Colby Conspiracy. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
His gaze fixed on hers. “Right now, Miss Hastings, anyone connected to your father is a suspect.”
This was insane. She hadn’t even been to Chicago in years.
“As difficult as it is to say that to you, Emily,” Franko went on, “this is standard procedure. It’s not personal.”
She blinked, unable to rally a response. Her father was dead, for God’s sake. There was no way it could be anything but personal.
Her father had been murdered and she was suddenly a suspect. This couldn’t be right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VICTORIA SAT perfectly still, uncertain she could bear to hear what Lucas had to say. But it was, unfortunately, necessary. She couldn’t let this fester. The hurt twisted inside her, tearing apart all she’d ever believed in…all she’d managed to rebuild.
Lucas sat down in front of Victoria’s desk and heaved a weary sigh.
He’d wanted to discuss this at home, but she’d refused. She felt stronger here at the Agency. She needed that strength right now, that and more.
“Yes, I knew about Madelyn.”
Victoria’s eyes closed as the hurt squeezed her heart.
“But it wasn’t what you think—”
Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t even try to pardon what he did.” The words roared out of her with more strength than she could have imagined she possessed just now.
Lucas leaned forward, settling those caring gray eyes on her. “Victoria, I’m not pardoning anything. The truth is, I’m not certain there is anything to pardon.”
“I read the letters, Lucas!” How could he tiptoe around the issue? James Colby had had an affair. Pain stabbed deep all over again.
“That was a tough time for both of you,” Lucas reminded her, as if he’d needed to. “The strain on your marriage was immense. James needed someone to talk to. To my knowledge, that’s as far as the relationship went.”
“She was in love with him,” Victoria countered, the word relationship making her seethe.
Lucas nodded. “She probably was, but that doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”
Victoria held up her hands in an act of self-protection. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”
“Why don’t you let me have a look at the letters and I’ll try and get to the bottom of what really happened, if you’re certain that’s what you want.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I’ll do that myself. But there’s no time now. Our full attention has to be on Jim. It’s going to take both of us working together to get him through this.” Victoria closed her eyes again and tried to find a place of calm in her mind where she could think straight.
“We have to assume that they have some sort of evidence against Jim or they wouldn’t have been prepared to make an arrest,” Lucas offered.
That much was true. Thank God Zach had been able to get a jump on the detective in charge of the case, Detective Franko. Apparently under Zach’s legal eagle scrutiny, whatever Franko had hadn’t been sufficient to proceed against Jim just yet. But Jim’s arrest was imminent. They’d taken him in with the intent of pressing formal charges. After tangoing with Zach, the district attorney, rather than risk running into a double-jeopardy wall, had suggested that Franko hold off until his facts were further substantiated. But that had only bought Victoria a little time; it hadn’t actually changed anything.
She had seen the way the very men who just a few days ago had respected her agency had looked at her son. One of their own was dead, and they believed they had his killer. She knew exactly how hard they would work to prove their theory.
Jim was at the clinic undergoing a full evaluation. He would not be allowed to return home unless the doctors were confident that Tasha could keep him under control and under constant supervision.
Tears burned in Victoria’s eyes. She didn’t want to believe that any of the men or women she knew and respected in Chicago PD would harm her son. But right now, considering the current circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could say that.
When a cop died, the whole law enforcement community wanted justice. She could understand how they felt. She wanted justice for Carter Hastings, as well. But not if it meant railroading her son for a crime he surely could not have committed. Her son hadn’t even known Carter Hastings.
“We need to know what they’ve got,” Victoria agreed.
“Ashton will get that for us,” Lucas voiced his certainty on the matter.
He would, in time. But did they have time? That was the question. Could they sit around here like this and assume that the police—who were obviously less than objective on the matter since one of their own had been murdered—would conduct a thorough investigation? Or would the boys in blue simply go after what they considered the sure thing?
Victoria knew human nature, and human nature would scream for vengeance.
None of this made sense.
Carter had been murdered. Then his daughter had mentioned the letters at his funeral service. What did his murder and those old love letters have to do with each other? And why now? After all this time?
Another wave of hurt washed over Victoria. How could her husband have turned to another woman when Victoria had needed him so very badly?
James had always been like a rock, unshakable. He’d survived being a prisoner of war, had stood fast by her side when Jimmy had gone missing. How could she not have known that there was someone else?
Someone involved in the investigation, for God’s sake.
Carter had known. A new kind of ache welled inside her. He’d been so kind to Victoria. Somehow, he must have found out after James’s murder and hidden the letters to keep Victoria from finding them. To protect her. Her gaze moved to her new husband. Just as Lucas had protected her from what he had known.
He would do the same thing now. Lucas loved her, would do anything to save her from further devastation. That’s why she had to do this herself.
Victoria thought of her faithful staff and, without doubt, knew that any or all of them would do whatever it took to clear Jim’s name, ultimately protecting her.
No one wanted Jim cleared more than Victoria. But more importantly, she wanted the truth.
There was only one way to be sure she had the whole truth when all was said and done.
She would oversee this investigation personally. She would allow no one whose first priority was to protect her to be involved.
That left her with only one option.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE two on Friday afternoon, Daniel Marks stepped off the elevator in the lobby of the revered Colby Agency.
The receptionist greeted him immediately and promptly called Victoria Colby-Camp’s personal secretary to come and escort him to his appointment.
Victoria met him just inside her office.
When the initial formalities were out of the way, she suggested they sit. He took a seat at the small conference table and she did the same. He’d declined any coffee, but two bottles of chilled water with accompanying glasses sat on a tray in the center of the table.
“What do you think of the Windy City?”
Daniel came prepared to answer that question. He’d all but made an offer on a loft less than ten minutes from the Colby Agency. “I’m impressed.”
Victoria nodded. “You found the information packet we sent you informative?”