Chapter 4

Four

AT THE SUDDEN RING of her cell phone, Dara Allen jerked. Dropped her fork.

It clattered to the table beside her plate of pushed-around food, striking a discordant note in the silent, tension-filled room.

"Let it roll." Her husband of nine months poked at a green bean on his plate, shoulders hunched, eyes bleak, stress oozing from his pores.

No wonder. The reporters who'd seen him drive away from the Robertson home after his truck was released two hours ago had been calling his phone nonstop.

"The news people don't have my number." She stood, crossed to the counter, and scanned caller ID. "It's Lindsey."

"I wonder if the press is bugging her too." Chad set his fork on the table and shoved his plate away. "What a mess."

Mess didn't come close to describing the sudden upheaval in their lives.

Wiping her palm on her slacks, Dara picked up the phone and greeted the woman who'd gone out of her way to be kind at church—and convinced her to sign up for the Creative Cooking on a Budget class she was teaching.

"Is this a bad time?" Lindsey's voice was laced with concern.

"No. We just finished dinner." What little they'd eaten of it.

"I won't keep you, but I wanted to see how you both were after everything that happened today. I don't know if Chad realized it, but I was at the Robertsons' too."

"He didn't know until Madeleine called me a little while ago. We're hanging in." Barely. "How are you doing?"

"Also hanging in. A hot bath helped."

"Have any reporters been bothering you?" Dara peeked at Chad, who remained at the table, brooding, his picked-apart meatloaf forgotten.

"No. Are they harassing you?"

"Yes. I guess they saw the logo on Chad's truck."

"I never thought about that. There were press people around when I left, but I drove away fast. I'm sorry they've been giving you grief."

"We'll survive." Maybe.

"If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

"Thank you."

Chad rose and began clearing the table.

"You'll be at class next Tuesday, won't you?"

"That's my plan." Dara cringed as Chad stacked the plates with more force than necessary.

"I'll see you there. Don't let the press get to you."

Easy advice to give—but Lindsey wasn't married to a man who'd been scarred by shattering trauma that had almost ruined his life. Who'd been conditioned to expect the worst in any situation.

"I'll try not to." She shifted aside as Chad deposited their plates on the counter. "Thank you for reaching out."

They said their goodbyes, and Dara set the phone on the table.

"Why did she call?" Chad put the stopper in the sink and twisted the faucet.

"To see if we were okay."

He squirted detergent into the water, posture stiff. Watched as bubbles began to multiply, covering the surface until the clear water was obscured. "There's one thing I didn't tell you earlier."

She braced, dread snaking through her.

Whatever he was about to say was why he'd been taut as a bowstring all afternoon. Why he'd relayed only the bare facts as she'd driven him home earlier, then shut down and buried himself in video games until she took him back to get his truck.

"Tell me now."

"The police found one of Heidi Robertson's earrings wedged in the running board of my truck."

Dara's pulse stuttered.

That was very bad news. No matter how it had ended up there, the police would take a hard look at the owner of the truck. Especially an owner with Chad's history.

"What did you tell them?"

"That I had no idea how it got there. I don't know if they believed me." He twisted off the faucet, and quiet descended in the room as he faced her. "Do you believe me, Dara?"

Pressure built in her throat, and she moved closer to him. Laid her hand on his arm. "Of course. The man I married isn't a thief."

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he eased away from her touch. "He was once, though. On the street, I ... I stole food when I was hungry and warm clothes if I got cold."

A tingle of unease swept over her. "You told me you didn't have a record."

"I don't. I only got caught once, and the store didn't press charges."

"Why not?"

"I'd met Reverend Long by then, and I called him. He intervened for me."

"But why did you steal? Wouldn't homeless shelters have provided everything you needed, or pointed you to resources to get them?"

His jaw hardened. "My experience with shelters wasn't the best. Let's just say I felt safer on my own—until I ran into Reverend Long."

The man who'd convinced Chad he could turn his life around and hooked him up with counseling, training, and a place to live. She knew that part of the story.

Apparently there was a lot she didn't know.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know what the reporters or cops will dig up about my past, and I don't want you to find out about anything bad from anyone but me."

She braced. "Is there more?"

"Yeah." He leaned back against the sink and wrapped his fingers around the edge. "I got into a fight once, on the street. A guy tried to take a coat I'd stolen. He jumped me from behind. I reacted on instinct, and my military training kicked in."

She tried to ignore the alarm bells beginning to clang in her mind. "Did you hurt him?"

"I beat him up pretty bad. If I'd had a weapon, I probably would have used it—and he might not have survived. I found out later he reported me to the cops."

"But ... why would he do that if he was trying to rob you ?"

"He claimed I jumped him. He knew my street name, and he gave that to them, along with my description. I assume it's still in a file somewhere." He massaged his forehead. "The cops are gonna dig deep into the background of every person connected to this murder. Especially people in possession of stolen jewelry. They could find some of this."

"Even if they do, it has nothing to do with today's crime."

Chad's lips flatlined. "If you were the cops and someone like me was in the mix, wouldn't you put me at the top of your suspect list? I don't have an alibi, Dara."

"They can't pin this on you without any evidence."

"The earring is evidence."

"It's circumstantial."

"I've worked inside that house. There could be fingerprints."

"You had a legitimate reason to be in there."

