fingerprinted. A mysterious note on her car? How harmless could that be?
The note had been scrawled in black ink, all capitals, and looking at it, she couldn’t be sure if a male or a female had written it. But its message was undeniable.
STOP TRYING TO CLEAR HIS NAME AND PUT THE BASTARD IN JAIL. OR DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, AGENT CRAWFORD?
Chapter 7
C ole stared at the security monitor, his jaw tighter than a drum as he watched the sheriff’s Jeep drive off his property. He jammed a few numbers on the keypad, waited to make sure the gate was closed, then marched into the living room, each step vibrating with anger.
Before Finnegan showed up at the gate demanding to be let in, Cole had been in the process of cleaning up his front yard, hauling garbage bags of rotted branches and pieces of his shed into the back of his black pickup. Now he was too pissed off to finish the job, instead heading toward the wet bar and grabbing a bottle of Scotch. At noon. Wonderful—his drinking schedule was getting earlier and earlier. And he wasn’t even using a glass this time.
A restraining order.
He still couldn’t fathom it. Teresa had gotten a restraining order against him, claiming he’d threatened her life.
Did you?
Christ, he didn’t even remember what he’d said to her after that meeting with their lawyers. Nothing good, he imagined, but he certainly hadn’t said he was going to kill her. He’d simply wanted her to back off, give up her frivolous lawsuit and quit screwing around with him. And now whatever idiotic words he’d hurled at her were coming back to haunt him.
Now Finnegan and the D.A. could say Cole had planned to kill her, days before her death.
Swearing, he dropped his suddenly aching body onto the sofa and stared at the Scotch bottle in his hands. Finally, without taking a single sip, he set it on the coffee table and buried his head in his hands. He stayed in that position for so long that when his cell phone began to ring, he lifted his head to discover there was a crook in his neck.
Massaging his nape, he grabbed the phone from the table, glanced at the screen and answered with “What is it, Ian?”
“Hey, I was just calling with an update about the Hanson deal.” Ian sounded concerned. “You okay?”
“No, not really,” he said with a sigh.
“Did something happen?”
He put on a vague tone, not in the mood for any pity. “Nothing important. So what about Hanson?”
“Contracts are signed and we’re ready to open negotiations with the contractors. Are you still set on a spring opening for the hotel?”
“Yeah, next summer at the latest.”
They discussed the waterfront hotel for the next five minutes, though Cole’s head wasn’t in it, and it didn’t take long for Ian to pick up on his boss’s distracted state.
“Seriously, what’s going on?” Ian demanded, cutting Cole off midsentence.
After a moment of hesitation, Cole sighed. “I just found out Teresa was filing a restraining order against me before she died.”
There was a shocked silence. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.” He scowled. “Apparently she told her lawyer she was scared for her life.”
“But that’s… ridiculous .” Ian paused. “The cops don’t actually believe this, do they?”
“Oh, they believe it.”
“Even your FBI agent?”
“She’s not my anything, and to be honest, I have no idea what she thinks. I haven’t spoken to her since she left this morning.”
He suddenly wondered if the sheriff had told Jamie about the restraining order. Well, of course he had. Question was, did Jamie agree with Finnegan’s preposterous premeditation theory? The mere notion that she might believe it sent a sliver of pain to his flesh. Maybe they’d both agreed that the kiss had been a mistake, but Cole still couldn’t stomach the idea of Jamie Crawford thinking he was a killer. She was the first woman he’d felt a connection with since the divorce. The only woman in this town who didn’t
The note had been scrawled in black ink, all capitals, and looking at it, she couldn’t be sure if a male or a female had written it. But its message was undeniable.
STOP TRYING TO CLEAR HIS NAME AND PUT THE BASTARD IN JAIL. OR DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, AGENT CRAWFORD?
Chapter 7
C ole stared at the security monitor, his jaw tighter than a drum as he watched the sheriff’s Jeep drive off his property. He jammed a few numbers on the keypad, waited to make sure the gate was closed, then marched into the living room, each step vibrating with anger.
Before Finnegan showed up at the gate demanding to be let in, Cole had been in the process of cleaning up his front yard, hauling garbage bags of rotted branches and pieces of his shed into the back of his black pickup. Now he was too pissed off to finish the job, instead heading toward the wet bar and grabbing a bottle of Scotch. At noon. Wonderful—his drinking schedule was getting earlier and earlier. And he wasn’t even using a glass this time.
A restraining order.
He still couldn’t fathom it. Teresa had gotten a restraining order against him, claiming he’d threatened her life.
Did you?
Christ, he didn’t even remember what he’d said to her after that meeting with their lawyers. Nothing good, he imagined, but he certainly hadn’t said he was going to kill her. He’d simply wanted her to back off, give up her frivolous lawsuit and quit screwing around with him. And now whatever idiotic words he’d hurled at her were coming back to haunt him.
Now Finnegan and the D.A. could say Cole had planned to kill her, days before her death.
Swearing, he dropped his suddenly aching body onto the sofa and stared at the Scotch bottle in his hands. Finally, without taking a single sip, he set it on the coffee table and buried his head in his hands. He stayed in that position for so long that when his cell phone began to ring, he lifted his head to discover there was a crook in his neck.
Massaging his nape, he grabbed the phone from the table, glanced at the screen and answered with “What is it, Ian?”
“Hey, I was just calling with an update about the Hanson deal.” Ian sounded concerned. “You okay?”
“No, not really,” he said with a sigh.
“Did something happen?”
He put on a vague tone, not in the mood for any pity. “Nothing important. So what about Hanson?”
“Contracts are signed and we’re ready to open negotiations with the contractors. Are you still set on a spring opening for the hotel?”
“Yeah, next summer at the latest.”
They discussed the waterfront hotel for the next five minutes, though Cole’s head wasn’t in it, and it didn’t take long for Ian to pick up on his boss’s distracted state.
“Seriously, what’s going on?” Ian demanded, cutting Cole off midsentence.
After a moment of hesitation, Cole sighed. “I just found out Teresa was filing a restraining order against me before she died.”
There was a shocked silence. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.” He scowled. “Apparently she told her lawyer she was scared for her life.”
“But that’s… ridiculous .” Ian paused. “The cops don’t actually believe this, do they?”
“Oh, they believe it.”
“Even your FBI agent?”
“She’s not my anything, and to be honest, I have no idea what she thinks. I haven’t spoken to her since she left this morning.”
He suddenly wondered if the sheriff had told Jamie about the restraining order. Well, of course he had. Question was, did Jamie agree with Finnegan’s preposterous premeditation theory? The mere notion that she might believe it sent a sliver of pain to his flesh. Maybe they’d both agreed that the kiss had been a mistake, but Cole still couldn’t stomach the idea of Jamie Crawford thinking he was a killer. She was the first woman he’d felt a connection with since the divorce. The only woman in this town who didn’t
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