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  She hoped he didn’t give them away, not yet. She still hadn’t come to terms with what she’d done—what they’d done. She wasn’t ready for anyone else to know about it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  RALEIGH HAD just taken her first bite of the spicy sausage when Griffin appeared looking mouthwatering in a striped golf shirt, a pair of khakis riding low on his lean hips—and the inevitable cowboy boots. The bandage around his arm was smaller than before. He must have taken care of that himself. Too bad—she would have been happy to help him apply a fresh bandage to that gorgeous bicep. His hair was still damp from his shower, his face shaved smooth.

  “Morning.” He chose a chair next to Jillian, rather than near Raleigh. When their eyes met, he quickly looked away.

  What the hell was that about? Did he have regrets? He was the one who’d been pushing for something more, and she was the one who was supposed to feel guilty and remorseful.

  She didn’t feel guilty. More…worried. About the future. About whether she’d made a mistake, and would lose Griffin altogether, even as a friend.

  Not even a smile for her?

  Daniel filled Griffin in on the police investigation into the shooting.

  Griffin took a few notes.

  Conversation at the breakfast table veered toward lighter topics after that. Daniel and Jillian talked about his schedule for the day. Daniel and Griffin discussed college football—for need of a topic of discussion, rather than any real interest from either of them.

  Raleigh mostly said nothing. The nourishing but heavy food she’d craved only a few minutes ago now sat leaden in her stomach. She had no idea how to act toward a man she’d just had wild, unexpected sex with.

  After a few more minutes, Griffin wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his chair away from the table. “I’ll need a ride to my car,” he announced. “Can you provide one, Daniel? Or I can call a cab.”

  “I’ll have Randall take you wherever you need to go, of course. But are you sure you want to leave?”

  “The shooter is after Raleigh, not me. I have a job, and no one is giving me paid vacation. Plus, I have some leads to follow.”

  Raleigh was crushed. He was leaving? But she absolutely would not behave like some clinging vine. Just because they’d had sex didn’t mean she had a claim to him. She did, however, want a minute alone with him, if she could manage it without making it a big deal.

  “You’ll be careful, won’t you?” she couldn’t help asking.

  “As careful as I know how to be.”

  “Why don’t I loan you a car,” Daniel said. “One our homicidal friend won’t recognize.”

  “He can take mine,” Jillian said. “I don’t need to be anywhere today.”

  “That’s very generous—both of you.”

  Raleigh was relieved that Griffin was taking at least some precautions. Then something he’d said a few moments earlier hit her. “Leads? You didn’t say anything about leads.”

  “I’ll let you know if anything pans out.”

  He was holding out on her. But he was under no obligation to share everything with them. She felt sure he would speak up when it was appropriate.

  Raleigh managed to loiter near the kitchen as Jillian handed over the keys to her Range Rover. “Third gear sticks a bit.”

  “Thanks, I’ll watch out for that.”

  Feeling like an idiot, Raleigh followed him down the hallway toward the garage door. “Griffin.”

  He turned. “Oh. Ah, hi.”

  “Are you acting like a bastard on purpose, or is it an accident?” She hadn’t meant to come on so strong, but really.

  He at least had the good grace to look guilty. “I’m sorry, Raleigh. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, but I’m guessing you didn’t want to announce to the whole world that we’d had sex.”

  “No, you’re right about that. But a smile or a friendly word wouldn’t have been out of place.”

  “Okay, point taken. But I’m feeling a little confused. What happened this morning—I don’t believe it changed anything for you.”

  How could he think that?

  “Well, it apparently changed things for you. You got what you wanted from me, and it’s time to move on to the next conquest. Is that it?”

  He rolled his eyes. “God, Raleigh, it’s not that either. I’m talking about…your situation.”

  “You mean because I might get killed?” she asked, confused.

  “Not that. And you aren’t going to get killed. Don’t talk that way. I was referring to…to Jason. You’re still emotionally attached to him.”

  “The feelings don’t just magically go away.”

