Книга - Colby Conspiracy

Colby Conspiracy
Debra Webb


Victoria Colby-Camp is stunned by the murder of a Chicago police detective who had close ties to her family and her private investigations agency. She decides there's only one man tough and objective enough to clear her name and the agency's reputation.With the keen instincts of a professional, Daniel Marks begins digging into Victoria's past, and into that of her long-dead husband…whose last days could be the key to the case.Daniel reluctantly takes on an unofficial partner, Emily Hastings, the daughter of the murdered cop–a woman determined to find her father's killer. Emily finds evidence linking her father to Victoria's late husband, as well as discovering the treachery and madness that nearly destroyed Victoria's son, Jim. And as the truth begins to emerge, it becomes clear that a ruthless Colby enemy wants certain secrets to stay buried….









PRAISE FOR

DEBRA WEBB


“Striking Distance by Debra Webb is a fast-moving, sensual blend of mystery and suspense…I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard

“…brims with tightly woven suspense around every corner, and twists and turns abound. Webb moves effortlessly between two very diverse romances and masterfully keeps the reader on the edge until the last page.”

—Romantic Times on Striking Distance

“Webb reaches into our deepest nightmares and pulls out a horrifying scenario. She delivers the ultimate villain for our computer-driven world—a techno sadist. Fortunately, she also gives us a battle-scarred hero who is still willing to fight and a loyal heroine who believes in justice.”

—Romantic Times on Dying to Play

“A chilling tale that will keep readers turning pages long into the night, Dying to Play is a definite keeper.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Dying to Play











Colby Conspiracy

Debra Webb





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

Welcome to the world of the Colby Agency. The Colby stories are very dear to my heart and I hope you will enjoy this one.

For five years now I’ve been fortunate enough to write stories about Victoria Colby and her staff of fine private investigators. I have worked hard to make each and every character as real and true to reader expectation as possible. Last year, Harlequin and I brought you the story of James Colby Jr.’s return (Striking Distance). Many, many of you wrote to me to tell me how very much you loved this story. Your letters and e-mails meant a great deal to me. Telling Jim’s (aka Seth’s) story the way it needed to be told was something I had hoped to be able to do. I have you and Harlequin to thank for that amazing opportunity.

Now I am pleased to bring you Colby Conspiracy. This story will give you a close-up insight into the more human side of Victoria and her private world. As always when I write a story, I hope to send you on an edge-of-your-seat ride that will touch every emotion. Oh, and and don’t forget the bonus features—I’ve written something very special for you there!

Best to you,







This book is dedicated to all the readers who have followed this marvelous journey with me from the beginning with the very first Colby Agency story. Thank you so much for coming back over and over again. I hope that I will never disappoint you and that we will venture into many, many more Colby Agency stories to come. Cheers!




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

BONUS FEATURES




CHAPTER ONE


THE RAIN had stopped. Victoria Colby-Camp stood near the massive window, staring out at the shimmering downtown city lights reflected in the inky black of the Chicago River. This wasn’t really the best time for her to be distracted. There were more hands that needed to be shaken, more affirmations of gratitude that should be made. Only an hour ago, she had received her second prestigious award as Chicago’s Woman of the Year, but she couldn’t help being drawn away from the glitz and the glamour and toward the unknown and the darkness shrouding the city she loved.

No matter that she stood in the mammoth marble lobby of the R. R. Donnelley Building, with its ancient Greek and Roman architecture, or that hundreds of silk-and sequined-clad guests mingled around her. She could feel the subtle shift…the ever-so-slight change in the very atmosphere of her happy but fragile world.

She had every right to be ecstatic. After half a lifetime of hoping and praying, she finally had her son back, alive and growing stronger every day. Jim scarcely reflected even a hint of the Seth persona that had ravaged his life from the age of seven until just one year ago. Great strides had been made with therapy and the love of the woman who had somehow managed to touch his battered heart.

Tears welled in Victoria’s eyes when she thought of all that Tasha had done to save Jim, to bring back the man, as well as the boy, who had barely managed to survive behind the ugly mask of a killer named Seth. Victoria smiled and blinked the tears away. Jim and Tasha had set a date for their wedding. All that Victoria had hoped for was finally coming to fruition.

“My dear, this is no place for the guest of honor to be hiding out.”

Victoria turned at the sound of the familiar male voice belonging to the man she loved. He was the other long-awaited wish come true in her hard-won battle for happiness. The man she had loved and admired from afar for so very long was now her husband. Emotion tightened her throat. Though a part of her would always love James Colby, the father of her son, her heart now belonged fully to this man…to Lucas Camp.

She smiled, gloried in simply admiring his handsome, however rugged, face for a few seconds before she answered. “I just needed a moment to myself.”

The heart-stopping smile that he reserved just for her spread across her husband’s face. “This is your night, Victoria. You deserve this honor and more. Come.” He folded her arm around his. “Let’s have another toast to the Woman of the Year.” He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “To my lovely wife.”

Victoria allowed Lucas to lead her back into the midst of the festivities. She smiled, offered the expected gestures and comments with all the grace required of a woman in her position, but part of her could not let go of the nagging instinct that everything was about to change.




CHAPTER TWO


THOUGH DANIEL MARKS had had no aspirations about going out tonight, he was glad the rain had stopped. He watched the flow of pedestrians as they ventured from the shops and restaurants on the Magnificent Mile from his vantage point in a luxurious suite on one of the uppermost floors of the historic Allerton Crowne Plaza. He’d never been big on hotels, but he had to admit that even he was impressed by the stately European decor of this one. But what he found most appealing was the location. Close to everything that was anything in the city of Chicago, and one place in particular—the Colby Agency.

Daniel had made this journey to the Gold Coast district of the Windy City by special invitation. After leaving his military career six months ago, he had taken some time to consider what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Then he’d floated résumés to a few agencies of interest to see what sort of offers he might attract. Victoria Colby-Camp, the esteemed head of the Colby Agency, had invited him to come to her fair city and spend a week or two getting to know the area—at her expense, no less.

He was scheduled to meet with her on Friday. It was Monday night, and he’d been here two days already. Time enough to get the general lay of the land, and, with one of the city’s top real estate agents at his beck and call, to consider possible areas where he might want to live if he accepted a coveted position with the Colby Agency.

Daniel scrubbed a hand over his jaw and laughed at himself. He hadn’t been made an offer yet. Maybe he was assuming too much. He’d only been invited to meet with the venerable head of the agency. But he understood from her come-get-to-know-us offer that she was more than a little interested. He didn’t find that part surprising, since the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Homeland Security had been interested, as well.

Hell, he wasn’t oblivious to what he had to offer. He’d spent ten years in the army as a military strategist and left with the rank of major, knowing he could have been promoted to lieutenant colonel immediately if he’d opted to continue in service. Like most everything else in his life, he’d been on the fast track from the day he’d entered Officer Candidate School.

But he had grown weary of the bureaucracy. Of the political head games that only the military could play with such precision and impact. Not that he’d left the army with a bad taste in his mouth, not at all. Daniel, without question, maintained the deepest respect and admiration for those serving their country in any and all capacities. He simply felt as if he’d done all he could in that world. His momentum had hit a ceiling, and he was going nowhere fast, with more frustration than he cared to tolerate. A mere promotion in rank wasn’t enough. He needed more…something where he could reach his fullest potential without all the political runarounds.

That was the reason he was here in Chicago, rather than in D.C. talking to bigwigs at the Bureau or Homeland Security. With any government agency, he was bound to run into the same thing that had prompted him to move beyond the military. He felt certain that the only way to escape all the bureaucratic crap was to go into the private sector.

So here he was, lounging in a swanky hotel and pondering what the future might hold for a thirty-two-year-old man who’d spent every day of his life since college proudly wearing the prestigious uniform representing the American Armed Forces.

He ran his fingers through his regulation short hair. He couldn’t see that changing. It was force of habit. Every other week, he got a haircut. Nor were the physical rigors of his former career going to be left by the wayside. He intended to keep up the physical training for his general well-being, as well as to make him a better investigator—wherever he went to work. Keeping in shape served a dual purpose.

He turned away from the window and strode across to the minibar. The only thing he’d had any trouble getting used to was wearing civvies, civilian clothes. Twisting off the cap of a bottle of beer, he peered down at his stonewashed jeans and cotton cargo shirt. It wasn’t any hardship, really; it just took a little more planning. He’d worn the same assortment of uniforms for ten years; he’d never had to worry if anything matched or looked right together; army regulation had dictated his wardrobe, from the cap on his head to the shoes on his feet.

After a long draw from his beer, he dropped onto the foot of the bed and clicked on the local news. Might as well learn the bad with the good. If offered a position with the Colby Agency, he anticipated no reason why he would not be readily accepting. So far, he liked the city. Couldn’t see any problems with fitting in.

A frown nudged its way across his brow and he wondered, if he stayed here, would he finally move on to the next logical level of his life. His military career had proved too unpredictable for putting down any sort of permanent roots. He’d been involved in several short-term relationships, but nothing even remotely permanent or serious. His savings were quite adequate—he could afford to buy a home and finally put down those kinds of roots. Not that he’d actually known that sort of lifestyle even before joining the military. He was the quintessential military brat, moving from post to post his entire life, with the exception of the four years he’d spent at Columbia, studying political science with an emphasis on prelaw. Rather than going on to law school, he’d opted for the military, just like his father. He’d felt the need to do his duty. He did not regret that decision now.

His own parents had retired to Florida five years ago. Needless to say, his father was not happy about Daniel’s decision to return to civilian life, but he was man enough to restrain himself on the issue. Daniel’s mother simply wanted her one and only son—only offspring, for that matter—to be happy. She wanted grandchildren.

Daniel didn’t know if he was ready to do the whole wife-and-kids thing just yet, but he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the need to find something more stable, more long-standing, in a relationship.

He turned up his beer once more and downed a deep, satisfying swallow. Maybe he just needed to get laid. He’d steered clear of physical entanglements since officially exiting the military, more to ensure that a sexual relationship didn’t influence his objectivity about his future than anything else. He wanted to do this right. This was a big step for him.

The Colby Agency was where he wanted to be.

He’d researched a number of prominent private agencies and not a one could hold a candle to the Colby Agency’s sterling reputation. Victoria Colby-Camp selected only the cream of the crop as members of her staff. Daniel liked the idea that he would be working with the best of the best from all walks of life. Some were former military, like him, but others came from the Bureau, from the ranks of various smaller law enforcement agencies or other, more routine occupations.

