First Night

First Night

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

About the Author

DEBRA WEBB was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, working in a factory, a day-care center, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mysteries and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Mills & Boon came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA, or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

This story is dedicated to all the loyal fans who couldn’t wait to read the next story featuring Merrilee Walters.

Chapter One

Friday, Dec. 23, 5:45 p.m.

Merrilee Walters shut down her computer and sighed. Her first report as an assistant field investigator was complete. She smiled. She was a full-fledged Colby Agency investigator now.

Merri slid back her chair and stood. She’d proven to Ian Michaels, the second-in-command here at the Colby Agency, that she could pull her weight despite her disability. Ian was still dubious, hence the continued insistence that for a time Merri would be teamed with another investigator on a case. Getting past that final test would be a breeze.

Pulling on her coat, she considered the seven years that had passed since she’d lost her ability to hear. Life had been tough at first. Being a grown woman and an elementary schoolteacher at the time, she’d had to work particularly hard to regain her bearings. She’d taken a year off from work to adjust to this new soundless world of hers and during that time she’d realized that returning to the world of teaching wasn’t possible.

Not for her, anyway.

She’d also realized during that time that she had not lived up to her expectations—expectations she hadn’t even realized she’d had at the time.

Merri grabbed her purse and shook her head as she recalled those confusing months. She’d lacked the confidence necessary to have a classroom full of elementary students depending upon her when she couldn’t hear a single word or sound. Anything could have happened when she had her back turned, to write on the blackboard for instance. But there had been more missing.

Her family had been worried. Her country singer fiancé had broken off their engagement.

Life had pretty much sucked.

Until she’d realized, sort of by trial and error, her true calling. Another smile tugged at her lips. She’d come a long way since then.

Merri turned off the light and stepped out of her office. A stint with Nashville’s Metro Police Department had provided the challenge she’d needed and the opportunity to prove she was still a viable member of society. Not to mention she’d had a hell of an adventure.

Four years as a detective back in Nashville had been good, but she’d needed a change. She’d needed to do something more, something much more personal. Victoria Colby-Camp had been willing to take her on and Merri had made a move north, leaving behind the two men who’d turned her world upside down—Detective Steven Barlow and former Mob wiseguy Mason Conrad.

Talk about covering both ends of the spectrum.

Merri had needed a change, professionally and personally. No offense to her colleagues, and certainly not to her family.

She paused in the lobby to peer out the window at the falling snow. She liked Chicago. It was a lot colder than in Nashville and her folks were seriously missing her, but the change had been a good one. One she’d needed on every level.

The rest of the agency staff had gone home for the day. There were last-minute Christmas shopping and holiday parties. But Merri had already done her shopping. Presents to her family had gone into the mail last week. She didn’t know enough folks to be invited to any parties, except for the Colby Agency New Year’s party. But that was okay. Merri was still getting her Yankee legs under her. And she felt comfortable with being all by herself on Christmas.

If she had gone home, her family would have spent the entire holiday explaining how she needed to come back home to them. One or more of her former colleagues would have dropped by to say how sorely she was missed.

Maybe next year. Right now, she needed distance…distance and time.

She pressed the call button for the elevator and considered what she should have for dinner on the way home. It was actually cheaper for one to eat out and the restaurant crowd prevented her from eating alone, which was something she, as much as she hated to admit it, missed about being back home. Her close-knit family liked nothing better than to get together over a big meal—no special occasion needed.

The elevator light for her floor blinked and the doors prepared to glide open.

“Finally.” One would think that with most everyone in the building gone for the day that the elevators would be ready instantly. Never happened. The elegant cars had one speed—slow.

The doors slid apart and Merri prepared to move forward.

A blur of movement had her stumbling back several steps.

“You have to…me.”

Merri blinked, stared at the man’s face. He’d said something but, distracted by his unexpected burst from the car, she’d missed part of it.

“Excuse me?” She kept her attention fully on the man’s face this time.

“I need help.”

His frantic expression and the fear in his eyes told her he was in trouble. “What’s wrong?” She should have just told him they were closed, but she couldn’t bring herself to ignore a person in need and this gentleman was definitely in serious need.

The question of how he got past security briefly crossed her mind. But it was the night before Christmas Eve, and it was only minutes before six. Security was likely on rounds. All entrances were secured at six o’clock. A lapse in vigilance could be expected under the circumstances.