  “I don’t expect you to forget him,” Griffin said gently. “But I don’t think your marriage is over at all. In your heart, you’re still with him. You keep his picture with you all the time and at your apartment you have a shrine dedicated to—”

  “A shrine?”

  “Yes, honey, a shrine. That’s exactly what it is. I can’t compete with a saint. Raleigh, you’re a wonderful woman. I don’t pretend to know what was going through your head this morning—if anything. I’m happy if I was able to offer you some comfort or release or distraction. But let’s leave it at that.”

  Is that what he thought of their lovemaking? That it meant so little to her? Yes, maybe she hadn’t thought it through when she’d started touching him this morning, but—

  Why was she arguing with herself, when he was turning to leave?

  “Griffin, wait.”

  “Relax.” He turned and pressed a finger to her lips. “Have a low-key day today. If I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know. We’ll talk later, okay?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Okay.”

  Then he walked out the door.

  Well, that hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped.

  She supposed she couldn’t heap too much blame on him. She was too preoccupied with Jason. And that table in her apartment with all the pictures and the mementos—sometimes she did burn a candle there. Maybe it was a shrine.

  But she was changing. Or at least, she was willing to change. She had a right to live a full life, and that meant having a man. A partner in life. Okay, maybe even a husband. Jason would never begrudge her that. If he was even watching over her, which she was coming to doubt.

  He was probably on some heavenly beach with a bikini babe on each arm. Before he’d started dating her, he’d been quite the player. If he was in heaven now, he wouldn’t be living like a monk.

  The thought actually made her smile. She didn’t want to think of Jason as eternally yearning for her, miserable.

  She was no longer willing to see herself that way, either. She was moving on. She cursed Griffin and blessed him for making her see the light.

  “Raleigh?”

  Startled, Raleigh whirled around to find Jillian, clipboard in hand, looking worried. “Yes?”

  “You have a phone call. Beth has been trying to get hold of you.”

  “That’s odd.” Raleigh fished her cell out of her jeans and stared at the blank screen. “Guess I forgot to turn it on,” she said sheepishly. It took a whole lot of distraction for her to forget that, but Griffin qualified.

  Jillian led Raleigh down a flight of stairs to the basement. Hardly anyone in Houston had a basement. The city was barely above sea level, and anything built underground was damp and seepy. But somehow Daniel had managed.

  Managed very well. The lower level was just as luxurious as any other part of the mansion, with thick Oriental carpets and antiqued bronze light fixtures with art glass shades.

  “I could have grabbed the extension in the kitchen.”

  “Anything to do with Project Justice, Daniel is fastidious about privacy. In here. Your call is on line one.” Jillian showed her into a private office equipped with the latest computer, a phone, bookshelves, even live plants. And…a window?

  Raleigh couldn’t resist pulling back the curtain. The window was fake, with its ow
n light source to make it seem as if the sun was shining right outside. Daniel thought of everything.

  Jillian closed the door as she left, and Raleigh grabbed the phone and hit the flashing button for line one.

  “Hey, Beth, what’s up?” She found a pen and notepad.

  “Raleigh! I’m so glad nothing happened to you. You could have been killed! Is Griffin really okay?”

  “He is now. He claims it’s a minor wound.” Raleigh shuddered. “I’ll tell him you asked.” If she ever spoke to him again. She was awash in confusion where Griffin was concerned.

  “I’m really relieved. But that’s not the only reason I called. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  What now? Raleigh sank into the leather chair behind the desk. “Lay it on me.”

  “Lieutenant Comstock called. It seems he can’t find the bullet that killed Michelle Brewster.”

  “What?”

  “He says he found the evidence files, but the bullet is missing. With closed cases, where they have a conviction, sometimes things get tossed or lost. He says it happens all the time.”

  “It does happen all the time, but it shouldn’t. Of all the incompetent, slovenly, careless, idiotic…” She ran out of adjectives.

