One-Night Alibi

“Have you tried to find her? Recently, that is? In Montgomery County, we have a cold-case squad. There are new techniques, or maybe just looking at an old case with fresh eyes...”

“Anytime anyone tried to look into it, my father stonewalled them. He said he didn’t want to open old wounds. No investigation ever got very far.”

“Was he ever considered a suspect? Your dad?”

“Briefly. But he was out of the country when it happened. That theory never got much traction.”

“It’s easy enough to create an ironclad alibi if you hire a hit man....” Then Hudson remembered himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t vent my sordid theories in front of you.”

“Let’s not get distracted. One parent’s homicide at a time, okay?”

“Sorry.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “That’s got my cell number. Let me know... No, don’t call me directly. When you set up something with Project Justice, have someone there contact me. The less direct contact between us, the better.”

* * *

ELIZABETH HAD TO admit, the Project Justice office was impressive. Not the outside, so much. The historic, three-story brick building in old downtown Houston, not far from her apartment, was distinguished, but nothing dramatic stood out. In fact, only a very small plaque in the wall advertised that the foundation was housed here.

Inside, however, it was a different story. The brass double doors opened into a soaring lobby with walnut-paneled walls and a gray marble floor, polished to a high sheen. You could have fit a bowling alley in that lobby, but it was empty, except for two rather uncomfortable-looking straight-back chairs against one wall. In the center of the room, toward the back, was an enormous circular desk behind which an extremely formidable woman sat surveying her territory like a hungry vulture.

Elizabeth approached the woman confidently, her heels clicking loudly against the floor and echoing off the walls. The woman’s nameplate identified her as Celeste Boggs.

“Good morning, Ms. Boggs,” Elizabeth began. “I’m here for a meeting with—”

“I know who you are. Sign in. I’ll need to see some ID, make sure you aren’t an impostor.”

Elizabeth obliged and Celeste handed over a visitor badge.

After Celeste summoned someone on the phone, a young woman who must have been an intern appeared from behind a frosted-glass partition.

“Ms. Downey? I’m Jax. I’ll take you to the meeting room.”

Elizabeth struggled with where to clip the visitor badge on her collarless shirt. She finally settled on her belt.

She followed the young woman down a series of hallways, all of them decorated with the care any River Oaks maven would use to decorate her house. Designer paint colors adorned the walls, while subtle lighting illuminated various pieces of original art. This place was almost as impressive as Daniel’s house. She’d grown up with all the trappings of wealth, and she was still impressed.

If anyone could help Elizabeth and Hudson, it was Daniel Logan. Aside from the fact he was a billionaire, he was one of the most influential people in the whole state of Texas. He was a personal friend of the governor, and it was rumored he was on a first-name basis with the president.

Jax finally paused before a room labeled Conference and tapped softly, waiting until someone opened the door. She then stood aside and allowed Elizabeth to enter.

Elizabeth’s eyes immediately sought out Hudson. He was there, looking delicious as ever, and her heart jumped and briefly tripled its rate. Each time she saw him, her regret for the most unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting grew sharper.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” Daniel’s voice boomed. At first glance, she thought he was seated at the head of the conference table—until she realized his head and shoulders were being transmitted on a giant TV screen. She had heard that Daniel once suffered from an acute case of agoraphobia, making it nearly impossible for him to leave his house. Although he was much improved, he still did the majority of his business—whether it was running his oil company, his charitable trust or Project Justice—from the comfort of his home office.

“Good morning, Mr. Logan.” She felt a little silly talking to the computer screen, but there was a small camera mounted just above the screen, so she supposed from his viewpoint it was as if she were really looking at him.

“Please, sit down. I think you’re the last to arrive, so we can get started.”

She glanced at her watch as she seated herself, worried that it was later than she’d thought. She prided herself on being punctual.

“You’re not late,” Hudson said. “The rest of us were just early.”

Discussing her before she had arrived? Or was that paranoid?

The closest empty chair was beside Hudson, so she took it, though sitting next to him unsettled her nerves.

Daniel introduced her to the others in the room. Some of them she’d met briefly at the wedding, but fresh introductions helped her put the names and faces into their professional context. Joe Kinkaid, one of the lead investigators at the foundation, was a thirtyish, clean-cut guy with a boyish charm. But his demeanor suggested ex-military. His posture, maybe, or the bulky, complicated dive watch on his left wrist.

Mitch Delacroix, a slightly scruffy, laid-back man, greeted her with a good-old-boy “pleased to meet ya,” revealing the traces of a Cajun accent. The only other woman in the room, a tall, glamorous brunette dressed to the nines in a turquoise suit, was Raleigh Shinn, the foundation’s chief legal counsel.

The show of force encouraged Elizabeth; if Daniel was going to reject their request for help, he was pulling out some pretty big guns to do it.

“I’ll just get right into it, if that’s okay,” Daniel began. He was a man of few words, but what he said was always important. “A lot of people need our services. I wish we could help them all, but though the foundation is growing all the time, we simply don’t have the resources to take on every case.”

“But—” Hudson started to object. He stopped himself when he saw the quelling look on Daniel’s face. Raleigh, too, gave him a stern look of reproach. He sank lower in his chair.

“That’s why we have a protocol in place, so that the most urgent and deserving cases get our attention first.”

Oh, dear. This didn’t sound promising.

“That said, Hudson, you’ve been a friend to Project Justice on a number of occasions. You were a tremendous help with the Mary-Frances Torres case, and if not for you, our Jillian might have frozen to death in a deep freezer.”

Elizabeth turned to look at Hudson with a fresh appraisal. She’d heard about the attempt on Jillian’s life because the media had picked up the story. It was the type of situation that begged for headlines: beautiful young investigator working undercover gets locked in a deep freezer at her company picnic by the murdering CFO. She hadn’t realized Hudson had taken any part in her rescue.

Hudson nodded acknowledgment but refrained from speaking, and who could blame him?

“I can’t take resources away from cases we’ve already committed to working,” Daniel continued, “and our investigators here are always stretched to the max. But I want to help. Just from the little I’ve learned so far about your situation, it seems highly unlikely either of you committed murder. But it also appears you’ve unwittingly put yourself in an extremely vulnerable situation.”

To put it mildly.

“So here’s what I propose. Hudson, you’re a highly trained and decorated homicide detective. But since you’re currently suspended, you don’t have access to the tools you need to properly investigate.”

“Exactly,” Hudson agreed, unable to stop himself. “I’ve never been so frustrated.”

“Well, we’ve got the most powerful computers money can buy and the most skilled...data analyst you’ll ever find.”