Desperate Measures. Carla Cassidy
Jake’s house was a large, beautiful brick with a huge bay window in the front. The lawn was neatly manicured, with trimmed bushes and flowers surrounding a beautiful fountain. Both the oversize plot and the expanse of the house whispered of money and success.
The first thing she did on arriving was knock on his front door. When there was no answer she assumed he wasn’t home, and she pulled out of his circular driveway and parked down the street where she could see him when he arrived.
She’d taken him by surprise last night. She was hoping tonight he’d be more willing to talk with her. She’d just settled in to wait when her cell phone rang. There were only a few people who had this number.
Looking at the caller identification, her stomach instantly clenched tight with a familiar stress. “Hi, Dad,” she answered.
“What are you doing?” Neil Wright’s deep voice boomed over the line.
“I’m working.”
Her father’s dry chuckle twisted the nerves in her stomach even tighter. “I was hoping by the time you hit thirty you’d put that podcast silliness aside and get a real job.”
“Dad, this is a real job,” she replied, knowing it would do no good. She’d been a disappointment to her father since the moment she’d been born a girl instead of a boy.
She was the youngest of three girls and according to her father, was the last chance for him to get the son he’d desperately wanted.
It hadn’t been so bad when her mother had been alive to soothe the hurt her father sometimes caused, but her mother had died from breast cancer when Monica had been eight.
“So, what’s up?” she now asked.
“I’m heading out early in the morning for a day of fishing with Harry and Frank, but those parts I ordered for my truck came in at the Liberty location so I was wondering if while you’re out running around tomorrow, you could pick them up for me.”
Monica stifled a deep sigh. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Great, just drop them off in the garage. I’ll be home late tomorrow night.”
When the call ended, she released the sigh she had stifled moments before. Her father often asked her to run errands for him and to her it was just another indication of how little he respected her and her job.
She knew she could gain his respect if she went back to school and became a nurse or a lawyer, like her two sisters had become.
But news was her passion and she absolutely loved what she did. Always in the back of her mind was the notion that if she became big enough, if she reached a certain number of followers or one of her stories got picked up by a national news source, maybe then she’d be good enough for her father to love.
All insecurities and thoughts of her father flew out of her head as Jake Lamont’s car passed hers and turned into his driveway.
She started her engine and followed behind him, her heart beating with the excitement of a potential story. He stopped outside his garage door and got out of his car.
She quickly parked behind him and did the same. Good lord, the man had been a hunk in his suit last night, but he was even hotter in his jeans and a navy T-shirt that showcased his muscled chest and flat abdomen.
“You’re trespassing.” His handsome, chiseled features were taut with obvious anger.
“I thought with a night to think about it, maybe you changed your mind about being on my podcast.” She offered him her most charming smile.
“My mind hasn’t changed,” he replied, and headed toward his front door.
She followed closely behind him. “Since the latest man murdered by the Vigilante Killer is tied to you and your sister’s death, I’d really like to get how you feel about the murder on the record.”
“What don’t you understand about no comment?” he replied tersely. He unlocked his front door and then turned back to look at her. “And now it’s time for you to get off my property.”
“Just one more thing,” she said hurriedly. “Can you confirm to me that you attended meetings at the Northland Survivor Group at the same time Nick Simon, Troy Anderson and Matt Harrison attended?”
He appeared to freeze. Once again he turned to face her. The anger that had ridden his features appeared to relax. “Okay, I’ll give you five minutes. Come on in,” he finally said, and to her surprise he opened his door wider.
She’d shocked him. How in the hell had she managed to learn about the four men attending the Northland Survivor Group together? And what other information might she have?
His need to know what she knew was the only reason he invited her inside. Watching her podcast the few times he had, he’d recognized she was tenacious and ambitious...two dangerous traits when it came to her digging into the Vigilante Killer case.
He guessed the killer was one of two men, but he needed to know what Monica knew about the case, because if the truth came out he’d be charged as an accomplice.
Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer, he told himself as he ushered her into his family room. “Drink?” he asked as she eased down onto his sofa and he walked over to his minibar in the corner of the room. Maybe he could get her relaxed enough she would give up all the information she’d already gleaned about the case.
She gazed at him with a sudden wariness in the depths of her amazing blue eyes. “I just want you to know that my producer and my cameraman are in a car just up the street. Warren and Wally always have my back and they know I’m here. And with that said, I’d love a cold glass of water.”
What did she think? That he’d invited her inside to kill her? He had no idea if she really had a Warren and Wally just waiting to run to her rescue, but he certainly had no intention of harming her in any way.
He handed her a glass of ice water and then carried his Scotch and water to the recliner chair opposite her. “Let’s get one thing straight right now—I’m not going to be on your podcast,” he began. “But I’ll tell you off the record how I felt when I learned that Max Clinton was murdered by the Vigilante Killer.”
“Do you mind if I record this?” She pulled a cell phone out of her oversize bright red purse.
“Actually, I do mind,” he replied. He didn’t want anything about this on tape. “I told you this was off the record. Besides, I’m not sure you need a recording for what I’m going to tell you. When I heard that Max Clinton had been murdered I felt nothing except for a bit of relief that he would never harm another woman again.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she replied.
He nodded and for just a moment his thoughts were filled with Suzanna. They had always seemed to know what the other was thinking or about to say. “It’s a twin thing,” they’d say to their friends. He’d felt gutted since her death, as if half his soul had been stolen and would never be returned.
“And where were you on the night that Max was murdered?” Her question made the here and now slam back into him.
But, God, she was attractive. Today she was clad in a pair of black jeans that hugged her legs and a red tank top that matched her red heels and hinted at a bit of cleavage.
How many men had lost themselves in the depths of her blue eyes or in the utter charm of her smile and spilled their guts? She smelled of something citrusy with mysterious spices that were incredibly evocative.
“Where were you when Max was murdered?” she asked again.
He mentally shook himself and focused on the question, not on