  This was her whole case. The bullet comparison could have proved that gun was the murder weapon, Raleigh was sure of it. And then she would have been able to track the gun to someone other than Anthony.

  “I’m sorry, Raleigh. Lieutenant Comstock sounded frustrated and angry about it, too, so don’t come down too hard on him.”

  “Beth, you’re way too trusting. Comstock is probably dancing a jig as we speak. He doesn’t want us to exonerate Anthony. He probably pocketed the bullet himself, and now it’s at the bottom of Buffalo Bayou. What about tracing the gun registration? Any progress there?”

  “He said they were working on it.”

  “How long does it take? You plug some numbers into a computer and it spits out the answer.” She knew it wasn’t quite that easy, since the number had been incomplete. But if she could get a list of names—a hundred names, five hundred names—she would have somewhere to start looking.

  “Why don’t you ask Mitch to run the number?”

  Because it would be illegal. Project Justice was not a law-enforcement agency and they didn’t have legitimate access to the ATF database. But Mitch probably knew how to get in, or he had a friend somewhere who could help. If it led her to a suspect…

  “Never mind,” Beth said. “You’re an officer of the court and all that.”

  Which meant Beth would ask Mitch herself.

  Fine, Raleigh wouldn’t discourage her. She was desperate.

  “Do you know when you’ll be back in the office?” Beth asked.

  Raleigh sighed. “When Daniel says it’s okay.”

  The office door opened and Jillian stood there, looking frantic and apologetic all at the same time.

  “I have to go, Beth. I’ll call you later.” She hung up and focused on Jillian. “Trouble?”

  “Daniel wants to see you right away.”

  Now what? Raleigh followed Jillian down the hall to another door. When she entered Daniel’s office—his lair, some people called it—her eyes almost popped out of her head.

  She’d heard about this place, but she’d never actually been here until today.

  It looked less an office and more a control center. Or the deck of the Starship Enterprise. She counted four TVs, mounted high on the walls, all of them broadcasting multiple screens of a news program. A huge, U-shaped desk dominated the room; it held two computers plus a small laptop. Daniel sat in the center, actually typing on two keyboards at once, one with each hand. He also had a Bluetooth headset in his ear.

  He looked up when she entered. “Raleigh. Come in, please. Sit down.” His face looked grim.

  On the periphery of the huge desk were several comfortable chairs. She chose one at random and sat. “Is someone hurt? They didn’t go after my parents, did they?” Her parents lived far away, in Iowa, but anything was possible.

  “No, it’s nothing like that. But I’m afraid you’ve become the subject of some sensational press coverage. The story came over CNI a few minutes ago. I record everything continuously with DVRs on a twenty-four-hour loop, in case I need to review a report—like this.”

  He pointed to one of the TV screens, rewinding through a recording until he got to the segment he wanted.

  A sober-looking woman began her report with a hint of relish. “Project Justice, the Houston foundation that frees those unjustly convicted, is embroiled in yet another controversial case—this one involving notorious crime-family member Anthony Simonetti, currently on death row for the brutal murder of his girlfriend, Michelle Brewster.”

  Oh, no. Raleigh had known it was only a matter of time before the media glommed on to this story, but it still disturbed her, especially given the bad news she’d just received.

  “At the center of this case is attorney Raleigh Shinn, who only a few weeks ago successfully argued to free convicted millionaire Eldon Jasperson when his son—whom he supposedly murdered—turned up alive and well.”

  A rather unflattering photo of Raleigh flashed on the screen. Did she really look like that?

  “Regarding the Simonetti case, the supposed murder weapon has turned up, and Shinn is shepherding the evidence through a series of high-tech analyses, confident the results will prove her client, the son of notorious ‘machete man’ Leo Simonetti, is innocent.”

  Raleigh’s picture was replaced with one of Leo Simonetti, who had absolutely nothing to do with this case.

  Raleigh held her breath, knowing the worst was to come.