He eased back onto the mound of pillows and scanned the television channels, studying the faces that represented local media. Faces with which he would become very familiar, since the Colby Agency was a very high-profile part of this city. Whether Victoria knew it or not, he had already made up his mind. This was where he wanted to be.

And whatever it took, he intended to make it happen.




CHAPTER THREE


CHICAGO BOASTED the largest Chinatown in the Midwest. Densely populated with more than 10,000 residents, mostly Chinese, the area south of Cermak Road was chock-full of Asian grocery and herbal shops, bakeries and restaurants. Traditional Chinese architecture filled the colorful streetscape, welcoming new visitors and longtime residents alike.

Amid the terra-cotta ornaments and mosaic murals, bold, sculpted lions guarded street-level doorways. But nothing in this eclectic culture could protect against the events playing out beyond the commercialized places where tourists wandered. Here, in this less-than-desirable section, there was no glamour or glitz, certainly no goodness. There was only fear waiting around every corner, and survival of the most ruthless was the single prevailing law.

The alley was long and narrow, dark and damp from the rain that had fallen earlier that evening.

Homicide Detective Carter Hastings was barely three months from retirement. He’d turned fifty-five a few weeks ago. Most might not consider that milestone old, but it was damned ancient for a cop. He had decided that he would spend the rest of his life making up for all he’d missed or failed to accomplish these past thirty-odd years. In particular, he wanted to rectify his relationship with his only child, his daughter. He’d let the job rule his life for far too long. He wanted to know his daughter the way a father should.

But that wasn’t going to happen now.

He stared into the cruel eyes of certain death towering over him. “I won’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I swear I won’t.” Carter had never considered himself a coward, but tonight, knowing what he knew, he begged for mercy. He needed just one more day to set to rights all he’d failed to follow through on…to say the things he hadn’t said to the daughter he loved.

But this kind of evil knew no mercy. He should have realized years ago that this secret would come back to haunt him, that he could never trust a person who clearly had no soul to stand by any sort of promise. He had no one to blame but himself.

He prayed he would be the only one to pay for his error in judgment.

“Stand up and take it like a man, Hastings.”

The words hissed out at him as if they’d risen straight from the hottest flames of hell. Funny, Carter mused, in a way they had. Even the grave’s unyielding grip couldn’t restrain this kind of evil.

“I kept that secret,” he urged, a growl of anger roaring up into his throat, sealing his fate once and for all. He would die tonight. Nothing outside an act of God could save him, and with him would go the whole truth. “You don’t have to do this. What purpose would it serve? It’s over. Do you hear me! It’s been over for nearly twenty years. No one has to know it was you.”

Diabolical laughter echoed off the cold, damp walls of the dilapidated buildings crowding in on the place and time that now represented the rest of his life.

“You always were a softy,” his killer taunted. “I knew that when you fell for the wife of the victim. All that stopped you from being just like me was your so-called principles.” Another of those cruel sounds that couldn’t really be called a laugh split the eerie quiet. “You brought this on yourself, Hastings. You should have stayed out of it. I will not tolerate your interference. Don’t expect me to believe you’re finally willing to set aside those fine principles.”

Carter closed his eyes and said a final goodbye to the daughter he’d been less than a decent father to. Sent a quick prayer heavenward for the other woman whose life his long-ago actions would forever change. Now he would never have the chance to make up for his past sins.

The sound of the bullet exploded around him an instant before he felt the hot metal sear his brain.

Carter watched his killer walk away without a single backward glance. Then his eyes closed for the last time.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE STICK turned pink.

A surge of giddiness attacked Tasha North.

She was pregnant!

She and Jim were going to have a baby!

The idea of what a grandchild would mean to Victoria sent another thrill through Tasha. She couldn’t wait to tell everyone.

“Come on, North, you can’t expect me to believe you haven’t missed your work at the CIA.”

Tasha blinked and lugged her thoughts back to the here and now. “I’m sorry, Martin. What did you say?”

Martin, decked out in his typical uniform—an elegant designer suit—for schmoozing, stared, exasperated, at her from across the linen-draped table. “I fly all the way from D.C. to Chicago, bring you to one of the ritziest restaurants in town and I still don’t warrant your full attention.”

She smiled, tamped down her excitement and focused her attention on the man who had been her mentor in the CIA and who, as he so bluntly put it, had gone to all of this trouble in an attempt to lure her back to the Agency.

“I apologize, Martin.” She sighed. She couldn’t tell him the real reason for her distraction. “I’m just a little preoccupied.” Lord, what an understatement. As she’d gotten dressed this evening for his unexpected visit, she’d considered that a new wardrobe would be in order. Her tight little skirts, the ones Jim loved so much, and formfitting blouses would have to be traded in for something more readily expandable.

Another wave of giddiness washed over her.

Okay, she told herself, stay calm. It was all she could do not to float right up out of her chair. She couldn’t wait to tell Jim.

She glanced around the crowded restaurant. Martin was right. He’d brought her to Carmine’s, a very classy Italian restaurant filled with Chicago’s social elite. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, however wasted it was.

“The CIA misses your talent,” he went on, moving past the awkward moment and diving straight into the heart of the matter. “You’ve only worked part-time for the Colby Agency this past year, desk work at that. Don’t you miss doing field work? Getting deep into the game?”

Truth was, she had gone on only one mission into the field, period, and that hadn’t even been for the CIA. Apparently Martin had forgotten that little detail. Lucas Camp had recruited her—stolen her from the CIA, actually—and sent her on a mission that would forever change her life.

That’s how she’d met her fiancé…the father of her child…the man she loved with her entire being. James Colby, Junior. Jim. The man who’d stolen her heart even before she’d known his true identity.

“Martin,” she said with genuine sincerity, “you will always be very special to me. But I won’t be coming back to the CIA.” Surely after a year, he should have come to terms with that reality. Her life was here now. She had no intention of giving up one moment of her time with Jim. Happiness bloomed in her chest all over again. She and Jim were pregnant! And in just a few weeks, they would be married. Her heart fluttered.

Her life was perfect. All that she’d dreamed of was coming true.

Martin sat back in his chair and heaved a disgusted sigh. “There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

She shook her head, feeling too incredibly blissful to be depressed by his blatant discontent with her decision. “Sorry, but this is what I want to do. I hope you can understand that.”

He exhaled another of those impatient breaths. “I suppose, deep down, I suspected this would be your answer.”

Tasha studied her longtime friend and mentor. Same dark hair and handsome mug that kept the new female recruits mesmerized, but there was something more in his eyes now, something she couldn’t quite read. Her gaze narrowed with an abrupt surge of suspicion.

“What’re you up to, Martin?” She remembered that final test he’d put her through last year before pronouncing her field worthy, knew exactly what this powerful man was capable of.

A grin slanted across his face. He reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and drew out an envelope. Plain, white. “You’re getting cynical on me, North.” He offered the envelope to her. “This is for you,” he said mysteriously.

Her uneasiness showing, Tasha accepted the envelope. “What’s this about?” The size and shape was consistent with that of a typical birthday card, but it wasn’t her birthday.

He nodded to the seemingly innocuous envelope. “Just open it.”

Dividing her attention between him and the envelope, she pulled loose the flap and reached inside. It was a card. She read the words embellishing the front and her heart leapt. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.

He’d heard the news.

“Martin, you’re such a shit. You really had me thinking you were going to be upset if I didn’t come back to the CIA.” She clutched the card to her chest and smiled at him, tears burning in her eyes. God, she would not cry in front of him. He’d never let her live it down. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You’re very special to me, North.” His tone was uncharacteristically soft and genuine. “I want you to be happy, even if it means you won’t ever be coming back to the Agency.” He gestured to the card once more. “Now, look inside.”

Confused, she opened the card and her mouth gaped at what it contained. A voucher for an all-expenses-paid, two-week honeymoon in Europe from a renowned travel agency here in Chicago. When she’d found her voice, she blurted, “Martin, this is too much! I can’t accept this.”

He winked. “Sure you can. You just tell Lucas Camp that he might have stolen you from me, but you still love me the best.” His lips tilted into that lopsided grin again. “Let’s see that old bastard top this.”

Tasha couldn’t help herself. She had to scoot from her seat and rush around the table to give him a hug. She did love him. He would always hold a special place in her heart, as well as her life.



AS THE TAXI traveled east on Division Street, Tasha barely contained the urge to dial Jim right then on her cell phone and give him the news. She shivered at the idea of how deliriously happy she knew he would be. She resisted the impulse. This was too important to do over the phone. It had to be done in person.

Jim had come so far the last few months. He had made great strides in coming to terms with the atrocities that had been done to him after he’d been kidnapped from his family at age seven. He’d progressed to the point of what most people would say was normal. Anyone who met him now would never suspect that just a year ago, he’d been a cold-blooded killer for hire. His primary mission in life had been to assassinate his own mother, whom he thought had abandoned him.

Tasha shuddered at the memories of just how ruthless the alter ego Seth had been. Jim Colby had been buried so deeply under that evil persona that reaching him had been almost impossible. Somehow, she had managed to do just that. Seth had grabbed on to what she’d offered—her heart and soul—and slowly but surely Jim Colby had resurfaced—been reborn.

She would be lying if she didn’t admit that there had been some aspects of Seth that had intrigued her—still did—but he was gone for good, and it was for the best. Her life with Jim was worth every moment of pain and uncertainty she’d endured with Seth.

No. There was no way she would ever go back to the CIA or anywhere else. Jim was her life now. Jim and the baby. She was perfectly content doing research for the Colby Agency on a part-time basis. She no longer felt that burning desire to prove herself or to make her mark among the superspies of the world. This was her life, and she adored every minute of every hour.

Being plain old Tasha North—soon to be Tasha Colby—fulfilled her every desire.

She’d fought the fight of her life and won, had walked away with the kind of love few ever found, and now they were about to move onto the next level…marriage and a family. The latter was a little sooner than expected, but she was definitely up to the challenge. The thought of carrying Jim’s child made her tremble with anticipation. She pressed her hand to her flat belly, closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Jim would be thrilled!

When the taxi reached her street in Old Town, Tasha dug out the fare and a nice tip. She looked up at the Queen Anne row house that she and Jim shared, a present from his mother, Victoria Colby-Camp. She loved the house. It was perfect. But Tasha hadn’t mentioned to Martin how she and Jim had gotten their cozy home. As much as she appreciated his wonderful gift, Victoria had cornered the market on gift giving. She had spent the last year trying to make up to her son for all they’d missed since his abduction nearly nineteen years ago.

