Evidence of Murder

Yeah, his world had gotten pretty stark. The fault of one devious killer, and Ryan meant to find out who that was.

“Let’s do the interview out there.” Hallie pointed toward the deck. “That will give us the outdoorsy feel without standing under the hot sun.”

“I’m game.” The deck offered a clear view of his boats and docks, as well as the access road to his property. He did as much of his paperwork as possible out there, listening to the wind ruffle through the pines that crowded his place.

Ryan opened the French doors, and soon he and the reporter stood on the end of the deck closest to the river. The camera would be able to take in the water and boats behind them. Sam perched on a bench built into the deck rail, out of range of the electronic eye. Ryan wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced at the reporter. “What would you like to know?”

She looked toward the camera. “You rolling, Stan?”

“Still getting the angle and focus,” he answered, fiddling with his lens.

“Could we have a quick practice run?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’d kind of like to know what you’re going to ask.” And maybe take the edge off his gut reactions before the real deal.

“That’s fair.” Hallie nodded. “I’ll probably start out with something like this—It’s been ten years since you found your family shot dead in your home. In all this time, did you never suspect that they had all been murdered?”

“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “My dad was under unusual stress at work and not acting like himself. Besides, I was too busy blaming myself to take a closer look.”

“How could their deaths have been your fault?” Sam’s cry broke in. “You weren’t there.”

Her gaze riveted with Ryan’s. His face went hot and tense. “We had a major fight on the telephone that evening, my dad and I. I figured I broke his heart, and that was why I lost my family.” What was it about this woman? That was more than he’d ever told anybody.

Her lips molded into a soft O. “What a terrible way for things to end between you.” If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was seeing straight into his soul, just like the other night.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Ryan’s voice came out rough. “Whoever killed my mom, and my sister and my dad had better hide under the biggest rock he can find, because I won’t rest until I find out what happened. And why?”

Hallie’s shoulder moved between him and Sam. “What do you hope the discovery of the photos will accomplish?”

He returned his attention to the reporter. “New evidence means a fresh investigation that is bound to uncover facts that were never looked at before.”

“Anything specific you can share with us?”

“Let’s just say I’ve given the police access to—”

Brakes squealed and tires screeched. Ryan turned. The next client wasn’t due for twenty minutes…but this was no client. Yikes! None of those vehicles held clients. A Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper van roared up the drive, followed by a Channel 11 TV truck, flanked by a St. Paul Pioneer Press car, jockeying for position. The whole world chased a scoop.

Hallie whirled toward Sam, who sat with mouth agape. “So do you want to wait around and be mobbed or get out of here?”

“But what about your interview?”

“If I know Stan the Man, he got it the first time.”

“Too right.” Grinning, the camera guy lowered his equipment from his shoulder.

Ryan glared from reporter to cameraman. All that personal stuff that popped out of his mouth had been caught on film? Wasn’t the cameraman supposed to wait for some kind of cue from the reporter?

Sam rose. “My car sits between the ones for the Press and the Trib. We’ll never make a getaway.”

“There’s a pickup in the back.” Hallie nodded toward Ryan. “Yours, right?”

“Wait a minute—”

“If you wait ten seconds, you’ll have a feeding frenzy, not an interview.” She pinned him beneath a pointed stare. “Go. Leave us. We’ll stay and thumb our noses at the competition.”

People were piling out of the vehicles in his public parking lot. It was hard enough to talk to one reporter about his family’s murder. If a mob of them got in his face, he’d probably slug somebody.

He met Sam’s beseeching gaze. “We’re outta here!”

Her teeth flashed as she grinned and headed for the French doors. “I’m with you.”

Ryan grabbed her hand, and they dashed inside through his office and out into the hallway behind the reception desk. “Circle the wagons!” he called to Larry, who gazed at them wide-eyed. “Don’t let them take you alive.”

A throaty laugh came from the woman next to him. Her warm hand in his, Ryan tugged her up the hall and out the back door, leaving his employee gaping after them. They piled into his gray Silverado, and he peeled out of the staff lot toward the gravel road that provided a second egress to the property.

“Where are we headed?” Sam turned toward him, flushed face alight.

He smiled. “Your place. I feel like huntin’ me a cat. And while we’re at it, we may as well catch a burglar.”

By the wary glint that entered her eyes, he knew he’d better not add killer. He hated to tell her, but whoever sneaked into her place and snooped through her office might be connected to the murders. She was up to her dainty nose in this investigation whether she wanted to be or not.

FIVE

Sam studied the profile of the man behind the wheel of the pickup. Nice strong chin, a little on the square side, but not jutting, and definitely not weak. Just right. And his hand holding hers had been just right, too, wrapping her palm and fingers in a big grip, but not squeezing.

All well and good, but why was she alone in a pickup with a guy she’d just met? She’d wanted to escape the deluge of reporters as much as Ryan, but why did she feel perfectly at home sitting here? And safe? The police maintained he wasn’t a suspect in the murder case. However, those words hadn’t meant a lot to her inner security barometer. Less than an hour ago she’d believed him capable of breaking and entering. What had changed?

The dog. Despite his tough exterior, the man had a core of kindness. Even her moody cat knew it and trusted him. And Sam trusted animals. They had a sense about people that human beings often didn’t.

Ryan shot her a glance with his intense blue eyes, and the corners of his mouth tilted up.

What was the matter with her? She’d better quit staring, or the guy would get the wrong idea.

She looked out the window where the tree-lined bluffs of this picturesque area flashed past. Ryan’s place of business was roughly a half hour from her dry cleaners. Funny that they both lived where they worked and owned their own businesses. Did that mean they were the same sort of people?

Not really, because that was where the similarities ended. He lived in a secluded woodland area, she in a business district. His house traveled with him whenever he wanted to pick up and leave, while hers stayed planted where she intended to put down roots. No, when a person looked at it logically, they weren’t much alike at all. If they could get this awful investigation behind them, they would have no basis to develop an ongoing relationship. She’d just have to disappoint Jenna and Hallie in the matchmaking department. So why did that thought make her heart sink?

Shake it off, girl. Stick with the program. “Why do the police say you couldn’t have been the one who—er, you know? They generally look at family first. Excuse me for asking. My gut says you’re okay, but my head’s not quite there yet.”

Ryan let out a short laugh. “I’m familiar with that internal tug-of-war, and I don’t blame you for asking. They did suspect me at first. Who wouldn’t? But they ran into a brick wall when they considered timing and gunshot residue.”

“I don’t follow what you’re saying.”

“A stray pellet stopped the clock on the wall behind my dad’s desk, pinpointing when the shootings took place. When the crime scene techs tested me from top to bottom for gunshot residue, they didn’t find a speck. No way could I have taken a shower, changed clothes, dried my hair, and dispose of my tainted outfit between the time the murders were committed and the time the first squad car arrived on the scene. They were pretty much forced to acknowledge that my part in events was exactly as I said. That’s when they decided the whole thing was murder/suicide, and my dad was the bad guy.” He snorted.

“Precisely what whoever did it wanted people to believe.”

Ryan met her gaze, grim-faced, then turned his attention back to the road. “And I was no better than the cops in my thinking.”

“Why should you have been?”