Mountain Witness Page 11

  “She encouraged you to date him?” Chris asked.

  “Basically. I mean it wasn’t like she pushed me toward him. But she seemed happy for me and made sure that I knew she didn’t mind when I did essentially choose my boyfriend over spending time with her.”

  “You said it would have been in her best interest to date Alan,” Chris continued. “Why?”

  “Money, of course. He wasn’t exactly flush in college, but he wasn’t hurting either. Everyone knew he was the heir to Webb Enterprises, his father’s import-export business, and that he was expected to take the reins of the company one day. Whoever ended up marrying Alan would have come into a lot of money. If this is about Kathy and Alan being some kind of partners, they would have become partners in college and gotten married. I had nothing to offer anyone. There was no financial benefit for Alan marrying me.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s true,” Max said from the end of the table, just as the chief resumed his seat.

  The chief waved toward him. “I got some silly runaround answer from Nelson about her men wanting to explore the countryside, thus the rental of two cars. And she’d driven them to the station because they were all at the hotel together and it made sense to share a ride to Mrs. Webb’s witness interview.” He rolled his eyes.

  “I’m still not buying it,” the chief continued. “Especially since they didn’t end up staying overnight at the hotel. Naturally, her response to my question about that was that they changed their minds after Julie left the interview. But unless the city of Nashville has money to burn in their budget, I don’t see them reimbursing an ADA for renting her admin assistants cars.” He waved at Max again. “Go on. You were about to say something else you found out?”

  Max nodded. “Mrs. Webb, you mentioned your mother’s family had some money. Any idea how much?”

  Julie shook her head. “My mom didn’t talk about her family very often. I got the impression they lived comfortably, but not anything crazy. It’s not like they were millionaires, or however many pounds sterling it takes to make someone rich.” She smiled, but Max remained stoic.

  “You didn’t mention your mother’s maiden name earlier,” Max said.

  “Abbott, why?”

  He nodded, as if that was what he’d expected. “Your grandmother was Elizabeth Victoria Abbott, correct?” Max asked.

  Julie frowned. “Yes, that’s right. Is there a point here somewhere?”

  “Your grandmother’s late husband was Edward. They were from old money and built that inheritance into an extremely lucrative corporation they simply named Victoria and Edward. Your grandfather died many years ago. But your grandmother is still alive and thriving. She’s the CEO. And you’re right that she’s not worth millions. Her net worth is in the billions. About two-point-six billion, to be exact.”

  The room went silent.

  Julie’s mouth dropped open.

  “There’s one other piece of information I got from that call,” Max said, shifting his glance to Chris and then the chief. “The fingerprint search on our dead rifleman got a match based on a passport-database search.” He looked back at Julie. “His name was Harry Abbott.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Julie yanked the comb through her wet hair, wincing when it caught on a tangle. She freed the comb and tossed it into the duffel bag that Donna had gotten for her from the rental house. The chief had been nice enough to let Julie take a shower in the bathroom attached to his office here at the police station. This luxury had surprised her and elicited a few snickers from the SWAT team.

  Julie braced her hands on the countertop and stared into the mirror above the sink, thinking about what she’d learned during lunch. Her mom had painted Julie’s grandmother as being ancient, in poor health. Julie had always assumed the woman had passed away by now. But now she knew her grandmother was alive and well, and at the helm of a multibillion-pound enterprise.

  Not that it made any difference. Julie would have loved to have a grandmother, regardless of her grandmother’s financial situation. She longed for someone to help fill the holes in her heart left by the loss of her family. But obviously that sentiment wasn’t returned. If Elizabeth Abbott had really loved her only daughter, she’d have done something over the years to reach out to her. And she’d have discovered she had two granddaughters to love, as well. But she never had. Which told Julie that her mother was right all along, and that she’d made the right choice in fleeing across the pond when she was just a girl herself.

  Julie shoved her hair back from her eyes, straightened the bathroom, then grabbed the duffel and headed into the chief’s office. She stopped short when she saw Chris writing on a whiteboard hanging on the wall opposite the desk.

  He turned and smiled a greeting. Then his smile died as he looked at her. “Julie? What’s wrong?”

  She glanced at the closed door, relieved that no one else was in the office right now. She sat in one of the guest chairs in front of the chief’s desk.

  “I’m not normally a whiner. But I’m beginning to seriously dislike my grandmother even though I’ve never met her. I can’t get past the fact that she’s as rich as Midas but could never forgive her daughter and provide the help that Naomi needed, the help my parents could never afford. If she had, maybe Naomi would still be alive.”

  Chris crossed the room and crouched in front of her chair, taking her hands in his. “Are you saying your grandmother contacted your mother? That she knew she had granddaughters, and didn’t do anything to intercede when your sister got sick?”