The man in front of her shook his head. “I am…my roommate was murdered and…” His head started that fierce wagging again that prevented her from a descent view of his lips.

It was then that Merri noticed the blood-splattered on his T-shirt and the fact that he wasn’t wearing a coat. It was freezing outside. Snowing! He had to be nuts! Or drug-crazed.

Merri’s instincts shot into survival mode. Her right hand slid into her purse, her fingers going automatically around the canister of pepper spray. “Let’s start with what happened.” She gestured to his blood-splattered T-shirt with her free hand.

He looked down at himself, shuddered and then shook his head a third time. “My roommate was…back at my…”

This simply wasn’t going to work. Merri waved a hand in front of his face to get his full attention. “Look at me when you speak, please.”

A frown furrowed his brow. Dark brown tendrils of hair fell around his face. His hair was a little long and unkempt, as if he hadn’t combed it today. And his eyes—they were so dark brown they were almost black. She blinked, surprised that she’d gotten that hung up that quickly with his eyes.

“What?” he asked, the demand etched in frustration across his brow.

“Why is there blood on your shirt and where’s your coat?” She wasn’t going to mention her inability to hear until absolutely necessary. This man had apparently come to the Colby Agency looking for help. She was the only one here, that left determining a course of action up to her. She consciously steadied her breathing in order to slow her heart and to keep the panic in check. She was a professional. A full-fledged investigator. She could handle this. Whatever this was.

As requested, he directed his full attention to her face and said, “My roommate was murdered early this morning. I evidently slept through whatever happened. When I woke up and discovered his…him, I called 911. The police hauled me in. I didn’t get a chance to get my coat.” He shrugged as if he didn’t know what else she wanted him to say.

He was wearing lounge pants, she realized. And flip-flops. Damn. His feet had to be freezing. It was a long walk from the nearest precinct to here. And since she didn’t see a pocket for his wallet, he’d likely been without the funds for a cab. “So,” she surmised, “you’ve just come from the police?”

He nodded. “They didn’t arrest me, but they said I was a person of interest or—” he looked at the floor, shook his head again “—is crazy. I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t kill anyone. Not even my roommate who was a complete jerk most of the time, but he was my best friend.” Those dark eyebrows drew together. “He’s dead.”

Though she’d missed part of his words, she got the point. She considered taking him to her office, but that probably wasn’t such a good idea since she was here alone. She should call Ian or Simon. Simon Ruhl was another of Victoria’s seconds-in-command. He’d been really nice to Merri from the beginning. He believed in her and she appreciated that more than words could say.

Okay. Do this right, Merri.

First step, get the client at ease.

“I’m Merri Walters,” she said, “What’s your name?”

“Brandon Thomas.”

“Well—” she gestured to a chair with her free hand “—Brandon, have a seat.” Her fingers released the canister and she dragged a notepad and pen from her purse. She crossed to the receptionist’s desk and leaned a hip against it, then prepared to take notes. “Let’s start back at the beginning and you tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”

She had to remind him a time or two to look at her when he spoke. Most folks believed she was measuring whether they were telling the truth when she did this. Since he didn’t ask why, she supposed he assumed the same. According to his statement, he’d awakened at six and discovered his roommate dead in the living room. After determining that he could not help his friend, he’d called the police. But they weren’t buying his story, particularly since some of the neighbors had reported that he and his roommate, Kick Randolph, had an intensely volatile relationship. The roommate apparently owed Brandon a considerable sum of money. All in all, there was plenty of motive and no other suspects. The police had every reason to treat him as a person of interest.

Brandon threaded his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “Look, I don’t know who killed him, but—” he looked straight into Merri’s eyes “—Kick was into something. He was scared the last couple of days. The police won’t believe me, but I’m telling you it had something to do with this CIA-type guy he’d covertly met with on several occasions.”

“Can you be more specific about the man?” A CIA-type guy was a pretty broad description. Probably an analogy he made from the movies he’d seen. “Do you know the man’s name or where he works?”

Brandon gave another of those adamant shakes of his head. “I only saw him once, and that was at night from across the street. Dark hair.” He shrugged. “Medium height and build.”

“What gave you the impression he worked for the CIA?” Merri understood the stereotype he meant, but she needed his interpretation.

“You know. Trench coat. Fedora. Starched trousers. The whole federal agent style. Like you see in the movies.”

That was what she’d thought. She inclined her head and considered what he’d told her. “You said the man had dark hair. Did he have dark hair or did he wear a dark hat?” From a distance it would be difficult to distinguish one from the other, particularly at night.

