“That’s what the investigative end of the job is,” Bassett said exuberantly. “Just plain hard work. Tracking down every person. The when, the where, the how, the why-”
“We’ve been here for hours,” Ferrell pieced in. “You think you could orgasm over your job some other time?”
“I’m just saying.”
“We know you’re ‘just saying.’ But it’s time to sum up. Everyone we originally believed to be prime suspects has been eliminated. Peter Bickmarr. Tiffany. The two senators we were looking at. The newscaster…”
“I just want to know where that guy got his Viagra,” said one of the side detectives, who’d clearly come to admire Jon’s prowess.
“Well, this is the crunch. We have no videos of Sophie Campbell. No videos, no letters, no e-mails, no pictures. But when push comes all the way down to shove, pretty much the most we have left are the names of three women who’ve shown they knew Jon, they had the opportunity, and who for different reasons could well have had the motivation to kill him. Jan Howell. Penelope Martin. And Sophie Campbell. Jan and Sophie haven’t been locatable all day-”
“Hold it.” Cord had heard Penelope’s name before, but not as a bottom-line possibility. “You said there were five-”
“Two are mighty iffy. Those three are the best suspects we have. Of course, there are still CDs you haven’t given us.”
“Yet,” Bassett said meaningfully.
“We’re not totally through tracking the money. Unfortunately, your brother had a highly active career, Cord. You have to admit, he was a self-made man. One who carved out a lifestyle, a sizable annual income, from doing nothing but-”
“Hurting women?” He punched his number, the landline at home, said to the group, “It’s Penelope Martin.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain-but I’m going home immediately. I always told you it wasn’t Sophie. I’m equally certain it wasn’t Jan, since yesterday-”
“You didn’t tell us-”
“You’ve been talking the whole time. We all have. Name by name. I didn’t realize it was down to the serious short list. But now, damn it, I do. I have to get home.” His landline rang and rang. And rang. Of course, Sophie wouldn’t automatically pick up his phone. When voice mail kicked in, he gave up, and started punching in her cell at the same time he barreled out the door.
She didn’t answer her cell, either.
He told himself he was stupid to worry. She was likely just working, not wanting to be bothered with calls. God knew, her sister had left enough food for days, and Cord had no reason to believe Penelope knew where Sophie was.
He had no reason to be scared that she was in danger. But he was. It was so crazy-discovering that all the big money, the big players had not proven to be the guilty ones. Instead, it was the vulnerable women who’d been pushed to the wall by his brother-the ones who had no way to pay up. The ones whose hearts had been bruised a hell of a lot more than their bank accounts could ever be.
It was damn hard to speed on the freeways escaping D.C. He did it anyway. He kept thinking how he’d bruised Sophie’s vulnerable heart. In that sense, he was no less guilty than his brother for hurting an innocent person.
She’d severed their relationship yesterday faster than a scissor could cut paper. Said logical things. Said them calmly, coldly, kindly.
She didn’t mean any of it.
He just hadn’t known what to say. What to do. How to make it right. He just had to maintain his priorities-which were, first, to keep Sophie safe, and second, to get the damn business of his brother finished. Then, he wanted to believe, he’d have a lifetime to woo Sophie the way he wanted to woo her. The way she needed to be wooed.
A black Mustang cut him off. Cord heeled the accelerator. A local radio station had already been playing, the announcer reporting on wars, earthquakes, volcanoes and disasters. He turned it off.
He knew what disaster was-the risk of losing the woman he loved, the only woman he’d ever really loved. The only woman he knew damn well would be there for him through thick and thin.
If she could just be coaxed to trust him again.
He spun wheels turning the last corner at the birch trees, barreled down the road. He saw, with a punch to his heart, that a car was already parked in his driveway.
It was a girl car. Not because it was Mazda, but because it was a fancy red. Had a ton of bumper stickers, all political.
It had to belong to Penelope Martin.
He slammed on the brakes, parked right there, hurled out of the car and started running.
“Come on, Sophie, you haven’t even touched your coffee-and I know how much you love Irish crème. Shoo,” Penelope said, irritably, to Caviar, who seemed determined to climb on the couch between them. “Jan told me what you did.”
“Told you?”
“She and I were friends for ages. We never kept secrets from each other. I gave her a key to my parents’ place on Nantucket, so she could take off for a few days, lick her wounds. That was a kind thing you did, giving her that drive.”
Finally, Sophie thought. She’d been waiting for trouble-the trouble that mattered-from the minute Penelope showed up. “I guess I’m relieved you know,” she said.
“Jon was such a jerk. Jan always claimed she only slept with him to collect another notch on her belt. But the truth is, she never slept around as much as she put on. And the blackmail thing was a huge shock.” Penelope nudged the bag of chocolates closer to her. “They’re nougats. Thought you told me they were your favorite. Honey, you look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You must have discovered more than Jan’s pictures. Didn’t you find a bunch of wild stuff? Did you give it all to the police, or find a way to give the evidence back to the women, the way you did Jan? Come on, you know you can trust me. How many did that son of a sea dog take for a ride, anyway?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. There were just too many to-”
“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Penelope snapped her fingers, then dug in her lizard bag until she found a small vial of ibuprofen. She shook one in her hand, than handed Sophie the pill with her coffee. “Come on. I know you’ve got a headache. I can see the strain in your eyes. One ibuprofen isn’t going to hurt you.”
“You’re right,” Sophie said, and obediently accepted the pill. She’d avoided the coffee and chocolate. It wasn’t as if she were stupid. Once Penelope arrived, it seemed obvious that her best shot at survival was appearing warm and welcoming-rather than scared out of her mind.
The way Pen kept pushing the coffee and nougats, Sophie figured they both must have been doctored. And because Penelope hadn’t left her alone, even for two shakes, she’d had no way to call Cord or the police or anyone else.
Truthfully, she didn’t expect the police to help her. Cord was a different story, but Cord wasn’t due home until past six.
Sophie couldn’t imagine stalling would work that long, so she figured she’d have to find a way to work with the pill. She popped it in her mouth, then faked a cough. Smiling, half laughing, she gestured to Penelope that she was choking, and ran into the kitchen with the coffee.
As soon as Penelope could no longer see her, she dropped the pill in the disposal, poured a little coffee down the drain and spun around…
Only to find Penelope standing there, tapping her five-hundred-dollar lambskin boots. “Hell,” she said wearily, “I wasn’t fooling you at all, was I? You were never as naive as we all thought you were, Sophie.”
“I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Oh, yeah, you do.”
“Actually…I don’t.” Cripes, when all else failed, she might as well try some honesty. “Jan didn’t say it directly, but I’m positive she was the one who broke into my place, looking for videos and files.”
“She was,” Penelope affirmed.