LITMIR.BIZ

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Reid Colton’s part in it. Reid’s appearance at Andrew’s funeral.

      If you’d just hear me out, Pen, I only wanted—

      But she’d shut him down, shut him out, walked away without listening. What could he possibly say to change things? He’d admitted he’d been the one to deliver the tainted shot that killed Andrew. He’d injected Andrew with potassium chloride, one of the chemicals used by states to administer the death penalty by lethal injection. He’d admitted to arguing with Andrew the morning her husband died. He’d confessed to making allegations against Andrew, claims he couldn’t prove, statements that tarnished her husband’s good name and reputation. What Reid had done was indefensible. What more could he have to say that would make a difference now?

      You’ll never know if you don’t give him a chance to explain.

      A chill raced through Penelope, and she quickly silenced the nagging voice that still unsettled her. The uneasiness inside her that wouldn’t let her close that chapter of her life and move on. Damn you, Reid Colton, for causing these doubts!

      She’d once considered Reid a friend via his relationship with Andrew. Growing up, she’d thought Reid, the son of her father’s best client, was handsome, if rather spoiled and overbearing. She’d written off his snobbery as a sense of entitlement earned through his life of privilege. But his bossy and driven personality had proven to be assets as a police detective. Reid was smart, decisive and commanding, and he’d used those qualities to his advantage to rise quickly through the ranks at the Dallas PD. Andrew had often said he was lucky to be partnered with Reid. They complemented each other’s skills and had a good time together even outside of duty. All of which made Reid’s betrayal more difficult to swallow.

      Penelope forced thoughts of Reid’s dastardly accusations and suspect actions out of her head. Clearing out Andrew’s office would be hard enough to endure without constantly dredging up the questions, heartaches and bitterness surrounding his death.

      Rubbing her eyes with the pads of her fingers, she bent her head over the file again and studied the papers Andrew had collected about her father. At first glance, the file seemed innocent enough. But why would Andrew have hidden these papers in the secret compartment behind that hideous fish? She flipped faster through the pages of printouts and photocopies. What did it mean? Why—?

      She stopped when she reached a spreadsheet Andrew had complied. God love him, Andrew had a thing about spreadsheets. They appealed to his sense of order, his nerdy perfectionism and love for analysis. She gave a sad chuckle as she scanned the grid of information, then froze when what she was reading penetrated the haze of her walk down memory lane.

      The headings on the columns of data read: Evidence, Date, Research, Corroboration, Exclusions, Conclusions.

      “Evidence? Corroboration? Andrew, what were you doing?” But the further she read, the more obvious the answer became. Her husband had been building a case against her father. Andrew had been keeping a secret file of evidence that pointed toward malpractice, tax evasion and other crimes against his clients. Double billing. Padded expense reports. Extortion.

      A chill crept through Penelope. Was her father really guilty of all the wrongdoing laid out in Andrew’s file? Did Andrew have proof or were these just allegations he was investigating?

      She slapped the file closed and rocked back in the swivel chair. Dear Lord! She’d never had a good relationship with her father, especially after the cold way he’d treated her mother before her death.

      Hugh had acted as if his wife had gotten cancer merely to annoy him. He’d treated her as if he saw her as a burden and financial drain rather than the loving spouse, mother of his child and woman in physical and emotional pain that she was. Many other times through the years, Hugh had made it clear that he put the needs and wishes of his hoity-toity clients over the needs of his family. Sometimes Penelope couldn’t believe she’d survived the superficial and warped-priority world of Hugh Barrington and his cronies. Her life with her blue-collar husband had shocked her father, but she’d found a happiness and rootedness high society had never offered. Andrew had never been a fan of her father’s, either, but this...

      She lifted the file and frowned. If Andrew was investigating her father, that was enough for her. She trusted he had probable cause, sufficient evidence to suspect Hugh. But what exactly had set off the warning bells for him? What should she do with the file Andrew had collected?

      She couldn’t ignore it. If Hugh was doing something illegal, didn’t she have a responsibility to turn in the information to the authorities?

      She chewed her bottom lip and sighed. If, just if Andrew was wrong, she didn’t want to be responsible for tarnishing her father’s name, no matter how bad her relationship with him was. And if Andrew did have a strong case against Hugh, why hadn’t he exposed his crimes? Did Andrew’s silence mean he hadn’t proven anything yet? Did he—

      Her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text, interrupting her ponderous thoughts. The message was from her dry cleaner. Her clothes were ready to be picked up. She huffed another sigh of frustration. She’d taken her dresses and pantsuits in to be refreshed and ironed, knowing she couldn’t live off Andrew’s life insurance money forever. She either had to get a job...or suck up to her father for the money to pay her mortgage. She grunted. Never!

      Begging her father for money would be admitting defeat, in her view. And if Andrew’s suspicions were on target...

      She had to know. Surely Andrew had confided his suspicions about Hugh to someone. But who?

      The obvious answer made her gut roll, and she balled her hands in irritation. How could she call the one man she wanted to avoid even more than her father? She couldn’t! She wouldn’t!

      She...had no real choice if she wanted answers.

      Growling in defeat, she raised her cell phone and scrolled through her contacts for his number. Why hadn’t she deleted him months ago? His sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes and charismatic smile popped up on her screen when she tapped his contact icon. She tried to deny the swirl of feminine appreciation for his chiseled good looks that tickled her belly, but the sensation was as undeniable now as it had been when she was a teenager. The man was flat-out hot. Which also annoyed her. Why couldn’t he be an ogre?

      Her finger hovered over the green phone. Just call him. Ask what he knows and be done with him. Then delete him from your contacts and your life for good.

      She tapped the screen, held her breath and raised the phone to her ear.

      After two rings he answered, “Reid Colton.”

       Chapter 3

      Just hearing Reid’s voice rattled her. Penelope had to purposefully draw a calming, centering breath.

      “Pen? That you? Is something wrong?”

      She startled a little when he said her name. Damn caller ID. Now she had no choice but to talk to him or look foolish. “Hello, Reid. Do...do you have a minute?”

      “For you? Always. Is everything all right?” His baritone voice was like a rich dark-chocolate liqueur, sweet and sultry with just a little bite. Sneakily intoxicating.

      “I’m fine,” she said automatically, hearing the defensive edge in her voice.

      “Okaaay,” he drawled. His tone told her he’d heard her snappishness, too. “So then this is a social call?”

      “No. I—I just have a question for you.”

      His grunt sounded disappointed. “Ask away.”

      “Did Andrew mention anything to you about a file he was keeping on my father?” A brief silence answered her. “Reid? Did you hear me?”

      “Yeah, I... Andrew was keeping a file on Hugh Barrington?”

      Now it was her turn to grunt. “Hugh Barrington is my father. Yes,” she said

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