Brandon blinked as if he didn’t understand the question. “I…I think it was his hair. Maybe he wasn’t wearing a hat.”

“But you’re sure you saw him at night…from across the street?” They needed to get the facts straight. No guessing.

“Definitely at night.” Brandon nodded. “I was going into the building. We live in one of the old duplexes off the South Loop. The front stoop is fairly close to the street. He and Kick were having an argument outside his car. I heard their raised voices, but I can’t remember precisely what they were talking about.”

“What did his car look like?” A tag number would be good.

“Dark. Blue or black. Four doors…I think. Not American, I don’t believe.”

If this was any indication of the kind of information he gave the police, it was no wonder they considered him a suspect. He contradicted himself almost as often as he concluded with any certainty.

“You didn’t see the license plate? Illinois tag or another state?”

He moved his head side to side. “The car was parallel parked. All I saw was Kick arguing with him next to the passenger side of the car.”

“You weren’t close enough to make an estimation of the man’s age?”

“No.”

“To some degree, your roommate confided in you as to his dealings with this man. You said the meetings were covert.”

Brandon nodded. “Kick said the meetings were very secretive.”

“Was he working for this man? Running errands? Can you give me an idea on the nature of the business? Was your roommate gainfully employed?”

“Kick is…was a junior reporter over at the Trib. But he said he had the proof he needed to write the kind of story that would put him on top in the investigative journalist field. He wanted his own byline. Problem was, the other guy—the one he argued with—wanted the proof, too. He said it was Kick’s civic duty to turn the evidence over to him. Kick refused.”

“You don’t have any idea what this evidence was or against whom it proved significant?”

“I know it was some kind of video…but I don’t know what it was about or who it involved.”

“Did he talk to anyone at work regarding this big story he was working?” Perhaps one of his co-workers wanted this big story badly enough to kill for it.

“No way.” Brandon finally reclined in his chair, as if he’d relaxed to some degree. “Kick said he couldn’t risk telling a soul or they would steal it. He couldn’t tell anyone exactly what was going on. Not even me.”

Merri could understand the dead man’s doggedness and uncertainty about sharing. She’d been digging around in a cold case for days before anyone found out. Been there, done that. Problem was, she could have gotten herself killed…just like this potential client’s roommate had quite possibly done.

She summoned her determination. The Colby Agency prided itself on solving the most puzzling cases. If Brandon was being straight with her, then he had plenty of reason to worry and very few pieces of what could only be called a bizarre puzzle. “All right, then.” Merri closed her notepad, shoved it and the pen into her purse. “We’ll just have to determine the nature of the story your roommate was working on and uncover the identity of this man with whom he exchanged heated words.”

The fear and frustration laid claim to Brandon’s face once more. “Kick kept his files hidden. What he was working on, the notes, the video, all of it could be anywhere. That man could have the story by now, for all I know. He may have killed my roommate for the information he needed.” He blinked. “But what if we can’t find him?”

“That’s a strong possibility.” Merri couldn’t speculate just yet exactly what steps they would take if the only other known suspect was beyond their reach. “But,” she went on, “whether we find him or not, our top priority will be proving your innocence. It’s possible that the forensic evidence will do that for us. It’s too early to know that yet. If the police had solid evidence linking you to the murder, you would have remained in custody. Cutting you loose means they aren’t sure just how you fit into the equation yet.”

There was one other thing he needed to be made aware of. “There is a possibility that if this man is concerned that you saw him, even from across the street, he may consider you a threat. If he, in fact, killed your roommate, he may decide it’s in his best interests to tie up any loose ends.”

“That’s what I tried to tell the police.” Brandon rocketed to his feet. “They questioned me for hours.” His jaw hardened visibly. “I think they wanted me to confess or something. But I didn’t do it.”

Merri felt for the guy. “Since you don’t have an alibi, we’ll need to find someone who can vouch for your character enough to convince the police that you wouldn’t commit such a heinous crime. Or,” she offered, “we’ll have to find evidence that proves, in addition to having had access to your roommate, someone, like the man you saw, had an equally strong motive for wanting to kill him. Before we can do that, we have to determine what your roommate was working on.”

Brandon looked at her as if he’d just experienced an epiphany. “If the evidence hasn’t been taken, I have the means to locate it.”