Tasha hopped out of the cab and strolled up the walk to her door. She inhaled deeply of the night air, enjoying the clean scent of the recent rain that still lingered. She hesitated before unlocking the door and surveyed the sky and the stars that had peeked from behind the clouds. She wanted to remember everything about this night. Wanted it to hold a special place among the memories she and Jim were making together.

Another rush of pulse-tripping anticipation launched her back into gear. She couldn’t wait another second. She had to tell him the news.

No sooner had the key turned in the lock than the knob was twisted out of her hand and the door jerked open.

Harsh fingers dug into her forearm and hauled her inside.

Before she had a chance to react to the stab of fear a lethal masculine voice demanded, “Where have you been?”

Even in the dark, even with her heart pounding like a drum, Tasha recognized that voice—felt the malice in it penetrate all the way to the very depths of her soul.

Seth.

“Jim.” She reached through the darkness, tried to touch him. What could have brought about this relapse? Something had to have happened to—

He slammed her against the wall. “I said,” he snarled, “where the hell have you been?”

Tasha’s body started to quake. She struggled to steel herself against the fear and worry running rampant inside her. “I’ve been to dinner,” she said calmly. “You knew—”

“So you just take off?”

His face was pressed so close to hers she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, could smell the liquor. Jim never drank, not anymore. The doctors had warned it might destabilize his condition.

Renewed fear raced through her veins. One doctor in particular had warned that Jim was still vulnerable, that a break from reality could occur unless strict precautions were taken to insulate him from the slightest stress. But he had been okay for months. He was well…happy…he was Jim, the man she loved.

The baby. Oh, God. Hurt knotted inside her. Please, God, not now. Don’t let him regress. Her thoughts whirled frantically, futilely. There had to be something she could do to stop this…to bring him back…

“Jim, please, tell me what’s happened?” She hated the quiver in her voice, the desperation. He’d been through too much already. It just wasn’t fair for him to spiral back into that abyss all over again. Not now, after he’d come so very far.

“Shut up and take off your clothes,” he commanded savagely. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Tasha froze, considered her options. Did she play along and hope he snapped out of whatever the hell this was, or did she fight back? Not now. Not knowing that she was pregnant.

“Jim, let me call your doctor,” she pleaded, praying she would somehow get through to him.

“Stop calling me that,” he warned, his muscular body pinning her to the wall. “Little Jimmy died a long time ago,” he taunted cruelly. “Now stop stalling.”

He wanted sex. Okay, she could play along. Surely he would snap out of this.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she reached toward the top button of her blouse. Her fingers shook before she could stem the reaction.

“You’re too slow,” he growled, then ripped open her blouse.

She bit down on her lower lip to hold back a gasp.

“Hmmm,” he breathed. “You smell so sweet.” He licked a trail down her throat and across her shoulder. She shivered, couldn’t help herself. “You like that?” He breathed the words on her damp skin.

“Please, Jim, let’s just talk,” she begged, suddenly fearing that he would take this too far… Damn, she didn’t know what to expect.

But she had to protect the baby.

His hand closed brutally over her breast and Tasha knew exactly what she had to do.

She went limp in his arms, surrendered completely. His full attention was focused on the breast he’d revealed. His mouth landed there and she made a sound of encouragement. As he kissed his way back up to her throat she rammed her fist into his unsuspecting gut.

He staggered back, doubled over.

Acting on pure instinct now, she landed a kick to the side of his head, forcing him to the floor. Then she made a run for it.

At the same instant that her fingers curled around the doorknob, his manacled around her ankle, closing like a vise.

She screamed, grabbed at the door even as he pulled her away from it.

He was too fast, too strong.

He yanked hard. She fell forward onto the hardwood floor. As he dragged her to him she kicked hard with her free leg and landed a blow to his jaw.

He swore and flung his full weight down on top of her. She grunted at the impact. His right hand clamped around her throat.

“Don’t move,” he growled between clenched teeth.

Tasha stilled. Her breath raged in and out of her lungs, barely hissing past the hold he had on her throat. Part of her screamed inside, urged her to keep fighting, but another part feared for the baby. She couldn’t afford to antagonize him any further. He was too strong.

His fingers all but cut off her airway. He used his right hand to shove her skirt up her thighs. Then he spread her legs and burrowed his way fully between them. His mouth came down on top of hers hard.

She felt him wrench open his jeans. Felt his thick sex spring free and prod against her panties. She closed her eyes and tried to lie still, told herself it would be better this way. Don’t give him any reason to hurt you.

He tore away her panties and shoved into her in one brutal plunge.

She caught her breath, winced against the pleasure of feeling the man she loved inside her and at the same time fearing the demon driving him.

“Now that’s more like it,” he said silkily, tauntingly. He flexed his hips, driving deeper. He kissed her lips, then her jaw. She shivered, afraid to guess what he might do next.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend that this was only a nightmare. It couldn’t be real…couldn’t be happening. Not now. Tears seeped past her tightly clenched lids, but she couldn’t hope to stop them.

His lips encountered those salty tears and he stilled.

He drew back from her then and though she couldn’t see his eyes in the darkness, she felt the change in his body—the sudden, jagged turn his respiration had taken, the slight tremble of his hands as his grip loosened.

“Oh, God.” The words tore out of his throat on a wounded moan of agony.

He scrambled off her, pulled her onto his lap. “What’ve I done?” He ran his hands over her purposefully, hurriedly, as if searching for injury. “Did I hurt you? God, please tell me I didn’t hurt you, Tasha.”

“I’m all right,” she managed to say, pushing past the emotion lodged in her throat. “I’m okay.”

He cradled her in his arms for a long while. Tasha couldn’t say how long. He kept telling her over and over how sorry he was. How he hadn’t meant to hurt her. And then he carried her to the bathroom and bathed her gently in the deep claw-footed tub. He smoothed the washcloth over her skin lovingly in an attempt to soothe the hurt.

Tasha watched him, her heart too damaged to question the sudden reversal. But her eyes saw clearly the price he’d paid for the lapse.

She only knew that he was behaving like Jim now. Inside, she cried, both thankful and scared out of her mind. Because no matter what her eyes saw, no matter what her ears told her as the man she loved attended to her needs, begged for her forgiveness, nothing he did or said would change the cold, hard truth.

Seth was back.




CHAPTER FIVE


BOUND BY THE CHICAGO RIVER and developed by the industrial working class, Chicago’s Lower West Side was as diverse as it was eclectic.

“Stop here.”

Upon Emily Hastings’s order, the taxi driver braked and eased the cab up to the curb on 18th Street. She paid the fare and got out, lugging the carry-on bag with her. The weight of the hastily packed bag dragged at her shoulder, but she ignored it. She made a quick swipe at her skirt in an attempt to smooth the travel wrinkles.

She was home, for the first time in too long to remember.

She inhaled deeply, drawing in the inviting scents of corn tortillas and spiced peppers from the Mexican restaurants and specialty shops that formed the cultural heart of the neighborhood. She let the sounds of salsa emanating from open windows and doors—and it wasn’t even noon yet—seep into her soul.

Her feet guided her; no thought was required. That was good, since her eyes were too busy taking in the changes since she’d last been here…home.

Nineteenth-century buildings served as stoic, sophisticated backdrops to the vibrancy of the street vendors. Emily felt a smile tilt her lips as she surveyed one of her favorites. Walking to the bus stop everyday for school, she’d watched as the dilapidated structure had been overtaken by artists searching for low-rent digs. Over time, the whole district had been brought to life by murals and dotted by funky galleries, all as a result of the influx of those starving artists. Emily had been too young to really understand the change; she’d simply been enthralled with the evolution.

As she took the turn onto her old street, Emily felt the wonder wane a bit. Other memories, ones not so comfortably recalled, filtered through her mind. The sound of weeping at her brother’s wake…the constant arguing between her parents after the death of her only sibling. The sharp pain of knowing that life would never be the same.

Emily pushed those old hurts aside and strode more briskly toward the house where she’d lived as a child before fate had taken its heavy toll on a typical lower middle class family, breaking it into pieces that would never again fit together.

She stood on the sidewalk for several seconds before stepping up onto the stoop. It looked just the same, only smaller. She stared up at the bow-shaped window on the second floor of the modest house. Her old room. She’d sat at that window many nights and prayed that her parents would stop fighting, that everything would be okay again.

But her prayers had gone unanswered.

Her brother had died, at age sixteen, of a sudden heart attack. His rare, congenital heart defect had gone undiagnosed. Her mother had blamed her father. As a cop, he hadn’t been a good enough provider, in Emily’s mother’s opinion. The loss and pain, all of it, were her father’s fault.

So her mother had left, taking Emily with her. They’d moved all the way to Sacramento, California, in an attempt to escape the memories.

Emily’s father had stayed right here. In this house, living with the memories and somehow surviving.

But now he was gone, too.

She blinked out of the trance the past weaved and reached up to the ledge above the door to retrieve the spare key her father had kept there for as long as she could remember. Her bracelet jingled as the numerous charms clinked together. She still wore it every day, had since the day her father had given it to her more than a dozen years ago, back when life had been normal.

On autopilot, she opened the door and stepped inside. A wave of emotion washed over her, as did the scents she’d associated with her father. Old Spice aftershave and gun oil.

For as long as she could remember, her father had been a cop. She’d sat in his lap many a night as he cleaned his service revolver and explained to her the hazards of not showing proper respect for the weapon. Both Emily and her brother had learned early not to play with guns.

An ache pierced her, and Emily fought for control. How could this have happened?

Her father had been murdered only three months from retirement.

She shuddered and closed the door behind her. Her bag dropped to the floor in the narrow entry hall and she moved deeper into the house.

The call she’d received at five this morning had been surreal, like a dream that couldn’t possibly be related to reality. But it was. It was all too gut-wrenchingly real.

Her father was dead.

Murdered.

The detective who’d called had assured Emily that it would not be necessary for her to identify the body and that the body wouldn’t be released before day after tomorrow, but she’d insisted on coming to Chicago immediately.

How could she not?

It was the least she could do.

Though Emily had been raised by her mother and stepfather since she was twelve, she still loved her father. Maybe they hadn’t seen each other often, but he’d gotten out to California when he could. He’d written regularly, had called once in a while.

No matter how much her mother would have preferred that she forget her father and the past altogether, Emily had never done so.

