Questioning the Heiress

Tammy opened her mouth, probably to ask more, but Caroline heard the movement just a split-second before Egan rounded the corner. Wearing a blue shirt again. And those butt-hugging jeans. No Stetson today. It was probably still drying out from the rain. But he did have his badge and that shoulder holster with the gun tucked inside.

He took one look at Kenneth, and Egan put on his best surly scowl. “Is there a problem?” Egan wanted to know.

“No,” Kenneth answered just as quickly. “My wife and I were checking on Caroline. Last I heard, there was no law against that.”

Egan’s expression didn’t change. He went closer to Kenneth and met the man’s gaze head-on. “But there are laws against attempted murder, breaking and entering and interfering with an investigation. This is still a crime scene, and you shouldn’t be here.”

Tammy indignantly pressed her hand to her chest. “And you don’t think we know that this is a crime scene? We’re not idiots, Ranger…whatever-your-name-is.”

“Caldwell. Remember it, Mrs. Sutton, because you’ll see me a lot in the next few days while I interrogate your husband and you.” Egan looked down at Kenneth’s feet. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“Why?” But it was Tammy who asked, not Kenneth.

“Because I want to know.” His attention landed on her shoes as well. “And while you’re at it, you can tell me your size, too.”

“A perfect six,” Tammy said, overly enunciating the words. “And my husband wears a size ten. Satisfied?”

“Not really. I’ll have one of the CSI guys drop by to check your closet, just to make sure everything is as perfect as you say.”

Taylor cleared her throat, obviously sensing that something even more impolite was about to be said, and she went to Kenneth and Tammy. She hooked her arms around both their waists. “Why don’t you come on over to my house for some coffee? Egan and Caroline have to finish up this investigation, and we’d just be in the way.”

Tammy looked back at Caroline. “Are you sure you don’t need us here? Your mother will never forgive me if I don’t try to help you at a time like this.”

“I’m okay.” Caroline hoped. “Please tell Mom that if you talk to her.”

Egan looked at the security guard once Kenneth, Tammy and Taylor were out of sight. “Make sure Kenneth Sutton and his wife leave the premises. I don’t want them back here, either.”

The guard nodded and went after them.

“Tammy’s a suspect now?” Caroline asked.

Egan shrugged. “Just about everyone around here is. Guilt by association.”

Caroline had the eerie feeling that he wasn’t exaggerating. “And her motive?”

“Well, if her husband did order Vincent Montoya to kill those people, then maybe Tammy wants to keep that their own little family secret. Of course, Kenneth has the same motive, so I’d prefer neither of them comes around here.”

She huffed. “They’re my neighbors. And Kenneth is my boss at the City Board. Any suggestions how to stop them from visiting?”

His gaze eased to hers. “I think my presence will deter them.” She stared at him, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he shifted his focus to the Mustang. “Nice car.”

Yes. It was. “It’s from my wild-child days. I guess I’ll have to use it for transportation until I can replace the Mercedes.” Of course, she was using the Mercedes because her other vehicle had been totaled in the hit-and-run.

His eyebrow lifted. “You were a wild child?” he said in the same tone as if he’d asked if she were a convicted felon.

“Afraid so. Six speeding tickets my senior year in college.”

That earned her a hmmph. “Speeding tickets don’t make you a wild child.”

She didn’t like that he dismissed it with that hmmph and raised eyebrow. Those tickets had really upset her parents and had caused her insurance to skyrocket. “Remember, I do have an ex-fiancé thief.”

Egan shook his head. “That doesn’t make you a wild child, either.”

“My parents would disagree with you,” she mumbled. And Caroline instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about how she felt she owed it to her parents to be a dutiful daughter.

“Your father had a pretty serious heart attack about the time your fiancé stole that money from him.” Egan said it so nonchalantly that it took her a moment to realize the comment meant he’d had her investigated.

“Yes,” Caroline admitted. “He nearly died. And please, spare me any psychoanalytical remarks about a guilty conscience.”

“No comments.” Egan tipped his head to the notebook still tucked beneath her arm. “That’s your reconstructed dream journal?”

Oh, mercy. Another can of worms that she didn’t want opened. “Yes. I’ll give it to the psychiatrist tomorrow when I meet with her.”

“We’ll give it to her,” Egan corrected, walking closer. He stopped just inches away.

“You’re going to the appointment with me?” she asked.

“Actually, the appointment will be here at your house.” He paused, studying her expression. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that someone tried to kill you last night. I don’t want you going out anywhere alone.” He held out his hand. “Now, let me take a look at the journal.”

Caroline had made up her mind to refuse, but she rethought that. Because Egan would want to know why. She’d stall him, of course. Then he’d demand to know why she was stalling and refusing.

He’d see right through her.

Because he could.

And in the end, Egan would be suspicious, very suspicious, which would only make him examine every word of gibberish she’d written.

Since she had already lost the hypothetical argument she’d had with him, Caroline handed him the journal as calmly as she could and then went to take a closer look at one of the holes in her garage wall. She waited. While he read the single page.

“Killer clocks, huh?” he commented.

“It was a dream,” she snapped. “It doesn’t have to make sense.”

She heard his footsteps, turned around, and he was there. Practically looming over her. He smelled…manly, with his woodsy, musky aftershave. Looked manly, too, with just the hint of bad-boy stubble on his strong chin.

“You think time’s running out?” he asked, handing her back the journal.

“For what?” She sounded cautious. And was.

“For catching a killer,” he answered as if that were the only possible answer.

“Yes. That’s it.” Good. No mention of phallic symbols or blond, blue-shirt-wearing Rangers, which meant Taylor had obviously been wrong.

“Holy moly,” Egan mumbled.

Caroline was startled and then realized he wasn’t looking at her or the journal, but rather he was looking past her. She followed his gaze to the open door of the workshop. From his angle he could no doubt see her old secret.

And he made a beeline for it.