He dropped his chin and focused on the floor. "I don't feel good about any of this."

Neither did she.

But one of them had to remain positive.

"Why don't we put this in God's hands and trust him to see us through? I refuse to believe an innocent man will be persecuted."

He met her gaze. "The Bible tells us otherwise."

It was impossible to argue with that.

"Is there anything more I should know?"

He hesitated for a millisecond too long. "No." He pivoted back to the sink. "Let's get the dishes done."

Fighting back a wave of panic, Dara picked up a dish towel. Stared at his broad shoulders as the muscles beneath his T-shirt flexed while he scrubbed the dishes.

What wasn't he telling her?

Something important, if her intuition was sound.

An insidious niggle of doubt nicked away at the confidence and trust she'd always had in the man who'd stolen her heart during their whirlwind courtship.

For what if their fast-track romance had failed to reveal secrets that were now poised to not only come back and bite him but threaten the foundation of their brand-new marriage?

PROBLEM SOLVED —for the moment.

Eric Miller tipped back his beer as the anchor on the evening news continued to report on James Robertson's murder.

Not an ideal resolution, but it should buy him time to fix everything. With all the upheaval this would cause at Robertson Properties, routine audits should be low priority for a while.

Long enough for discrepancies to be addressed.

His phone rang, and he picked it up off the end table. Scanned the screen.

Nolan.

No surprise the man was checking in.

He muted the TV and put the phone to his ear. "I figured you'd—"

"The cops dropped by."

Not what he wanted to hear.

Eric set the beer can down and straightened up. "Why?"

"The wife gave them my name. Apparently she knew about my less-than-cordial relationship with her husband."

"You didn't tell them anything, did you?"

"Nothing incriminating. But I suggest you watch your back. I didn't expect them to finger me, so who knows where else they'll start digging? Depends how much the wife knows, or what the witness may have overheard."

Witness?

"Someone saw the murder?" Eric muted the TV.

"According to my contacts in law enforcement, their personal chef was on-site. It doesn't sound like she saw anything helpful or overheard Robertson's end of the unpleasant phone conversation he initiated with me around noon. But if they go through his cell log, the call will show up. And that's not a complication I need." He blew out a breath. "I assume succession planning at the firm is in the works?"

Eric forcibly switched gears. "The officers are having an emergency meeting tomorrow morning. An email went out to the staff ten minutes ago."

"Will you be there?"

He snorted. "A lowly accountant? Get real. Robertson never bothered to consult the peons who did the real work."

"You're not a lowly accountant. You're a CPA and a manager. Besides, you won't ever have to stew about Robertson's attitude again."

"True. So when is my payment coming?"

"After the smoke clears and I have the strip mall Robertson and I were both after. Until then, keep your ear to the ground in case the new management continues their former leader's shady tactics."

Eric frowned. "Transactions could be delayed because of what happened today, and I need that money."

"With Robertson out of the picture, you should have a window to refill the coffers. No one will be doing audits during a management transition."

"That wasn't our deal. You said I'd have the money by mid-month."

"You've only kept part of our bargain. As soon as I have the strip mall in hand, I'll pay up."

"What am I supposed to do if someone wants to review the books in the meantime?"

"Deflect and defer."

"Easier said than done. I'm not the boss."

"I'm sure you can find an excuse to drag out the process. It's not that much money in the big scheme of things."

Maybe not to Nolan, whose deals ran in the tens of millions. But if your bank balance was in the low four digits, fifty-thousand dollars was a fortune.

He forked his fingers through his hair.

High-end vacations, upscale restaurants three nights a week, and those crazy expensive purses his wife favored would have to go.

"Auditors won't agree. They red-flag anything that doesn't balance. The amount is irrelevant."

"You'll have the replacement money before that happens as long as you do the rest of your job. Going forward, let's switch to burner phones in case the police keep me in their sights. Get one and call me with your number tomorrow night. I'll get one too. And keep your ear to the ground. Company grapevines can be a rich source of information."

The line went dead.

Slowly Eric lowered the cell and glanced back at the TV screen.

The evening news was still fixated on Robertson's death.

Not surprising, given the man's prominent position in the business community.

But he was no great loss. His methods were ruthless, and he didn't tolerate mistakes. Giving Farley the controller's job six months ago when the company's longtime financial chief retired, instead of to the person next in line—namely him—had stunk. All because of the small, easy-to-fix error he'd made on a quarterly report. His fifteen years of dedicated service should have counted for something to the man pulling the strings.

Except they hadn't.

So "borrowing" funds for an out-of-work brother who'd had major complications after an episode of anaphylactic shock put him in the ICU on a ventilator for a week had been a no-brainer. The money to pay the medical bills had to come from somewhere, and his sister-in-law needed every dime she could get her hands on to feed and house their three kids.

Besides, Robertson owed him after bypassing him for the position he'd deserved.

And with Nolan willing to pay handsomely for proprietary information about upcoming deals after Robertson colluded to jack up the price on that apartment building he'd wanted, repaying the unofficial loan should have been a piece of cake.

Maybe the cat-and-mouse game those two business rivals played had accelerated beyond his comfort level ... and maybe he had a few regrets about his part in it ... but no innocent parties had been hurt.

The only one who'd run into trouble since he and Nolan had made their deal was Robertson, who was far from innocent.

And truth be told, the world was better off without him.