She moved slowly through the house, peeked into the parlor that looked as neat as she’d expected. Her father had always been meticulous about housekeeping. With his busy schedule as a homicide detective, she imagined that he’d hired a cleaning lady for the more tedious routine work, but the small, everyday tasks of keeping things tidy would have been something he naturally did. Emily had inherited that obsession from him. Her friends had always called her a neat freak.

The kitchen and downstairs bedroom her parents had shared looked exactly the same. Every picture, every knickknack sat exactly where it had fourteen years ago. Her mother hadn’t taken a single household or personal item when she and Emily had left. To this day, her mother never spoke of the son who’d died, or of her old life in Chicago. It was as if the past had never happened.

Slowly Emily climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her breath caught when she opened the door to her old bedroom. Her father had left it exactly as Emily remembered. She moved about the room and touched the stuffed animals and pictures that told the tale of her childhood. The small canopy bed with its frilly pink coverlet, the poster of her one-time favorite TV heart-throb taped to the wall. She’d sat in the window seat and daydreamed about growing up and marrying her idol someday.

Dizzy with the remembered voices and moments from her old life, Emily made her way to the other bedroom on the second floor. Her brother’s room. A small bathroom that the two had shared separated their rooms.

Colton’s room took her breath away. The football trophies. The big high school banner. Photos of him armored in sports gear. He had played them all, the epitome of the perfect athlete. Who would have expected him to drop dead on the field running laps?

Emily picked up a framed photograph—the last one taken of her brother—and touched his face. It had been the beginning of the end. Nothing had been the same after that summer.

She took a deep breath and blinked back the emotion burning in her eyes. Memory Lane wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, she decided as she closed up the rooms that served as tributes to forgotten childhoods. She wondered if her father had spent time in those rooms, wishing things had turned out differently. She hoped work had kept him too busy for that. Or maybe he’d moved on, as her mother had, and found someone new with which to share his life. But he’d never remarried and not once had he mentioned another woman to Emily. Just another sad truth to add to the growing stack that represented her old life here.

Back downstairs, she took her bag to her father’s room, opting to sleep there while she was in town. She picked up his pillow and inhaled deeply of his essence.

He’d been lost to her for so long that the impact of his death hadn’t fully sunk in. It was as if he would walk through the door after his shift ended and all would be the same. But that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe she should have identified his body in an effort to force the reality past the barrier of natural denial.

She’d come back to Chicago to plan his funeral, to take care of his final arrangements and his estate. Her mother had refused to come. To her, Carter Hastings had died the same year her son had died.

Emily tossed the pillow aside and decided a hot cup of tea would help get her started. She’d called the law office where she worked this morning to tell them she was taking two weeks off to settle her father’s estate. Her bosses had understood.

She’d gone to college and gotten a degree in journalism in hopes of becoming a Nobel Prize-winning author, but it hadn’t panned out yet. What did a hopeful journalist do when she couldn’t get work in her field? She became a secretary. She could type and file and answer the phone; it was a no-brainer.

After a soothing cup of her father’s longtime favorite, Earl Grey, Emily got to work. Her first chore was to go through her father’s official papers and determine what insurance policies were in effect. Someone from Chicago PD’s human resources department would touch base with her on whatever benefits would be forthcoming.

By the time dusk fell over the neighborhood, she had contacted the funeral home where her brother had been taken all those years ago and made preliminary arrangements. Barring any unforeseen obstacles, a service would be held Thursday afternoon at two. The wife of her father’s partner had called and insisted on having Emily for dinner that evening. She’d almost declined but hadn’t wanted to hurt any feelings. The partner her father had served with the past several years was not the one he’d had when she was a kid. She didn’t really know what had become of his first partner. Emily had vaguely recalled her father mentioning his first partner had died, but she really wasn’t sure

With all she could accomplish today done, Emily shuffled the papers and policies back into neat little stacks and prepared to put them back into the briefcase-size fireproof safe box her father had kept them in. He’d mailed her a key and the location of the safe box years ago. Foolishly she’d kept the key on the charm bracelet he’d given her the Christmas before the divorce. And, even more foolishly, she still wore the damned thing. It was the one part of the past she’d clung to…the single part she hadn’t been able to give up. Unlike her mother, Emily had still loved her father, still cherished the memories of the family they had once been so very long ago.

In the process of lugging the heavy fireproof box back into the closet to tuck it back into its hiding place behind the shoeboxes of photos and other family mementos, something shifted inside.

Not the papers or policies. This was something heavier, something she hadn’t noticed or heard before.

Curious, she hauled the load to the bed and reopened it. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. The papers were no longer in their neat little stacks, but that was to be expected since shifting the box into its hiding place required standing it on end. Then she noticed the difference. One side of the bottom appeared to jut up a little higher than the other.

Emily pressed down on the uneven bottom, but it didn’t budge. She removed the papers and set them aside, then hefted the box to an upside-down position and watched the interior floor fall onto the mattress. A bundle of yellow-tinged envelopes flopped onto the metal plate now lying on the covers.

Emily pushed the box upright once more and considered that she’d heard of, even seen, false bottoms. She just hadn’t expected to find her father harboring something like this in his bedroom closet.

She picked up the stack of bundled envelopes and read the addressee’s name. James Colby. She frowned. Who was James Colby? She looked at the date and was startled again. The envelope was postmarked over eighteen years ago. Strange.

Emily skimmed through the rest of the letters and noted the same names each time—Madelyn Rutland and James Colby. One was even addressed to a Victoria Colby but had never been processed through the post office. Or, at least, she presumed so, since there was no postmark on the envelope. Madelyn Rutland was a name Emily recognized. Madelyn had been her father’s first partner when he’d moved from beat cop to homicide detective. But James Colby was unknown to Emily, as was Victoria Colby.

Why on earth would her father have kept someone else’s letters?

Too tired and emotionally drained to ponder the question any longer, Emily replaced the false bottom and stacked all the papers, including the bundle of letters, inside the safe box. There were probably lots more things she would discover among her father’s belongings that didn’t make sense to her. After all, it had been many years since she’d lived in this house or been a significant part of his life.

Everyone had their secrets, but her father had always been a straightforward kind of guy. She couldn’t imagine him having any deep, dark secrets that would hurt anyone or even disrupt anyone’s life.

A bunch of old letters addressed to people she didn’t even know was the last thing she needed to worry about right now. Her father was dead.

She had to do right by him. Taking care of his affairs was the last thing she could do for him; that task had to be her main focus.

What possible difference could letters nearly two decades old make now?




CHAPTER SIX


FIVE O’CLOCK HAD come and gone before Victoria had found time to review the day’s Tribune. Some days were like that, one meeting or conference call after the other. She didn’t actually mind. The flurry of activity meant that the Colby Agency continued to thrive. Victoria had worked hard for nearly two decades to carry on what her husband had started. Having her son returned to her last year had made all the hard work and sacrifice worth it.

She had kept alive the legacy of Jim’s father. Jim would carry on with the same.

Victoria’s brow furrowed with remembered worry. Jim hadn’t come in today. He usually called when he planned to take a day off. But today he hadn’t. She hadn’t heard from Tasha, either.

Months and months of therapy had brought a semblance of normalcy to Jim’s life. He’d adjusted extremely well, in Victoria’s opinion. But it was hard work and there had been times during the past year when failure had loomed. Somehow her son, showing the true strength he’d inherited from his father, had overcome his weaknesses and the extensive brainwashing he’d suffered.

Victoria pressed the intercom button. “Mildred, would you see if you can reach Jim or Tasha for me, please?”

“Certainly, Victoria.”

Victoria stared at the silent intercom for a time after she’d instructed her personal secretary to make the call. That was another part of the past that was over now. Mildred and her niece, Angel, had been saved from the evil the Colbys’ archnemesis had wielded.

Leberman.

Victoria couldn’t recall how many months it had been since she’d thought of that heinous name. The bastard had died last October, but his devilish machinations had continued for months afterward. The ordeal finally culminated in the world being rid of those who’d conspired with Leberman to ruin the Colbys.

Despite having lived through that nineteen-year nightmare, it still seemed impossible to Victoria that one man could harbor such immense hatred toward another.

“Victoria, I’m not getting an answer. Shall I keep trying?” Mildred’s voice floated from the intercom, tugging Victoria from the troubling memories.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment before making a decision. “That’s all right, Mildred. I’ll try from home later.”

Victoria turned her attention back to the newspaper and attempted to put her concerns about her son and his fiancée out of her mind. It was possible that Jim had had an appointment today that Victoria had forgotten. Tuesday was Tasha’s usual day off. Perhaps she was overreacting.

She unfolded the paper on her desk and spread it open. A quick scan of the major headlines before turning the page drew her up short. She dropped the page into place and let her gaze zero in on one particular news article.

Local Homicide Detective Murdered.

Victoria read the accompanying story, regret churning in her stomach.

Carter Hastings…

What on earth?

The name swept her back nineteen years as easily as Leberman’s had…back to the night she had realized her son would not be found in the woods near their home. He was gone, had vanished, seemingly into thin air.

Homicide Detective Hastings had shown up at her door and Victoria had fallen apart. She had not wanted to believe that her son might be dead, but obviously Chicago PD had considered that possibility.

Hastings and his partner, Madelyn Rutland, had worked hard to prove Victoria’s son had merely wandered off or perhaps had been abducted by someone who wanted a son of their own. Everyone at Chicago PD had wanted to help the Colbys overcome their tragedy. The Colby Agency had already earned a respected place amid local law enforcement. No one wanted to see Victoria’s family suffer.

But there had been nothing anyone could do. The vile bastard Leberman had been behind little Jimmy’s abduction. And it would be eighteen long years before Victoria would know what really had happened.

Just three years after that horrific tragedy, Victoria’s husband had been murdered, and Carter Hastings had once more come back into her life. He had insisted on being the lead investigator. She would never forget the way he comforted her and worked diligently to bring James’s murderer to justice. But Carter had been searching for a ghost…a man more elusive than he could have imagined. Still, she had appreciated all his hard work and his endless emotional support.

The time between Jim’s abduction and James’s murder still carried a measure of guilt for Victoria. Hers and James’s relationship had not been the same after their son went missing. They’d struggled to hold things together those final three years, but it hadn’t been easy. For years after James’s death, she had worried that she should have done more to make things right between them, but she just hadn’t been able to get past the pain. Living with the reality that she might never see her son again, that he was likely dead, had been too monumental a burden to allow her to contend with anything else—even her beloved husband’s needs.