Hold on. “You have proof of what you’re saying? Then why didn’t you give this proof to the police?” That would have made his life immensely less complicated the last several hours. He wouldn’t have had to come here. She would already be having dinner at a fine restaurant.

Brandon bit the inside of his jaw as if he were considering a logical response. “I can’t remember the riddle…the clues.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I did tell the police but when I couldn’t produce the proof, they assumed I was lying.”

His face said that he desperately wished he hadn’t had to tell her that last part. For the first time in a very long time, Merri wished she could hear the inflection in his voice. The little nuances that gave meaning to one’s words. But she couldn’t. So she had no choice but to rely on her instincts. And her instincts were screaming at her that something was very wrong with this guy and/or his story.

Maybe not with him personally, but with the sequence of events or with his reasoning. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the problem, but the teacher side of her—the one that sized up kids in a heartbeat—was sounding that too familiar alarm.

“What do you mean, you don’t remember the riddle or clues?” The first stirrings of fear awakened in her belly. She was well aware that drug addiction created memory lapses. She surveyed her would-be client once more. To say he fit the profile would be an understatement. But she knew from experience that first impressions were not always fair. She needed more.

“I told you that Kick kept everything hidden so no one could steal his work?”

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure where he was headed with this or why he felt compelled to ask the question. Could he not remember what he’d said to her two minutes ago? Her right hand slid automatically back to her purse.

“He didn’t trust a safe or jump drive or any damn thing.” Brandon’s forehead lined with his determined concentration. “Once when he was drunk he gave me this ridiculous riddle and explained that he kept the important stuff hidden that way. The riddle had clues to the location. I couldn’t get it right for the police. They had cops checking all the wrong places.” His chest heaved with a big breath. “I ended up looking like a fool and as guilty as hell.”

Merri had an idea. She had used it with her students all the time. Maybe she was crazy, but she had nothing more exciting to do tonight. Her appetite had vanished in the wake of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Truth be told, she wasn’t afraid of this guy, despite the blood on his clothes.

“Do you recall how long ago it was that Kick told you this riddle?”

Another of those halfhearted male shrugs. “Couple months ago, maybe. Not all that long ago.”

“Where were you when the two of you had this conversation?”

“The apartment. Drinking cold ones. Watching a game.” Another shrug. “That’s what we did most of the time since he was always broke. His need to sink all his earnings into the tools of his trade was an ever-present sore spot between us. I didn’t like paying his share of the rent along with mine.”

Merri made up her mind. “Let’s take a look at your apartment.”

Yeah, she probably was crazy.

But this was her case.

And she might be deaf, but she wasn’t blind. If this guy made one wrong move, he would be begging for the police to pick him up again. She was well-trained and knew how to protect herself.

If her plan didn’t work, she would call Simon for backup. She headed for the elevators, her client followed. When she turned back to him, he stabbed the call button for the elevator and said, “Thank you.”

As the doors glided open behind him, Merri searched his eyes. “For what?”

“For taking a chance on a guy like me. That doesn’t happen real often.”

Chapter Two

7:58 p.m.

The apartment was in an old building off the South Loop that lacked the care and restoration of some in the neighborhood. There was no elevator, so that meant climbing the stairs to the third floor. Ancient graffiti covered the stairwell walls. The tile floors were worn. The doors looked secure, but the place smelled of neglect. If Brandon had said anything to Merri on the way up the stairs, she missed it. Since he didn’t look back at her in question, she assumed he hadn’t.

She’d noticed him shiver once or twice. He had to be freezing, especially his feet in those flip-flops.

Brandon paused at the door marked 11 and looked at her for advice on proceeding. Two strips of official yellow crime scene tape had been placed across the center of the door, along with a proclamation declaring the premises off limits to anyone but official police personnel.

If, as he’d said, Brandon had been questioned for hours, chances were the forensics techs had come and gone already. The scene wouldn’t likely be released until the detective in charge determined that there was nothing else to be gained by maintaining the off-limits edict. All that meant, in her opinion, was that they shouldn’t touch anything that might be evidence.

Been there, done that, too. Merri wasn’t exactly concerned about bending that particular rule. She knew her way around a crime scene. Holding out her hand, Brandon placed the key there. She unlocked and opened the door, then ducked beneath the warning tape. If Simon had been here he would have called someone, a Colby connection with Chicago PD, to get permission. But Simon wasn’t here. As long as Merri was careful and didn’t prompt any serious repercussions for the agency, all would be okay.