Page 87 of Big Bad Wolfe

“Thanks,” Zane said thickly. “And damn, I could use a beer about now. How about you, McQuade?”

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in pleasurable companionship. Aragorn flummoxed Zane further when he cuddled up to Dallas and Mia like they were his long-lost best buds, all the while sneering scornfully at Zane during his attempt to barbecue chicken.

Casey fell asleep on a chaise, and sensitive to his earlier anxiety, Jillian didn’t put him to bed upstairs alone, instead covering him with a throw. He snoozed away as the adults lounged on the candlelit deck with drinks and talked while admiring the moon and stars winking on over the ocean.

Jillian wanted to hear all about Mia and Dallas’ meeting and courtship. As Mia related the unique tale, Zane relived the highs and lows ofthatinteresting experience.

Afterward, Zane went to the kitchen to nab a second helping of dessert for him and Dallas. He stood at the counter with a knife poised over the pie tin, looking out the window at his sleeping son. Watched as Jillian tipped her head back and laughed at something Dallas said. The slender column of her throat gleamed as pale and luscious in the moonlight as the whipped cream beneath his hands.

“Hi.” Mia’s voice had him pivoting to see that she’d followed him inside. “I decided I wanted more pie, too.”

“Color me surprised.”

“Ha ha. You’ve been enjoying yourself here and relaxing more. It shows.”

He glanced out the window at Jillian again. “It’s been good … for a short window in time.”

Mia stepped closer and her hand delved into his jeans’ pocket and withdrew his phone.

Zane shot her a mock scowl. “You’re not gonna throw me down, tie me up and pitch my phone in the closest Dumpster are you?”

She snorted as she keyed in numbers. “If it’d knock some sense into you, I would.”

“What are you doing?”

“Inputting the name and number of the therapist who helped Dallas and me resolve leftover issues from our pasts after we got married. He’s top-notch.”

She slid the phone back into his pocket. “Making a big life change is scary, but you know what’s even scarier?” She inclined her head toward the scene out the window. “Regret.This could be your new life, Zane. If you want it badly enough.”

* * *

The following two weeks flew by. The more time Zane spent with Jillian and Casey, the more comfortable he grew. Which perversely, made him uneasy.

Because peaceful interludes never lasted long.

He and Dallas finished installing the Center’s security system and began combing through the minutia of Reynolds’ and Wentworth’s data and constructing a timeline of their activities during the two years prior to Deb’s death. It was skating on the edge of legal, and yeah, okay, tearing through the envelope at times. Any evidence collected without a warrant wouldn’t be admissible in court, but they’d cross—or burn if necessary—that bridge when the time came.

Zane usually strictly adhered to protocol. However, Jillian and Casey’s safety was priority one. So screw the rules and regs.

Just as Zane had hoped, they found a call from Deb’s regular cell to her private cell. And that number had made numerous calls to another cell that had been canceled the day after her death—and was registered to Carson Wentworth. All the info had been scrubbed, likely by hacking into the company’s database. Reynolds had money up the wazoo, and money bought power … and silence.

But as with all technology, noteverythingcould be completely eliminated. And while Zane was no slouch in computer investigations, Dallas was a damned savant.

Not only were there hundreds of calls back and forth to and from Deb’s private cell, but—gotcha you bastard—numerous calls traced back to an expensive, exclusive penthouse in a downtown Seattle high-rise. The maximum security building catered to celebrities and the uber-wealthy willing to pay out the ass for guaranteed discretion. Rent and a staggering amount of sundry expenses had been signed for on a credit card belonging to Wentworth, which was also canceled and the records “erased” the day after Deb’s death.

Zane and Dallas visited the concierge. Photos of Carson, Wade, and Deb combined with Zane’s badge and threats of obstruction and accessory to murder, loosened his tongue. The man confirmed when and where Wade and Deb had been hooking up. Obviously, Wentworth was fronting for his boss.

Speaking of Weasely Went, Zane had dropped in for a friendly hi-ya at Reynolds’ campaign headquarters and asked a few not-quite-subtle-enough questions to watch Wentworth sweat and squirm, and learned the guy had no alibi for the estimated window of time of Deb’s death. He claimed he’d been home, asleep.

As did Reynolds, who said his wife could confirm it, having been asleep next to him all night. A flimsy alibi at best.

Zane recognized Carson’s type. Gutless Wonder-Boy was an opportunist, and self-preservation would become his god if it looked like he was about to take the entire rap alone for murder one. Zane also knew if he amassed enough evidence and exerted the right pressure he could make Carson roll on Reynolds.

However, it made no sense that Reynolds or his assistant was stalking Jillian. If they’d suspected she knew about the affair, they’d have done far worse than harass her. Zane and Dallas concluded either Dr. Dick and/or Mrs. Psycho Dick had hired someone in an attempt to intimidate and upset her during the custody case, gangbangers were pissed off about her progress at the Center, or Farley’s case of puppy love had truly gone Cujo.

Either way, once the Wolfe/McQuade team amassed enough evidence in both instances, Mia would help secure the proper warrants, then they’d launch a sweeping perp roundup. Zane vowed every single scumbag involved in killing Deb and distressing Jillian would soon be wearing pretty prison orange and wishing for soap-on-a-rope.

Then he could leave.

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