Lucas had helped her to get past those haunting months and years. He’d reminded her over and over how much James had loved her, how very well he had known that she loved him. The loss of a child brought hardship upon even the best marriage. Maybe that’s part of what had made Victoria fall in love with Lucas. Or maybe she’d been a little bit in love with him from the very first time she’d ever met him.

A wistful smile tugged at her lips. No matter the harsh realities of her past, her life was wonderful now. She had her son back and the man she loved beside her.

That nagging feeling she’d suffered last night at the gala filtered into her thoughts.

Victoria shoved it aside. She refused to be plagued by worry any longer. She had worried enough in the past for a dozen lifetimes.

This was her time. She deserved this happiness and she would not waste any of it borrowing trouble.

She picked up the phone and put through a call to Chicago PD. Carter Hastings had been incredibly helpful to her all those years ago. The least she could do was offer whatever help her agency might be able to provide for him.

“Chief Holmes, this is Victoria Colby.” She listened as the chief of Chicago’s homicide division parlayed the usual pleasantries. “Yes, it was good seeing you and Karen at the gala last night.”

Chief Marvin Holmes reiterated how no one he knew was more deserving of the honor of Woman of the Year than Victoria. She appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you, Chief. I was actually calling about this terrible news I’ve just read in today’s paper about Detective Hastings.”

Victoria’s posture stiffened at the abrupt change in the chief’s tone. It was as if the call had suddenly been diverted to some other office and some other man.

She tried to make another inroad, offering her condolences and suggesting that certainly all of Chicago PD was shocked and determined to bring this killer to justice. But the chief wasn’t biting. The change in the whole tone of the conversation was so extreme that Victoria felt uncomfortable continuing to attempt to discuss the topic.

“Don’t hesitate to let my agency know if there is anything at all we can do to facilitate this investigation.”

Chief Holmes hurried to end the call after that, insisting that he had a meeting. Victoria dropped the receiver back into its cradle, her mind reeling with questions and mounting confusion.

Why in the world would the chief be so evasive, so downright uncooperative about a case? She understood that this one was particularly sensitive because one of their own had been murdered, but why would her help—at the very least her condolences—not be welcome?

Before she could dwell upon the puzzling questions, her door opened and Tasha appeared. Victoria instantly set aside her troubling thoughts and offered her future daughter-in-law a warm smile.

“Tasha, what brings you to the office on your day off?”

Jim’s fiancé didn’t have to answer. As the younger woman quickly closed the door behind her and strode straight up to Victoria’s desk without pause, Victoria could see that something was wrong.

“We have to talk.”

It wasn’t so much the words, or even the expression on her face, but something Victoria saw in Tasha’s eyes sent her apprehension rocketing to the next level.

Every instinct Victoria possessed, had honed over the last decade and a half, warned that the shift in her world had just occurred.




CHAPTER SEVEN


TASHA HADN’T WANTED TO COME TO Victoria this way. She had hoped to work out the situation on her own, just her and Jim. But when she’d awakened this morning, Jim had been missing and last night’s incident had morphed into a whole other dimension. She’d spent the entire day searching for him with no luck. Every place he liked to go, the clinic where he still received therapy, even the Colby offices. She’d looked everywhere and no Jim.

“Tasha, sit down,” Victoria urged, no doubt noticing the paleness that fear and exhaustion had painted on her skin. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Tasha had always known her future mother-in-law had uncanny instincts; she only prayed that she could keep being pregnant a secret from her. Not that she wanted to hurt Victoria or to keep things from her, but she didn’t want to tell anyone else until after she’d told Jim.

She couldn’t tell him last night.

Not even after he’d begged her to forgive him for the slip back into the darkness of his alter ego. He’d bathed her, made her hot chocolate and hovered over her for hours afterward in an attempt to make up for his slip. He’d promised it wouldn’t happen again.

But he’d been wrong.

Eventually, his sweet coddling had turned sensual and they’d made love. It was then that she’d felt Seth again. Just little glimpses…but he had been there, as real as if she’d been making love with two different men.

Tasha trembled even now, felt guilty for thinking such negative thoughts. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared about Seth, loved him on some level, even; she just couldn’t live with that ruthless part of who and what Jim had once been. No one could.

“It’s Jim,” she said, knowing Victoria waited for some kind of explanation. “He’s suffered a regression.”

The look on Victoria’s face said it all.

Regression. The single most dreaded word known to the family members of a therapy patient.

Victoria sank back into the luxurious chair behind her desk. “Please, tell me exactly what happened.”

Her fingers twisting together in apprehension, Tasha’s knees pretty much gave way on their own, bringing her bottom in contact with the closest chair. Having said it out loud made the whole situation even more real. Tasha swallowed in an attempt to dampen her dry throat. She wasn’t sure exactly how to begin. There were parts she simply couldn’t share with Victoria. Parts she would be the first to admit that maybe she’d imagined. Tasha closed her eyes. No, she hadn’t imagined his ruthless touch, the brutal way he’d taken her even after his drawn-out apology for the way he’d greeted her when she’d come home.

Something was very, very wrong.

What could have happened to trigger this kind of sudden regression? The doctors had insisted from the beginning that any possible regression would be triggered by something. That’s why they’d all been so careful and followed every order of the team of psychiatrists studying Jim’s unparalleled case. They kept no liquor at home, not even wine.

And yet, here she sat, about to tell his mother the worst news possible.

“Last night when I came home from dinner with Martin,” Tasha began, then hesitated, scarcely able to utter the rest, “Seth was waiting.” Vivid images from their encounters last year—when she’d been working undercover in an attempt to determine the true identity of the hired assassin named Seth—fluttered one after the other through her weary mind.

Please, don’t let this destroy Jim, she silently prayed.

Color visibly drained from Victoria’s face. “Dear God, no.”

Tasha managed a nod. “I’m afraid so.”

Unable to hide as much as she’d like from the perceptive woman, Tasha sat helpless as Victoria surveyed her closer, no doubt noting the turtleneck sweater she wore, though the early fall weather hadn’t cooled enough to warrant sweaters just yet.

“Did he hurt you?”

The pain underscoring the question ripped at Tasha’s chest. Victoria had only had her son back for one year; even the vague idea of losing him again had to be killing her, just as it was Tasha.

“Not really,” Tasha allowed, hoping to spare her feelings. But Victoria was not one to be fooled so easily.

“Bruises?”

Tasha nodded. “And a couple of scratches.” She would not, under any circumstances, mention the other soreness. It was far too intimate. Tears crowded behind her lashes when she considered again how scared she had been for the baby. She quickly pushed aside the memories, couldn’t risk Victoria seeing it in her eyes.

Victoria nodded. “Shall I call Dr. Pendelton?”

Tasha shook her head. “I’m all right.” Dr. Kyle Pendelton was a longtime client of the Colby Agency. He was also a good friend of Victoria’s. “But Jim is missing or hiding.”

“You’ve been looking for Jim,” Victoria guessed, her worry visibly mounting.

“Yes. I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. Checked with the clinic. No sign of him.” Tasha swallowed tightly. “I guess this means you haven’t heard from him, either.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t.”

Tasha felt her heart sink further. What could they do now?

“All right,” Victoria said, her voice offering hope and the kind of sheer determination that Tasha should not have doubted even for a second. “We have to assume, then, that the situation has progressed into darker territory.”

Tasha had to give her full credit—Victoria’s strength was incredible. Her ability to hold her own under the circumstances was more than Tasha could say for herself just now. She was crumbling inside. But that wouldn’t help Jim.

“What do we do about it?” Tasha asked, feeling hollow and impotent.

“We assume the worst and go from there,” Victoria said bluntly, almost—almost—sounding completely objective.

Tasha watched, feeling numb, as Victoria instructed Mildred, her personal secretary, to convene a staff meeting in the conference room.

Most of the agency’s investigators didn’t leave until around six, which meant everyone would be there.

Tasha wrung her trembling hands and ordered herself to be calm. She had to deal with this just as Victoria did. She owed it to Jim. Anything less was unacceptable. He needed Tasha right now, more than ever. The beginning had been tough, but coming this far only to fail would be devastating to him. To all of them. Tasha had to be strong for Jim.

For the baby.

Minutes later, as Tasha and Victoria entered the crowded conference room, Tasha had about pulled herself together. She surveyed the room, feeling her nerves settle a bit as she acknowledged the strength in the faces she knew so well. Ian Michaels and his wife, Nicole. Simon Ruhl. Ric Martinez. Zach Ashton. Ethan Delaney. Maxwell Pierce and Doug Cooper-Smith. Amy Benson-Calhoun. Incredibly—or maybe it was pure luck—this was one of the few times that all the investigators were actually in town at the same time.

Her gaze shifted to the plaque that held center stage in the massive room and paid tribute to those who had once served the Colby Agency but had moved on for personal reasons. The names listed included: Katherine Robertson, Nick Foster, Trevor Sloan, Alexandra Preston, Ryan Braxton, Trent Tucker, Heath Murphy. There was a special tribute to the agency’s founder, James Colby.

There were others who worked behind the scenes, such as Mildred Parker, and half a dozen other research personnel, including Tasha herself.

But would this hand-selected staff be good enough to find a man like Seth if he didn’t want to be found? Tasha refused to refer to his latest actions as something Jim would do, because he wouldn’t. Jim loved her, had asked her to marry him. This wasn’t him…it was Seth, the lethal alter ego that Leberman had created.

As Victoria explained the situation, the familiar faces in the room grew more solemn.

Tasha knew what they were thinking.

Jim Colby’s damage had been too severe, too deeply ingrained. Making him whole again was too much to ask. The past few months had only been the quiet before the storm.

Tasha had even considered as much herself, but she refused to believe the man she loved couldn’t be saved. She’d seen his progress, had felt the change. He could do this. Something had to have happened to trigger this unexpected episode.

The idea that with the sort of brainwashing Jim had endured for years could carry some sort of hidden event that would only surface when the right situation occurred was a possibility. The specialist whom Lucas Camp had brought in to research that aspect had suggested as much, but there had been no way to tell for sure. It was more or less a game of wait and see.

And now something had gone wrong.

An episode had occurred.

But before they could determine the cause, they had to find Jim. As Seth, he was a danger to himself and almost anyone else he encountered, including the people he loved most. Seth had no conscience and was ruthless.

Tasha thought of the baby again and prayed that Leberman would not enjoy one last victory. That bastard was dead and gone. Tasha had watched him die by the hand of the very monster he’d created. Seth had killed his maker. She shuddered at the memories.

