Deadly Fall Page 9

  The funeral would not be open casket.

  “How did they know to take the correct surveillance tapes?” Security measures in the high-rise building included a camera in the lobby, in both lobby elevators and in the hallway of each floor. The perps had apparently appropriated the tapes of the lobby, the elevators and the fifteenth and twenty-seventh floor hallways. Charlie the night concierge’s official statement said he’d been knocked unconscious at the time. No one had seen them enter, so that left the back door and the basement parkade. The security tape of the parking entrance didn’t show any pedestrians or cars entering that didn’t belong. The back entrance, unfortunately, was not monitored by a camera. When Nick had checked out the back door, however, there had been no signs of forced entry.

  Nick suddenly went still.

  “What is it?” asked Ethan.

  “I’m just remembering what really bothered me about that night. They didn’t even wait for the elevator. They went straight for the stairs as if they knew we were coming.”

  “Inside help?”

  Nick grunted. “Charlie Medina could’ve called up and warned them.” He knew his smile was grim. “We should pay him a visit after this.”

  Ethan sighed but nodded. “Have you decided what ‘this’ is?”

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Nick’s eyes narrowed on the door with police tape across it, but he didn’t get off the elevator. “I do now. Don’t get off. We’re going down to the fifteenth floor.”

  “Reenactment?”

  “Yes.”

  It took them longer to get down to the fifteenth floor from the twenty-seventh than it did to get up to the penthouse floor from the ground. The elevator doors slid open on the twenty-second, nineteenth and seventeenth floors for people on their way to the lobby. Nick got off on the fifteenth floor and silently communicated with his partner, who remained on the car, with a nod of his head. As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, Nick sprinted toward the fire door and took the fifteen flights of stairs as he had several evenings ago. Ethan was lounging behind the security desk in the lobby, talking to the concierge when Nick saw him.

  “Well?” Nick asked, his somewhat heavier breathing the only sign he’d exerted himself physically.

  Ethan motioned for them to walk away from the security desk for more privacy. A glance at his watch, then he said, “I’ve been here less than seventy-five seconds. That’s not enough time to knock out a man, scan through each of the monitors, pick out only the correct tapes, steal them and then run out of sight. Not unless someone took out the tapes and had them ready for you.”

  “We need to have a chat with Charlie.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I like Charlie.” He pushed the button for nineteen. “Let me tell Torie that I’m going to be late again.”

  * * * * *

  “Have you heard a single word I’ve said all evening?”

  Someone was asking her a question. Augusta pulled herself back to the present and tried to focus on the man across from her. “Hmm?”

  “Augusta?”

  She blinked and gave him an absent smile, as if that would convince him that her mind hadn’t been wandering far from the cozy Italian restaurant in which they were sitting.

  Adam Langan glanced down at the fork she was using to push the food around on her plate. “You haven’t even taken a bite of your fettuccine. What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning toward her, concern etched on his handsome face. “Or are you just preoccupied tonight?”

  “The latter.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  Her smile dropped. “You don’t want to hear it.”

  He sighed, sounding infinitely indulgent and patient. “Yes, I do. That’s why I wanted to see you tonight.”

  Augusta cocked a brow at him. “To check up on me?”

  “I can see what you’re going through, and I know it’s not easy. It’s not easy for me, either. Drew was my brother. I loved him too.”

  She silently berated herself. She wasn’t the only one affected by Drew’s death. He and Adam had been closer than most siblings she knew. They had been closer than she had been with any of her half-siblings. Adam had hero-worshipped Drew, and with good reason. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “It’s been a really long day for me.”

  He squeezed back. “What happened?”

  Augusta drew her hand back and propped her chin on it, her elbow braced on the table. “Nothing.”

  A smile crooked his mouth. “Too much time to think?”

  “Yes.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Something like that.” Her lips twisted into a humorless smile. “Did I tell you I was fired yesterday?”

  “What? The university fired you?”

  She gave him a curt nod. “Something about the current spotlight on me in the media being bad publicity for the school. The private and corporate sponsors and loaded alumni flipping out over it, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  “That’s a load of crap.” His head tipped to one side. “Was it the article in the Times yesterday morning?”

  She nodded, not meeting his gaze.

  “And why were you at the police station?”

  “The detective said the lab needed my fingerprints to rule them out from the prints taken from the penthouse. A reporter, I suppose, was lying in wait around the station house and snapped the picture.”

  “That’s still a load of crap. You should make that paper post a retraction.”

  “They already have this morning. During the police conference, the speaker stated emphatically the NYPD currently do not have a suspect in custody. And neither did they have evidence that hired killers threw Andrew Langan from his terrace.” She couldn’t keep the trace of bitterness from her tone. “The two lines ‘exonerating’ me were buried in the last paragraph.” She shrugged. “But what good did it or will it do? The damage’s already done, and no one will believe otherwise unless the real killer is found and convicted.”

  Adam made a sound of disgust, but he didn’t disagree with her.

  “That’s how it works and even an artsy type like me can understand that, so you can wipe the scowl off your face, Adam.”

  He continued to scowl. “We can sue the university for wrongful dismissal.”

  “No,” she said gently. “Technically, I’m on a leave of absence. My job, they assure me, will be waiting for me once everything dies down and, naturally, once I’m no longer a murder suspect.”

  “You’re not a murder suspect.”

  Several nearby diners turned their way, drawn by Adam fierce tone. Augusta set her face into a pleasant expression for their audience’s benefit and said quietly, “Thanks for defending my honor, but lower your voice, please.”