  She clung to his hands, to the strength and support he offered, grateful to have one person she felt comfortable with, one person she could lean on right now.

  “No. But I just can’t see my loving, wonderful mother not reaching out to her mother to save her dying child. If there was anything humanly possible that could be done to save Naomi, my mom would have done it. So I have to believe that she did contact my grandmother, told her the situation and asked for her help.”

  Julie shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. “No help came. My grandmother chose her feud over trying to save the life of her eldest granddaughter. How can I ever forgive that?”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. Embarrassed to be crying on him again, she tried to think of something else—anything else—to stop her tears. But blanking all her troubles from her mind left far too much room to think about how good his arms felt around her.

  The last time she and her husband had held each other like this had been too long ago to remember. That had to be why she felt so drawn to this man. She was lonely, starved for affection, desperate for someone who seemed to care what happened to her. But, really, who wouldn’t be drawn to him?

  His strong arms felt wonderful around her. His chest was the perfect pillow for her cheek. And he smelled so darn good. But of course there was so much more to him than the physical. He was brave, protective, loyal—the qualities that meant the most to Julie, probably because those were the qualities of a tight-knit family. And family meant everything to her. Which was why losing hers had been so devastating.

  For just a moment, she allowed herself the fantasy of pretending that Chris was her family, that he was hers to hold and to keep and treasure. It was a delightful fantasy, and one that would be over far too soon. Because even if he felt the same draw, the same attraction—heart, soul and mind—to her that she felt to him, what kind of a future could there ever be for a relationship between so very different people?

  She’d seen how close he was to his SWAT team, how they acted like their own little family. He could never give up something like that, give up the friends he was loyal to and cared about. And she wouldn’t want him to. But she couldn’t see herself in a small town like this for the rest of her life. Her work meant far too much to her, and it relied on charity, the kinds of donations s
he could only get by working in a large city with affluent pools of people to draw upon—a city like Nashville. Moving here, to Destiny, permanently, would mean giving up on finding cures that would help so many families like hers. That was something she just couldn’t do.

  Inhaling deeply, she selfishly enjoyed another tantalizing breath warmed by Chris’s skin, perfumed by his masculine scent. Then she pushed herself back to sitting, forcing him to drop his arms.

  He studied her intently, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You do know that I’m going to protect you, right? You seem...scared, or maybe worried.”

  Unable to stop herself, she caressed his face. Her heart nearly stopped when he rubbed his cheek against her hand. Oh, how she wished her life were different, that she had met this man in another place, another time.

  He smiled, a warm, gentle smile she felt all the way to her toes.

  “Everything’s going to be okay, Julie,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she automatically leaned toward him. Her hands went to his shirt, smoothing the fabric.

  A shudder went through him and she looked up. The open hunger on his face made her breath catch. And then he was leaning toward her, slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, to pull away, to say no.

  She didn’t want to say no.

  She wanted his lips on hers, his arms around her, wanted to feel her breasts crushing against the hard planes of his chest. She wanted this. She wanted him, needed him.

  His breath warmed her as he kissed first one cheek, then the other, before lowering his lips to hers.

  Heaven. She’d died and gone to heaven, and it was far better than she’d ever thought it could be. His mouth moved against hers, softly, gently, a warm caress that made her feel cherished, wanted, needed, the way that she needed him. The kiss was so beautiful it made her want to cry all over again, this time with joy. And then the kiss changed.

  Gone was the gentle lover. The hunger she’d seen on his face, in his eyes, she now felt in his touch, in the way his arms crushed her against him, the way his lips slanted across hers. His tongue swept inside her mouth, a hot, wild mating, urgent and demanding. Her pulse rushed in her ears, her heart beating against her ribs as she slid her arms up around his neck.

  He groaned deep in his throat and lifted her out of the chair, turning with her in his arms and never taking his lips from hers. He pressed her back against the whiteboard. She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. The kiss was hot, ravenous, full of need and longing for more, so much more.

  She pulled her arms down to his shirt and began working the top button, then the next. When she reached the third, she slid her hands inside his shirt, reveling in the feel of his hot skin against hers. And just like that, they both broke the kiss, staring in shock at each other.

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “I think I was about to tear your clothes off.”

  “I was about to help.” He chuckled and pressed his forehead against hers. He drew a ragged breath before pulling back and smiling down at her. “Where did that come from?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. But it probably happens to you all the time.”

  His eyes widened. “Why would you say that?”

  She slid her arms up behind his neck, then realized what she was doing and forced them down. He eased back and helped her stand, keeping his hands on her shoulders as if she needed steadying—which she definitely did.

  “Why did you say it happens all the time to me?” he repeated.