She glanced around the room again. They needed Lucas. He was the foremost expert on Leberman, even more so than Victoria.

As if reading her mind, Victoria said, “I’ll get in touch with Lucas right away. He’s in D.C. and won’t be back until Friday but at least he can get in touch with the specialist who evaluated Jim before.”

And with that final announcement, the entire Colby Agency set to work to find and rescue one of its own before he crossed a line where even Lucas Camp wouldn’t be able to help him.




CHAPTER EIGHT


IT RAINED AGAIN on Thursday, the day Emily said a final goodbye to her father.

Thankfully, by the time those who’d come to pay their last respects to one of Chicago’s finest arrived at the church, the sun had poked through the clouds and brightened the somber afternoon.

Emily remembered the church from Sunday mornings as a child, a lifetime ago, it seemed, when her family had been a complete unit. Elaborate carvings and intricate stained-glass windows graced the interior of the limestone-and-brick chapel. With just enough pomp and circumstance, the service had provided a distinguished send-off for the man she had always loved but scarcely knew.

Emily had called her mother last night to give her one last opportunity to change her mind about attending the service, but she’d adamantly refused.

So Emily stood alone as hundreds upon hundreds of those who’d known her father passed, offering their condolences and shaking her hand. She had expressed her gratitude so many times the words now felt empty and forced. She felt numb and more exhausted than she ever had before.

She’d lost count of the police officers who’d assured her that nothing would stop them from solving her father’s murder. So many promises of support and offers of assistance had been given that her head was spinning. The whole concept that her father had been murdered still hadn’t penetrated as deeply as she knew it eventually would. It felt surreal…impossible. Her father had been one of the good guys…a cop.

But cops lost their lives every day in the line of duty.

“Miss Hastings, your father was a dear man,” the woman who took Emily’s hand next said. “Please contact me at the Colby Agency if you need anything at all.”

Colby.

Emily blinked. She stared in confusion at the woman. Middle-aged, attractive, dark hair tinged with silver. Did she know this woman? Where had she heard that name?

And then it hit her.

The letters.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, hanging on to the woman’s hand when she would have moved on. “Did you say Colby?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. I’m Victoria Colby-Camp. Your father was a good friend.”

“I have—” Emily hesitated. What difference did the letters make? The woman would probably just throw them away. After all, they were more than a decade old—almost two, in fact. But Emily’s father had kept them for some reason. Maybe she should have read one or two. “Are you acquainted with or related to a James Colby?”

“Why, yes.”

The woman’s attention had turned keen now. Emily moistened her lips, suddenly wondering if maybe she’d made a mistake. What the heck? She’d gone this far. “I have some papers.” She gave her head a little shake to clear it, forced herself to focus. “Some letters, actually, that I think might have belonged to you or some of your family.”

Dark eyes filled with confusion searched Emily’s.

The awkward moment stretched a few seconds more and Emily hastened to add, “Perhaps I could send them to your agency?” She shrugged. “I don’t know that they’re of any importance, but I found them in my father’s papers and…well…”

“How kind of you,” Victoria Colby-Camp said, saving Emily from having to find a way to make sense of her offer. “Perhaps I could drop by and pick them up.”

There were so many things for Emily to take care of tomorrow that pinning her to a time she might actually be available wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll be in and out so much. Why don’t I drop them by your office?”

The woman nodded. “That would be fine.” She smiled. “Please let me know if there’s anything you need, Miss Hastings.”

Emily watched her walk away. A woman of means, she decided. There was something about the way she spoke and moved. Understated elegance, extreme intelligence.

A shiver raced over Emily’s skin as she thought of the bundle of letters. Why had her father kept old letters belonging to another man?

Before she had time to worry about the question, more hands reached out to her, more faces offering their sympathy.

She just wanted this day to be over.



A LONG SOAK in the tub had done Emily a world of good after the exhausting afternoon.

She curled up on her father’s well-worn sofa and sipped her tea, glad the worst was behind her.

Last night, she’d lain in his bed and considered the time that had passed since she’d lived here, before she fell into a restless sleep.

It wasn’t as if they’d been close the past fourteen years, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling sad that he was gone. He had been her father. And though she’d only spent the first twelve years of her life under the same roof with him, those few years were brimming with good memories. Well, all but that last year. When her brother had died, everything had changed.

Before climbing into the tub to relax her tense muscles, she had combed through her father’s things yet again. The only pictures he had were those taken when their family had been together.

What kind of life had he lived since then? Had he found any sort of relationship with another woman? Her mother had married barely one year after the divorce, had lived happily since then. Had her father been able to find happiness again?

There certainly was no indication anywhere in his home. All that Emily found were a few articles he’d cut from newspapers about work. A couple of awards he’d received for going above and beyond the call of duty—something he’d always done. But there was nothing of a personal nature, other than clothing and hygiene products.

Not a single item that indicated any hobbies he might have enjoyed or friends he might have had.

Emily remembered her mother arguing that he was nothing but a workaholic. But that hadn’t been entirely true, at least not when she’d been a child. She recalled vividly doing lots of family things with her father—ball games, picnics, even camping trips.

She knew that anything her mother said had to be taken with a grain of salt. Her mother felt intense bitterness and resentment toward that time in her life, but Emily felt certain those harsh feelings had more to do with the loss of her son than the divorce.

She thought about the woman she’d met at the service today, Victoria Colby-Camp. Emily’s gaze drifted to the bundle of letters lying on the table near the door.

Maybe she should have thrown them away. Or maybe she should have looked to see what they were about before she passed them on.

No. They weren’t addressed to her or her father. She had no business looking at them.

Tomorrow morning, first thing, she would have a courier deliver them to the woman named Victoria at the Colby Agency. There was no need for Emily to go there personally. She already had enough to do tomorrow, and she didn’t want to feel that awkward tension again.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She just wanted to get her father’s business affairs resolved, to do right by him when the woman he’d loved and had children with refused. It was the least Emily could do.

He had been her father, even if he hadn’t been a part of her everyday life.

And she would miss him.




CHAPTER NINE


FRIDAY MORNING, Victoria was glad to have Lucas back in Chicago. She’d stayed home an extra thirty minutes just to have a cup of coffee with him.

As the elevator opened into the lobby of the Colby Agency, she had to smile. They had been married almost a year now and she still refused to take a single day for granted. When they were apart due to his work in Washington, he called several times to simply say hello and that he missed her.

Warmth spread through her. It felt so good to have the man she loved in her life.

Victoria greeted Elaine, the receptionist who had taken Amy’s place when Amy had moved into the investigative side of the business, as well as several of her investigators as she made her way to her office. Lucas wouldn’t come in until later, after he’d made the final arrangements for the conference call with the specialist who’d evaluated the brainwashing technique used on Jim.

Inside her office, Victoria closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. She was glad Mildred hadn’t been at her desk so she could escape to the privacy of her office without having to answer too many questions this morning.

Jim had finally showed up at his and Tasha’s home last night. He had looked slightly worse for the wear, but he was all in one piece and that was the most important thing. Victoria had called off the massive man-hunt for her son, but her relief was short-lived.

Jim remembered nothing about the past four days. His only blip of memory was of the intense encounter with Tasha. Nothing about the time since—not where he’d stayed, not what he’d done.

At least he was safe. That was something. Tasha would take him to the clinic today where he would be fully evaluated by the team of doctors who had been working with him for the past year. Perhaps they would find some reason for his abrupt regression.

Victoria’s gaze lit on the package on her desk as she crossed the room.

She shrugged off her coat, hung it up and moved behind her desk to see the sender’s name.

Emily Hastings.

A chill went through her, but she shook it off. She couldn’t say what it was about the idea that bothered her, but she’d felt that same sensation of foreboding at the service yesterday when Emily had first mentioned the letters.

Victoria couldn’t imagine what Carter Hastings had been keeping related to the Colby name. Perhaps this was something from the cases he’d worked all those years ago—first her missing son, then James’s murder.

But why would he have kept anything at his residence? And Emily had said letters. What sort of letters?

Victoria sat down and reached for the package. Every instinct warned that she should prepare for the worst, though she couldn’t understand why.

As she opened the package, she considered that she had seen Carter from time to time since those dark, painful days of so long ago, but she hadn’t seen him often. She remembered vividly fourteen years ago when his son had died and then the divorce that had followed. Like hers, Carter’s life had not always been pleasant. But, also like her, the fine detective had been a survivor. She’d noted in the Tribune the numerous times he’d received one commendation or another. Just another thing they’d had in common—when life took a wrong turn, they had thrown themselves into their work.

Victoria withdrew the bundle of envelopes and her heart stumbled as she read her husband’s name penned across the first one. The handwriting was bold but feminine, long, even strokes. The postmark indicated a date six months after her son had gone missing.

Her fingers shaking, she turned over the envelope and withdrew the letter tucked inside.

Dearest James…

Victoria’s heart pounded hard once, then sank low in her chest. But she didn’t stop. She kept reading no matter that the words tore her apart inside.

…cannot help myself…will always love you…

…I live for those moments we spend together…

Victoria moved through letter after letter until she could not bear to read another. She stared at the woman’s name, signed lovingly at the end of each, before allowing the letters to fall from her fingers as her heart shattered into a dozen shards of anguish.

Madelyn Rutland.

How could this be?

How could the man she had loved and trusted…have cheated on her?

One letter had even been addressed to Victoria, but the sender had obviously opted not to go through with mailing it. In the letter, she had warned Victoria that she could not turn her back on her love for James. That Victoria could not expect to keep him…

“Victoria?”

She jumped at the sound of Mildred’s voice on the intercom. Scrambling, she shuffled the letters back into a bundle and shoved them into her desk drawer.

“Yes?” Victoria’s skin felt hot, but she was freezing inside. This couldn’t be right; there had to be a mistake. James had been her rock…

“Tasha is on the line,” Mildred said hurriedly. “She says it’s an emergency.”

Victoria’s heart surged back into her throat. Dear God, what now? She pushed thoughts of the letters out of her mind and grabbed the phone. “Tasha, what’s happened?”

“The police have taken Jim,” she said in a rush, her voice quavering with barely restrained emotion. “He’s a suspect in a murder investigation, Victoria. Murder.”

Ice formed in Victoria’s veins. “What?” She shook herself. “For whose murder?”

“That Detective Hastings,” Tasha explained, tears causing her voice to wobble even more. “They think Jim killed him.”

“Don’t worry,” Victoria told her, but her own fear made the words feel wrong, “Zach and I are on our way.”

