC in Whisperwood, Texas, Summer had scrounged for work, taking more lost dog cases than she wanted to admit. All too often, when a potential client walked into her small, spare office, they assumed she was the secretary and gave her reluctant consideration when they learned she was the owner and sole private investigator.
Even Atticus and his son, Ian, who currently sat across from her, had exchanged hesitant looks when she’d informed them she would be the one handling any investigative work done by her office. But, used to the sexism, she’d smiled and asked for the details of the job. And Atticus dropped his bomb. A murder case.
Summer divided a concerned glance between the two men. “You’re sure she was murdered? She’s not just missing?”
Ian sat taller in the wooden ladder-back chair, which was all she could currently afford for her clients, and snapped, “Of course we’re sure. Her body was found in the Lone Star Pharma parking lot. What rock have you been living under?”
Summer let the snide comment pass as she narrowed her gaze on her visitors. “Wait. Lone Star Pharma? Are you Patrice Eccleston’s family?”
The discovery of the young woman’s body during repairs to the Lone Star Pharma parking lot had been a hot topic of gossip and speculation in town. Solving the much-discussed murder case would prove her mettle to the town and give her fledgling PI office the boost it needed.
And give Patrice’s family the peace of mind and closure they were seeking, she mentally amended with a self-conscious pang.
Atticus blinked and dabbed at his eye, clearly fighting tears. “Yes. Patrice is my daughter.” A pained look crossed his face, and he amended, “Was my daughter. I…” He heaved a shuddering sigh full of pain, and Summer’s heart twisted. The grief etched in his face was heartbreaking.
“Is,” Summer said, leaning toward Atticus and flattening a hand on her desk as she reached toward him. “Patrice will always be your daughter. No matter what. I’m sorry for your loss, sir. I would love to be able to help bring in the person responsible for her murder.”
Atticus met her gaze, hope lighting his eyes. “Thank you. It rips me apart knowing that the cretin who did this to her is still out there. She deserves justice!”
Summer nodded. “She absolutely does.”
While she was considering how to proceed and mulling the ramifications of taking the case, her dark gray feline companion hopped up on her desk and flopped on the paperwork she’d been reviewing earlier.
Ian’s face reflected surprise then affront at the cat’s appearance, as if Summer having her pet in the office with her was the height of unprofessionalism.
“Not now, Yossi.” Summer lifted her cat to the floor and brushed stray fur from her desk. Continuing as if nothing had happened she asked, “Isn’t the police investigation still open? While I’m happy to take your case, I don’t want to step on any toes at the police department.”
“Yeah,” Ian said, “the police say they are looking into it, but we’re not getting many answers outta them.”
“Chief Thompson is a good man. I like him, and I know he’s doin’ what he can. But…we want answers. Right now, we just aren’t getting anything with the cops.” Atticus used his sleeve to wipe his face. “We figure, maybe people who know something are scared to talk to the cops. Maybe you could learn something Chief Thompson hasn’t.”
“Fresh eyes on the case and all that.” Ian waved a hand toward her. “Maybe you’ll see something they missed?”
Summer leaned back in her squeaky desk chair and nibbled a fingernail. It wouldn’t do to get on the police chief’s bad side. She couldn’t appear to be second-guessing Chief Thompson’s efforts in the case. She glanced out her office window, which had a view of downtown Whisperwood, and watched the pedestrians and pigeons ambling along the small-town street. Embarrassing the chief of police wasn’t her worst consideration. If it looked like she was trying to interfere in his investigation, hinder his collection of evidence or—
And just like that her brain short-circuited. Her train of thought derailed, and her full attention snagged on a man in jeans and a snug T-shirt striding down the sidewalk at a brisk clip. His latte-brown hair, broad shoulders and loose-limbed stride tickled the back of her neck, stirring long-ago memories.
“Come on, Tadpole. Show these guys you’re not scared!”
Surging forward, she grabbed the cord to the blinds and yanked them higher for a clearer view of the street. Yossi took this as an invitation to jump onto the wide windowsill, and her cat settled down to bird-watch. She squinted, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face, but his back was to her.
“Ms. Davies? Is there a problem?”
The man on the street placed a paper cup from JoJo’s Java on the roof of his car, opened the driver’s door, retrieved the coffee cup, climbed in and drove away. She continued to stare out the window at the empty parking spot for several heartbeats after the man’s vehicle disappeared down the street.
“You’re moving?” he asked. “Where?”
Twelve-year-old Summer frowned, shrugged. “Wherever the Army sends us.”
He licked his lips and blinked hard, his eyes sad. “Will I ever see you again?”
No. As it turned out, she hadn’t seen her best childhood friend since that goodbye seventeen years ago. They’d written to each other for a while, but—
A loud thumping drew her out of her musing. She gave her head a small shake and turned to find Ian Eccleston slapping his hand on her desktop. “Hell-oooo? Ms. Davies, are you listening?”
Atticus tipped his head. “My dear, are you all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
I may have. Summer raked her hair back from her face. Gathering her thoughts after what—or rather whom—she’d just seen was a bit like chasing down a spilled bag of marbles as they rolled in every direction.
“I’m sorry. I thought I saw…someone from my past. Someone important…”
But he hadn’t been back to Whisperwood in years, to her knowledge. Why would he be here now?
“Can you help us with this case or not, Ms. Davies?” Ian asked. “I have to say, based on what I’ve seen so far of your operation…” He cast a disdainful look around her Spartan accommodations, allowing his disapproving glare to stop on Yossi, who crouched on the windowsill. “I’m not feeling especially confident in your ability to handle a matter as important as my sister’s murder.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I promise you, if I take your case, I will leave no stone unturned in searching for the truth. I provide the highest quality service to every client.”
“If you take the case?” Atticus frowned and cast a side glance to his son before pinning her with his rheumy eyes. “You’re not sure?”
“I want to take your case. I want to help you. But considering the circumstances, I think it would be wise for me to do a little preliminary groundwork before I make any promises.”
Ian rolled his eyes and grumbled to his father, “See, Dad. What did I tell you?”
“Hush, Ian. It may be a long shot, but Ms. Davies is our last best hope.”
Last best hope? She wasn’t sure if she should feel honored or insulted by the characterization. But being the grieving father’s last hope for peace and justice was the red flag waved in front of her. A challenge. A mission. More than anything, she wanted to prove to these men, prove to the town, prove to herself that she hadn’t made a mistake moving to Whisperwood three months ago. She was a good investigator—no, a great investigator—and she was determined to do what the naysayers and skeptics around her said she couldn’t. She’d prove them wrong.
She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “Here’s what I can do,” Summer said, pulling out a blank notepad and clicking open her favorite pen. “I can take down your information, have you give me some background and insights into Patrice’s life, and then I’ll do a preliminary evaluation. If it looks like I can contribute something to the case that the police haven’t covered, and that my efforts won’t hinder or interfere with Chief Thompson’s investigation, then we’ll proceed. Deal?”
“What do you want to know?”