  She rolled her eyes and waved toward the three undone buttons on his shirt. “Because of...that. You’re gorgeous. And charming. And smart. And a dozen other things. Women probably throw themselves at you so much you have to fight them off.”

  Her cheeks grew hot under his incredulous stare. “What?” she demanded, feeling extremely self-conscious.

  “Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately, Julie? You can’t tell me that you didn’t notice how Max and the others kept looking at you during lunch. You’re beautiful.”

  It was her turn to stare at him with an incredulous expression. “Now that I think about it, I remember seeing you bump your head after the propane tank exploded. Isn’t that right? Now it all makes sense.”

  He laughed and buttoned up his shirt, much to her sorrow. And then she laughed, too, because this was the lightest she’d felt in months. Which made no sense at all considering that someone was trying to kill her.

  That thought helped sober her up and, unfortunately, killed the good mood Chris had managed to put her in. Her gaze fell to the duffel bag, forgotten on the floor, and just like that all of the horrible things that had been happening since that night that Alan had broken into their Nashville home flooded back.

  A gentle touch beneath her chin had her looking up into Chris’s eyes. He gave her a sad smile. “You’re back to worrying again, I see. I wish there was something that I could do to convince you it’s all going to work out.”

  “Me, too.” She pointed at the whiteboard. “What is all of that?”

  He picked up a pen and piece of paper from on top of the desk and held them out to her. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, though. I’d like your written permission to search your home in Nashville and to open the safe. The chief will notarize the document. We’ll need the house keys. And we’ll use your written permission to get a locksmith to open the safe.”

  She took the paper, skimmed the two paragraphs of legalize. “How did you know the address?” She set the paper on the desk to sign it, then grabbed her purse from another corner of the desk.

  “The night the chief interviewed you, the paperwork you filled out gave your basic info, including addresses. You don’t remember?”

  She worked the required key off her key ring as she shook her head. “Not really. Everything that night is kind of a blur at this point. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  She set the house key on top of the form she’d signed and tossed the rest of her keys into her purse. “Do I need to sign anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. I’ll get one of our guys working on this right away.” He picked up the key and paper and strode out of the office.

  Julie crossed to the whiteboard, trying to make sense of what Chris had written on it. There were several columns, in varying colors, with bullets beneath each column.

  “I’m a list maker,” he announced as he came back into the office and shut the door. “If I can make a list out of something, it organizes my thoughts, helps me form a big picture and then put all the pieces together.”

  She smiled. “I’m a list maker, too. What does all of this mean?”

  He walked her through it, and she noted how he’d used different colored markers for different categories. Suspects were written in green.

  Kathy Nelson.

  Brian Henson.

  Jonathan Bolton.

  Alan Webb—Deceased.

  Harry Abbott—Deceased.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I thought Kathy had an alibi for when we were at Cooper’s farm?”

  “She does. But if she put out the hit, she’s just as guilty. Even without evidence, that seems like the simplest explanation for everything. And usually the most straightforward explanation is the right one. I also don’t believe in coincidences. When looking at this as a whole, Kathy and Alan working together against you is the basic premise that makes the most sense. But we have to figure out what they were after, which leads me to my next column.”

  He wrote on the board—Motive. And beneath that he created another list.

  Love.

  Money.

  Revenge.

  Hatred.

  Hide something.

  He turned around. “Eve
ry case I’ve ever worked fell into one of these categories, often more than one. At the heart of every murder, one of these overrides all else and drives the killer. Looking at Alan first, we know that he wanted to kill you. But it seems like he was also after something else—perhaps this key that you mentioned. So which of the motivations seems to make sense as to why he did what he did?”

  She cocked her head, studying the list, thinking about how her relationship with Alan had started, how it had been so warm and loving in college, and then how it had changed shortly after they got married. She grew still, trying to figure out what, if anything, that might mean.

  “What is it?” Chris asked. “You’ve thought of something.”

  “You said you don’t believe in coincidences. And yet Alan just happened to appear the moment when I needed him the most. Just a few months after I lost my family, and my support system, when I was at rock bottom, he was there. Strong, understanding, helping me work through my grief. Given everything else, that just feels...wrong.”

  Chris slowly lowered the dry-erase marker that he was holding. “Tell me how your family died again. Don’t leave anything out.”

  She frowned. “I don’t see how that—”

  “Humor me.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Naomi got sick—”

  “And the doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her.”

  “Right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He set the marker onto the ledge. “Doctors used to have to rely on their memories, or look up symptoms in some thick medical tome to try to figure out what illness or disease matched them. Nowadays, they can plug symptoms into any number of online tools and get a list of possible causes. Doesn’t it seem strange that they couldn’t do that in your sister’s case?”