Victoria hung up the phone and buzzed for Mildred. “Tell Zach I need him ASAP.”

Mildred didn’t ask any questions. She would recognize the desperation in Victoria’s voice, had heard it before…far too many times.

Grabbing her coat, Victoria rushed to the door, forgetting the letters. She didn’t have time to worry about the past right now.

Right now, she had to help her son.

Zach Ashton was the best attorney on staff at the Colby Agency. She needed him on this. And Ian, she considered on second thought. She could use Ian Michaels, as well.

Just then, it didn’t enter Victoria’s mind; she was too caught up in the frenzy Tasha’s call had set off. But later, when she’d had time to think, she would wonder what it was about her old friend Carter Hastings that had suddenly turned her entire existence upside down.




CHAPTER TEN


EMILY SAT IN the stiff chair of the small conference room. Detective Franko, the homicide detective in charge of her father’s murder investigation, had called her just before noon and asked her to come in for a meeting.

She had expected to receive an update on her father’s case and perhaps answer any final questions as to how they could reach her if need be. Not that she was in a hurry to get back to California. She wasn’t, not really. She wanted to close up her father’s house and take care of his affairs.

But the moment she had arrived at the homicide division, she had been hustled into this cramped conference room with a cup of stale coffee. And that had been almost an hour ago. She had things to do. Sitting here idly wasting time was not on today’s agenda.

She exhaled loudly and tucked her impatience away. Her father’s fellow officers were doing all they could to find out what really had happened in that alley on Monday night. She shouldn’t be cross about having to wait a few minutes. She wanted her father’s killer found, wanted him brought to justice.

The door opened and Detective Franko stepped into the room. Good. She pushed a polite smile into place. Maybe they could get this over with now. She had things to do for her father, as well. And, the truth was, she couldn’t bear to think about his manner of death. If she dwelled on it, she would never be able to maintain her composure and she simply couldn’t fall apart. There was no one else to do what needed to be done.

Detective Franko looked to be about thirty-five. Tall, thin, kind, the sort of man who looked as if he would be an animal lover. The weapon that bulged beneath his jacket didn’t fit with his persona, she considered as she watched him sit down across the table from her.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Emily.”

“That’s all right. Do you have any leads on my father’s case?” She prayed his case would be resolved quickly. The people here who cared about him needed that closure as much as she did.

The detective glanced at the file in his hands. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Her nerves jangled. Had they found her father’s murderer already? She’d been in such a daze she’d barely noticed that Chicago PD had a car watching the house—watching her, actually. It followed her everywhere she went. She supposed it was just a precaution, since the police couldn’t be sure of the motive behind her father’s shooting.

Franko looked from the file to her. “Emily, how would you define your relationship with your father the past year or so?”

To say the question startled her would be a vast understatement. But she’d never been involved with a homicide investigation. Maybe this was part of the routine.

“I don’t know,” she said, considering the question carefully before answering. The truth made her sound like a bad daughter. But, she reasoned, it made her look no more like a bad daughter than it did her dad as a bad father. “We talked on the phone occasionally, but I didn’t get back here often and he was always busy, so we hadn’t seen each other in a while.”

She didn’t see any reason to tell him it had been two years. She’d persecuted herself about that reality since learning of his death; enduring the look she would no doubt get from this detective was more than she could deal with just now.

“So you have no idea about any personal relationships he might have gotten involved in over the past year?”

A frown furrowed across her brow. “No. He never mentioned anything but work when we talked.” She shrugged. “And I haven’t found anything around the house that would indicate he entertained or kept in contact with anyone in particular.” That fact saddened her. She wished her father could have gotten on with his life like her mother had. Well, maybe not exactly as her mother had, but similarly.

“I noticed you speaking with Victoria Colby-Camp at the service yesterday,” Franko commented. He made the statement offhandedly, but there was nothing casual about his scrutinizing gaze.

What did her having spoken with Victoria Colby-Camp have to do with anything?

“Yes, she shook my hand and told me how sorry she was my father had died.” Emily shrugged. “She mentioned that they were friends.”

Her frown deepened. “You’ll have to excuse me, Detective, but I’m not following here. What does my talking to someone at the service have to do with my father’s murder investigation?”

“You also had a delivery sent to her at the Colby Agency, didn’t you? First thing this morning, I believe.”

Irritation needled Emily. “What are you trying to get at, Detective Franko?” she demanded. Enough was enough. She was beginning to feel like a suspect rather than the victim’s only family.

“We have reason to believe the Colbys were involved with your father’s murder,” he said bluntly.

“You’re saying the woman I met yesterday had something to do with my father’s murder?” How was that possible? Had Emily been in such a daze that she had so thoroughly misjudged the woman?

“We found evidence at the scene that implicates her son, James Colby, Jr.”

The name echoed inside Emily. She thought of the name on the letters. Surely he couldn’t be the same James Colby…

“I’d like you to tell me what you sent to the Colby Agency this morning. It may be relevant to your father’s case.”

This didn’t make sense. The letters were old. She hadn’t read the contents of any of them. There had been no reason to.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said, confusion and uncertainty reigning supreme. “I don’t understand what a handful of old letters has to do with my father’s murder.”

“Tell me about the letters,” he pressed.

Why hadn’t she looked at the letters? It had seemed like nothing at the time. How could it be significant to the investigation?

“I didn’t read them,” she explained, exasperated. “The postmark was nearly twenty years ago and they weren’t addressed to my father.”

“Who were they addressed to?”

“James Colby.”

Franko leaned back in his chair. “We’re going to need to execute a search warrant of your father’s home, Miss Hastings. Is that going to be a problem? Just so you know, we’ll be executing several.”

A search warrant? What would they expect to find in her father’s home? Would he be doing this same thing at the Colby Agency, too? No doubt.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” she said, her thoughts fragmenting as she tried to make sense of what all Franko’s questions meant. “But I don’t understand. You’re telling me that you have evidence that James Colby, Jr., had something to do with my father, and I get the impression that I’m a suspect, as well. What’s going on, Detective Franko?”

His gaze fixed on hers. “Right now, Miss Hastings, anyone connected to your father is a suspect.”

This was insane. She hadn’t even been to Chicago in years.

“As difficult as it is to say that to you, Emily,” Franko went on, “this is standard procedure. It’s not personal.”

She blinked, unable to rally a response. Her father was dead, for God’s sake. There was no way it could be anything but personal.

Her father had been murdered and she was suddenly a suspect. This couldn’t be right.




CHAPTER ELEVEN


VICTORIA SAT perfectly still, uncertain she could bear to hear what Lucas had to say. But it was, unfortunately, necessary. She couldn’t let this fester. The hurt twisted inside her, tearing apart all she’d ever believed in…all she’d managed to rebuild.

Lucas sat down in front of Victoria’s desk and heaved a weary sigh.

He’d wanted to discuss this at home, but she’d refused. She felt stronger here at the Agency. She needed that strength right now, that and more.

“Yes, I knew about Madelyn.”

Victoria’s eyes closed as the hurt squeezed her heart.

“But it wasn’t what you think—”

Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t even try to pardon what he did.” The words roared out of her with more strength than she could have imagined she possessed just now.

Lucas leaned forward, settling those caring gray eyes on her. “Victoria, I’m not pardoning anything. The truth is, I’m not certain there is anything to pardon.”

“I read the letters, Lucas!” How could he tiptoe around the issue? James Colby had had an affair. Pain stabbed deep all over again.

“That was a tough time for both of you,” Lucas reminded her, as if he’d needed to. “The strain on your marriage was immense. James needed someone to talk to. To my knowledge, that’s as far as the relationship went.”

“She was in love with him,” Victoria countered, the word relationship making her seethe.

Lucas nodded. “She probably was, but that doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”

Victoria held up her hands in an act of self-protection. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“Why don’t you let me have a look at the letters and I’ll try and get to the bottom of what really happened, if you’re certain that’s what you want.”

“No,” she said sharply. “I’ll do that myself. But there’s no time now. Our full attention has to be on Jim. It’s going to take both of us working together to get him through this.” Victoria closed her eyes again and tried to find a place of calm in her mind where she could think straight.

“We have to assume that they have some sort of evidence against Jim or they wouldn’t have been prepared to make an arrest,” Lucas offered.

That much was true. Thank God Zach had been able to get a jump on the detective in charge of the case, Detective Franko. Apparently under Zach’s legal eagle scrutiny, whatever Franko had hadn’t been sufficient to proceed against Jim just yet. But Jim’s arrest was imminent. They’d taken him in with the intent of pressing formal charges. After tangoing with Zach, the district attorney, rather than risk running into a double-jeopardy wall, had suggested that Franko hold off until his facts were further substantiated. But that had only bought Victoria a little time; it hadn’t actually changed anything.

She had seen the way the very men who just a few days ago had respected her agency had looked at her son. One of their own was dead, and they believed they had his killer. She knew exactly how hard they would work to prove their theory.

Jim was at the clinic undergoing a full evaluation. He would not be allowed to return home unless the doctors were confident that Tasha could keep him under control and under constant supervision.

Tears burned in Victoria’s eyes. She didn’t want to believe that any of the men or women she knew and respected in Chicago PD would harm her son. But right now, considering the current circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could say that.

When a cop died, the whole law enforcement community wanted justice. She could understand how they felt. She wanted justice for Carter Hastings, as well. But not if it meant railroading her son for a crime he surely could not have committed. Her son hadn’t even known Carter Hastings.

“We need to know what they’ve got,” Victoria agreed.

“Ashton will get that for us,” Lucas voiced his certainty on the matter.

He would, in time. But did they have time? That was the question. Could they sit around here like this and assume that the police—who were obviously less than objective on the matter since one of their own had been murdered—would conduct a thorough investigation? Or would the boys in blue simply go after what they considered the sure thing?

Victoria knew human nature, and human nature would scream for vengeance.

None of this made sense.

Carter had been murdered. Then his daughter had mentioned the letters at his funeral service. What did his murder and those old love letters have to do with each other? And why now? After all this time?

Another wave of hurt washed over Victoria. How could her husband have turned to another woman when Victoria had needed him so very badly?

James had always been like a rock, unshakable. He’d survived being a prisoner of war, had stood fast by her side when Jimmy had gone missing. How could she not have known that there was someone else?

Someone involved in the investigation, for God’s sake.

Carter had known. A new kind of ache welled inside her. He’d been so kind to Victoria. Somehow, he must have found out after James’s murder and hidden the letters to keep Victoria from finding them. To protect her. Her gaze moved to her new husband. Just as Lucas had protected her from what he had known.

