she slammed on her brakes. Her breath was trapped in her lungs as her brain denied what her eyes saw. Rick Summers, Chief of Police Rick Summers, had just climbed out of his truck in the parking area outside the building’s front lobby. If he looked back toward the street—
He zeroed in on Lacy’s vehicle as if she’d shouted his name.
Somehow her foot pressed a little more firmly on the accelerator. As the vehicle carried her away, she knew it was a flat-out miracle she hadn’t hit anyone for she damned sure hadn’t been looking where she was going.
Her entire being had been focused on the man staring at her with such determination.
He would know she hadn’t driven by Canton’s office by chance. He would know she was up to something.
Dear God, he already suspected far too much. What the hell was she doing?
Exactly what Cassidy had told her not to do: handing him more fuel to fire his suspicions.
Rick watched Lacy Oliver disappear beyond the next intersection before he dragged his attention back to the here and now. What the hell was she doing driving by Charles Ashland’s old office? Was she watching Rick or checking up on Canton? One seemed about as unlikely as the other.
Maybe she’d picked up on him watching her and had decided to give tit for tat.
He’d have to find out one way or another. He damned sure couldn’t have her nosing around in his investigation.
He ran his hand through his hair and heaved a disgusted breath. He needed to have another talk with her. Soon.
He glanced up at the sky. Even at ten o’clock the sun was already beating down something fierce. The towering sugar maples and pin oaks dotting the landscape did little to block the heat rising from the asphalt.
Rick hustled to the front entrance, crossed beneath the navy canopy that offered some respite from the heat. Each of the windows on the front of the building had a similar canopy. Inside, the lobby boasted a library-type setting with lots of magazines and newspapers from around the globe available for waiting clients. The receptionist greeted him immediately and directed him to his destination.
Nigel Canton’s office looked as if it belonged in a penthouse on Wall Street. It definitely didn’t look like the sort of place one did business in a small town like Ashland, Alabama.
Thick, luxurious carpet. Rich gold walls with brilliant white trim that had to have been hand-carved the detailing was so intricate. The heavy mahogany furnishings and expensive-looking paintings completed the room. Rick was reasonably certain the decor alone cost more than he would make as the chief of police for several years to come.
Nigel, a tall, thin man with even thinner black hair and small brown eyes, looked inordinately bored with the idea that the chief had paid him a visit. He scarcely shook Rick’s hand before reclining back into his soft leather chair and clasping his hands on his desk in front of him.
“I don’t understand why this visit is necessary, Chief,” he said frankly. “I told the police all I knew ten years ago, and nothing has changed since. Quite honestly, I’m not at all surprised Ashland is dead. He made himself numerous enemies in his short life, including his wife and myself.”
Well, at least he was honest to a point.
Rick took a seat though one hadn’t been offered. The upholstered chair was plush enough that he sank deep into it and could have enjoyed the pleasantness of it under different circumstances.
“Mr. Canton, considering that we now know Charles Ashland is dead, it’s imperative that we nail down a broader time frame for all previously taken statements.”
He lifted a sparse eyebrow. “In other words you want to know where I was at the time Charles might have been murdered.”
“I’m afraid that one would be tough,” Rick admitted, “since we can’t establish exact time of death. But what I would like to do is build a broader framework of activity around the time of his
He zeroed in on Lacy’s vehicle as if she’d shouted his name.
Somehow her foot pressed a little more firmly on the accelerator. As the vehicle carried her away, she knew it was a flat-out miracle she hadn’t hit anyone for she damned sure hadn’t been looking where she was going.
Her entire being had been focused on the man staring at her with such determination.
He would know she hadn’t driven by Canton’s office by chance. He would know she was up to something.
Dear God, he already suspected far too much. What the hell was she doing?
Exactly what Cassidy had told her not to do: handing him more fuel to fire his suspicions.
Rick watched Lacy Oliver disappear beyond the next intersection before he dragged his attention back to the here and now. What the hell was she doing driving by Charles Ashland’s old office? Was she watching Rick or checking up on Canton? One seemed about as unlikely as the other.
Maybe she’d picked up on him watching her and had decided to give tit for tat.
He’d have to find out one way or another. He damned sure couldn’t have her nosing around in his investigation.
He ran his hand through his hair and heaved a disgusted breath. He needed to have another talk with her. Soon.
He glanced up at the sky. Even at ten o’clock the sun was already beating down something fierce. The towering sugar maples and pin oaks dotting the landscape did little to block the heat rising from the asphalt.
Rick hustled to the front entrance, crossed beneath the navy canopy that offered some respite from the heat. Each of the windows on the front of the building had a similar canopy. Inside, the lobby boasted a library-type setting with lots of magazines and newspapers from around the globe available for waiting clients. The receptionist greeted him immediately and directed him to his destination.
Nigel Canton’s office looked as if it belonged in a penthouse on Wall Street. It definitely didn’t look like the sort of place one did business in a small town like Ashland, Alabama.
Thick, luxurious carpet. Rich gold walls with brilliant white trim that had to have been hand-carved the detailing was so intricate. The heavy mahogany furnishings and expensive-looking paintings completed the room. Rick was reasonably certain the decor alone cost more than he would make as the chief of police for several years to come.
Nigel, a tall, thin man with even thinner black hair and small brown eyes, looked inordinately bored with the idea that the chief had paid him a visit. He scarcely shook Rick’s hand before reclining back into his soft leather chair and clasping his hands on his desk in front of him.
“I don’t understand why this visit is necessary, Chief,” he said frankly. “I told the police all I knew ten years ago, and nothing has changed since. Quite honestly, I’m not at all surprised Ashland is dead. He made himself numerous enemies in his short life, including his wife and myself.”
Well, at least he was honest to a point.
Rick took a seat though one hadn’t been offered. The upholstered chair was plush enough that he sank deep into it and could have enjoyed the pleasantness of it under different circumstances.
“Mr. Canton, considering that we now know Charles Ashland is dead, it’s imperative that we nail down a broader time frame for all previously taken statements.”
He lifted a sparse eyebrow. “In other words you want to know where I was at the time Charles might have been murdered.”
“I’m afraid that one would be tough,” Rick admitted, “since we can’t establish exact time of death. But what I would like to do is build a broader framework of activity around the time of his
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