  “But apparently not everyone is pleased with Shinn’s efforts. She’s been the target of threatening phone calls, and late last night, Shinn’s apartment was showered with gunfire, shattering the windows and injuring a guest staying at Shinn’s home.”

  “Inaccurate,” Raleigh said. “Only one phone call. And Griffin wasn’t ‘staying’ with me.”

  “But some have asked exactly what has motivated Shinn to pursue this case so relentlessly. A source close to the case reports that Shinn has received payments—tens of thousands of dollars—from a Swiss bank account, and that she has been in almost constant communication with Leo Simonetti.”

  Raleigh was out of her chair. “Oh, my God.”

  “Shinn was not answering her phone as of this morning.”

  “Because my apartment is a crime scene! Exactly how hard did they try to get hold of me?”

  The anchor moved on to another story and Daniel switched off the TV. “This report is libelous. Jillian is trying to get hold of someone at CNI as we speak. I’m asking for an immediate retraction.”

  “Daniel, you know I haven’t been receiving kick-backs, right? And that I’ve never talked with Leo Simonetti in my life?”

  “Raleigh, of course. You don’t even have to ask. I’m more concerned about this ‘source close to the story.’”

  “You think it’s Griffin?” The possibility was almost unspeakable.

  “Who else knew the details of the deposit? And the falsified phone records?”

  “I told Beth…no, that’s ridiculous. She would never betray a confidence.”

  “I trusted him.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m usually a good judge of character. But I was obviously wrong about Griffin Benedict. It’s not just that he violated his word. That would be bad enough. But he’s passed on to the network information that he knows to be false.”

  “I can’t believe he would do that.”

  “You have…feelings for this man?”

  She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t. Not to Daniel. “I did. Now, I want to shoot the son of a bitch through the heart.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRIFFIN FELT like a jerk for the way he’d treated Raleigh earlier that morning. But he could see no future for them, and it seemed less cruel in the long run to break things off cleanly.

 
; His heart was in physical pain whenever he thought of never seeing her again. He’d become attached to her in such a short time. But he refused to be part of a threesome—himself, Raleigh and St. Jason.

  That Jason was one lucky son of a gun, even if he was dead. Hell, Griffin must have been pretty far gone if he could be envious of a dead man.

  Now, Griffin’s only priority was to finish what he’d started. He needed to see this story to its conclusion, publish it, then try to expunge memories of Raleigh and their lovemaking form his mind.

  Finishing the story meant finding out who wanted to kill Raleigh. Which was why he was in an old-fashioned barbershop downtown—not far from the Project Justice offices, actually—with hot towels on his face, preparing to get a shave and a haircut.

  If his sources were right, Leo Simonetti would shortly be sitting in the chair next to his. Leo came once a week, like clockwork, to Sam’s Barbershop, for his regular trim, shave and manicure.

  There seemed no other way to get access to Leo. Although he was the CEO of a legitimate business, a car-leasing outfit aimed at executives, you couldn’t get in to see Leo unless he knew you. And he liked reporters even less than did Daniel Logan.

  Sam’s had three barbers and a manicurist on staff this morning, and the place seemed to be doing a steady business. Maybe it was the nostalgia factor. Maybe there were others waiting to meet Leo.

  Griffin heard a flurry of activity coming from the direction of the front door.

  “Mr. S! How good to see you.” It was the voice of the shop’s obsequious owner, whose name was Enrico, not Sam. “The usual today?”

  “Think I’ll have one of those avocado things on my face, too,” Leo Simonetti said. “My skin seems a little dry.”

  Funny, hearing a man who’d killed an enemy with a machete and cut him up into small pieces requesting an avocado face mask. But he was wealthy, and wealthy people could afford to be pampered.

  Griffin peeked out from beneath his hot towel and saw Leo Simonetti in person for the first time. He was shorter than Griffin had pictured him, and very round, though his well-tailored suit disguised his girth. He stripped off his jacket, and another man, who must have been a bodyguard, took the jacket and draped it over a chair in the area where people waiting for haircuts sat.