He would do the same thing now. Lucas loved her, would do anything to save her from further devastation. That’s why she had to do this herself.

Victoria thought of her faithful staff and, without doubt, knew that any or all of them would do whatever it took to clear Jim’s name, ultimately protecting her.

No one wanted Jim cleared more than Victoria. But more importantly, she wanted the truth.

There was only one way to be sure she had the whole truth when all was said and done.

She would oversee this investigation personally. She would allow no one whose first priority was to protect her to be involved.

That left her with only one option.




CHAPTER TWELVE


AT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE two on Friday afternoon, Daniel Marks stepped off the elevator in the lobby of the revered Colby Agency.

The receptionist greeted him immediately and promptly called Victoria Colby-Camp’s personal secretary to come and escort him to his appointment.

Victoria met him just inside her office.

When the initial formalities were out of the way, she suggested they sit. He took a seat at the small conference table and she did the same. He’d declined any coffee, but two bottles of chilled water with accompanying glasses sat on a tray in the center of the table.

“What do you think of the Windy City?”

Daniel came prepared to answer that question. He’d all but made an offer on a loft less than ten minutes from the Colby Agency. “I’m impressed.”

Victoria nodded. “You found the information packet we sent you informative?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t mention that he’d already scouted out his permanent residence. He didn’t have the job yet, though he fully suspected that’s what this meeting was about. Since his arrival, he’d decided that this was what he wanted. He felt comfortable here, liked the pace of the city. Its location midway meant that either coast was a simple two-hour flight away.

“Mr. Marks,” she began, “I thought I’d learned everything there was to know about this business. I’ve been operating under the assumption that I’d seen the worst it had to offer. But then, just today, I learned something new.”

It was more the expression on her face than her words that made him uneasy. The meeting had definitely taken a different turn than what he’d anticipated.

“How’s that?”

“Trust has always been a major foundation of my life,” she explained. “As long as I had trust, I had no fears where anything else was concerned, but it seems I was wrong.”

Daniel tried to reason how her recent revelations tied in with his consideration for a position within her agency but found no connection. Obviously, he would have to let her lay it on the table for him.

“I’ve reviewed your record thoroughly and checked your references. I’m fully convinced that you would fit in perfectly here,” she told him bluntly.

There was a but coming, one he couldn’t quite nail the motivation for.

“I appreciate your confidence, Mrs. Colby-Camp. I have to tell you that I’ve done the same. I’m confident your agency is where I’d like to begin my new career.”

Victoria opened a bottle of water and poured herself half a glass. She sipped it a moment before continuing.

Daniel couldn’t help wondering if this was a test of some sort. His work and personal history were impeccable, as were his references. Whatever was going on wasn’t about his qualifications.

“Mr. Marks,” she eventually went on, “I need your help.”

Now she’d lost him again. “Excuse me?” He studied her face, saw the lines of worry he hadn’t noticed at first. Had he arrived at a bad time? Though they hadn’t met before, they had spoken several times by phone. What he saw definitely didn’t mesh with what he’d heard in her voice previously.

“Not so very long ago, a very cunning man named Cole Danes taught me that things are not always what they seem and that at times human emotion can be a considerable weakness.”

Daniel flared his hands. “That’s true in a military setting, as well. There are times when one must set aside human emotion and react on basic instinct, much as an animal does when going after prey or making any other survival decision.”

She nodded. “Then you know what I mean when I say that I’m certain the most thorough investigations are conducted by those who have no personal stake in a matter.”

“Of course.” No question there.

The strength he’d sensed absent in her tone this afternoon was suddenly there, in her eyes. “Mr. Marks, there is no question that I will be offering you a position at this agency. Coming to terms on salary is only a technicality.”

Daniel relaxed marginally. “Excellent.” Now this is what he’d thought he was coming here for today.

“But first, an unexpected necessity dictates that I hire you as a private contractor to conduct an investigation outside the realm of this agency.”

His gaze narrowed as he attempted to read what he saw in her eyes now. She was too good. Whatever fear or uncertainty she felt, she kept it hidden. Was this some sort of test? “What kind of investigation?”

“My son is a suspect in a murder investigation,” she told him without elaborating. “I need you to find the truth.”

He found the way she summed up her needs rather interesting. “Do you have reason to believe he’s guilty?”

She moved her head from side to side. “To my knowledge, he doesn’t even know the victim.”

“But…” he prompted.

Visibly bracing herself, she responded to his prod, “But there are extenuating circumstances. A lapse in his memory has left him without an alibi.”

Daniel felt certain there was more related to the lapse, but he didn’t pursue that avenue just now. There was another, more crucial question to be asked.

“What makes you believe the police won’t conduct a proper investigation?” There had to be a reason she didn’t trust the cops. For that matter, it seemed, she didn’t even trust her own staff of investigators. None of which fit with what he’d learned about her or this agency.

“The victim is one of their own,” she said somberly. “They want revenge, Mr. Marks. I’m certain most of them won’t be thinking clearly or pursuing all the possible avenues. They’re not going to be satisfied until someone takes the fall for this. The sooner, the better.”

According to his research, the Colby Agency maintained an outstanding relationship with local law enforcement. This couldn’t be an easy dilemma.

“All right,” he told her. “You give me the facts you know, make whatever assets you have available to me and I’ll do what I can to clear your son.”

For three beats, she held his gaze, hers unblinking. “You misunderstand me, Mr. Marks,” she said, something in her eyes turning bleak for a mere second before sheer determination defeated it. “I don’t want you to simply clear my son of guilt. I want you to find the truth, whatever it is.”

Daniel had known the moment he’d walked into the lobby of this agency that there was something different about it. The very air was charged with something beyond the usual energy of bustling activity. It felt alive and vibrant on a level that transcended the norm. It seemed like the kind of place where things happened, where lives were changed.

He wanted to be a part of that, couldn’t imagine taking a position anywhere else now that he’d met this woman. She, he understood with complete certainty, was the heart and soul of this place.

The challenge she had tossed out before him said all that needed to be said. This woman, the one who’d made the Colby Agency what it was, was desperate and yet she knew exactly what had to be done.

“I’ll find the truth for you.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Raised voices sounded outside the door, postponing whatever she might have said next.

The door burst open and both Victoria and Daniel turned to see who’d barged in.

“…in a meeting,” Mildred Parker, Victoria’s secretary, was saying.

“I don’t care! I have to see her now.”

A young woman, long dark hair bouncing around her shoulders, stormed into the office, Mildred trailing right behind her. Daniel allowed his gaze to take a tour of the intruder’s form. Even though she was as mad as hell, she was a looker—tall, slender, a brunette with hazel eyes flashing with fire.

Apparently he was about to witness one of the less gracious Colby Agency moments.

“I’m sorry, Victoria, I couldn’t stop her.”

“It’s all right, Mildred.”

His curiosity piqued, Daniel’s gaze slid from the woman who would be his boss to the younger, clearly furious woman who’d strode across the room and planted herself directly in front of Victoria.

“Miss Hastings,” Victoria said, “I’m sure you’re distraught—”

“I’m more than that, Mrs. Colby-Camp. I’m confused and hurt,” she snapped. “Your son killed my father. I want to know why.”




CHAPTER THIRTEEN


EMILY HADN’T CONSIDERED what she would say to Victoria Colby-Camp before she’d barged into her office. The fact was, she hadn’t thought at all. One thing kept playing over and over in her mind—her father, alone in that alley while a man less than half his age took his life.

“Miss Hastings, this is a difficult time for you and I realize that—”

“My father is dead,” Emily interrupted, not the least bit interested in whatever compassionate ploys the woman intended to utilize. “I want to know why.” Emily blinked back the sting of tears. She’d made it this far without breaking down, she wasn’t about to now. “You showed up at my father’s funeral and claimed to be his friend, took advantage of my vulnerability.”

“Perhaps I should come back later.”

Emily’s gaze swung to the man she hadn’t even noticed until he stood and spoke. He’d been sitting right there at the conference table. It startled her that she’d looked right over him. But her emotions were raw, her attention focused on one thing only.

“That won’t be necessary, Daniel,” Victoria said. “Daniel Marks, this is Emily Hastings.”

Her confusion momentarily overriding her fury, Emily looked from Victoria to the man and back. Did she not get it? How could she sit there and offer polite small talk?

“Miss Hastings,” Victoria went on before Emily could lodge another demand, “is the daughter of Detective Carter Hastings, the victim in the homicide investigation I was in the process of telling you about.”

Victim. Emily’s outrage roared again. “I want to know why you didn’t tell me the truth.”

Victoria’s gaze settled on Emily’s then. It was the first time Emily had really looked into the woman’s eyes since storming her office. She looked as weary and disheartened as Emily felt, maybe even a little angry. But she had no right. No right at all.

“Miss Hastings, I had no idea until this morning that my son was in any way implicated in your father’s case.”

Emily was about to argue, but Victoria held up a hand.

“To my knowledge my son never even knew your father. However, the police seem to think differently and I intend to find out how and why. That’s where Mr. Marks comes in.”

Of course she would want to protect her son, but if he was a murderer…

“I can’t help but feel like you’ve taken advantage of me,” Emily said bluntly. “I gave you those letters.”

She didn’t care what the man in the room had to do with anything. This concerned Victoria Colby-Camp and her son. An ache speared through Emily. Not now. She didn’t want to feel any of this until she’d finished what had to be done.

Victoria took a deep breath. Her struggle with her emotions was evident but gave Emily no comfort.

“There’s nothing I can say to make this any easier, Miss Hastings. But if it helps at all, I want the truth as badly as you do. If my son was involved with your father’s murder, I will know it. I won’t give up until I have all the answers for myself, as well as for you.”

Emily was taken aback. Could she really mean that? No. That was impossible. Any mother would first and foremost want to protect her child, even if that child was a grown man. “Talk is cheap, Mrs. Colby-Camp.”

“That’s why I’m here,” the man spoke up, reminding Emily of how Victoria had referred to him. He moved a step in Emily’s direction and offered his hand. “I’m Daniel Marks. Victoria has hired me to investigate this case. I’m not employed by the Colby Agency. Victoria and I have never met before today. I have no reason not to be objective. You have my word on that.”

Emily looked from his sincere expression to his hand. “As I said,” she responded with no intention of being polite, “talk is cheap.”

He smiled and something about that smile made her feel a little less manic, a little less certain that somehow the Colby Agency would find a way to clear a killer.





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