  He flushed. “Sorry. But the police can’t think you had anything to do with Drew’s death.”

  “According to them—according to anyone, for that matter—his money’s a hell of a motivator, especially with the pending divorce.”

  “But Drew wasn’t going to change his will.”

  Augusta gave a tiny shrug. “But I didn’t know that, did I?”

  “Crap.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she murmured, inordinately pleased and deeply touched to have someone so staunchly on her side. Of course, a small voice inside her head reminded her, Nick Markov thinks you’re innocent too, and he’s the one who’s seen all the evidence against you.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Augusta quickly smoothed out the frown on her forehead. “Nothing. Just an unpleasant memory.”

  Liar.

  “So, if you weren’t at work yesterday, where were you? I must’ve called you half a dozen times last night.”

  “Did you?”

  “Didn’t you check your machine?”

  “Actually, no. I’ve been avoiding it. After seeing the vultures on my doorstep, I can just imagine the messages on my machine.”

  “Then where did you go last night?”

 
Augusta hoped the hot flush she felt creeping up her neck didn’t make her look as guilty as she felt. “Uh…I was at Nick Markov’s apartment.”

  “Markov…?” Realization dawned, replacing Adam’s blank look with disbelief. “The police detective? That Nick Markov? Why in the world did you go to his place?”

  “He offered,” Augusta answered, hoping her dinner companion would drop the line of questioning. But nothing had been going right for her in the last week, so why should that change now?

  “Why did he offer?”

  “Because after I found the press in front of my house, I stormed over to the police station and gave him a piece of my mind. I thought he planned the entire thing to make his job easier. Convict me in the court of public opinion.”

  “And when he convinced you that he had nothing to do with it, you believed him. So, when he offered to let you spend the night at his place—out of the goodness of his heart, of course—you accepted.”

  She chose to ignore the blatant sarcasm. “Something like that.”

  “Aug—”

  “Nothing happened,” she said, interrupting him and feeling only a twinge of guilt at the fib. “Besides, weren’t you the one who told me to cooperate with the police department?”

  “Cooperate, not…” His voice faded and a flush crept up his neck.

  “Not what?” she demanded, a little piqued at his unflattering assumptions about her morals. Even if they were correct. “Finish your sentence, Adam Langan.”

  Wisely, he decided to let the matter drop. “Nothing. I just worry about you. Why didn’t you come to me last night?”

  Her features softened. “I figured if I went to you, those damned reporters would find out in a heartbeat. That’s all it was.”

  “You still should’ve come to me,” he said, the twin vertical lines of displeasure forming between his brows.

  “It’s over and done with. I’m back in my house, and the surrounding area is reporter-free, courtesy of Detective Markov.”

  “How did he make that happen?”

  “He called Peter Donovan and asked him to take care it.”

  “I’ll call him and thank him later.”

  “Peter? I already did that this morning.” Her conversation with the lawyer had been a case of good news, bad news. Peter’d said he managed to clear the reporters from her front lawn by promising them a press conference next week. She’d asked him to put off the press conference for as late as possible, but Peter’d replied that he was only allowed one miracle a month. Augusta picked up her fork, again. Under normal circumstances, she’d be having a cool crème caramel by this time. “Now, can we drop this? If we don’t finish our entrées, the chef will be insulted, throw a fit and never let us darken the doorway of this restaurant again.”

  “Right,” Adam said. He picked up his fork, studied it for a moment, then his worried gaze caught hers again. “It’s just with Drew’s death and everything… I’m concerned about you.”

  Augusta covered his hand with hers. “I know you are, but you shouldn’t be. I’ll be okay. I am okay. I’ll be even better once the police catch the killer.”

  “Yes,” Adam said, squeezing her fingers in return.

  * * * * *

  Augusta dug her fists deeper inside the pockets of her black leather pea coat and stretched her neck, lifting her face up for the cool night air to caress. She had Adam drop her off a few blocks before they reached her townhouse. He had protested vehemently, not liking that she wanted to walk the rest of the way home to stretch her legs and clear her head. She could stretch her legs and clear her head walking around her house. This was New York City and it was dark outside, he had pointed out. It would be stupid and irresponsible of him to let her walk several blocks to get home. However, she had picked up a few things about stubbornness from Drew.

  She would have to call Adam tomorrow and apologize. He only had her safety in mind. With Drew’s violent death, it was natural that he be even more protective than usual. It was a Langan family trait. They may bicker endlessly and even hate each other at times, but Langans looked after their own. Or, Augusta amended wryly, those who they thought were their own. With the exception of Adam and Drew, the Langan family would happily see her on her way to hell, or any place where she wouldn’t be able to get her hands on their money.

  Christ, but their opinion of her was low.

  Stop it. You’re supposed to be clearing your head, not burdening it with things you have no control over.

  “Right,” she murmured, breathing deeply, hoping the relaxation technique would come through again for her.

  It didn’t. If anything, it stretched her already taut nerves. The back of her neck prickled and Augusta had a suspicion Adam had been right after all. It wasn’t the most intelligent thing to walk alone after sundown, even if the distance was only four city blocks. A braver person would’ve stopped and glanced around. But that would be admitting fear was playing havoc with her pulse and sweat glands. Augusta quickened her pace, the sound of her heels ringing loudly in her ears as they fell on the pavement.

  Relief poured through her as she passed the bakery where she often stopped for a cinnamon and raisin bagel each morning. Another block and she would be able to lock herself inside her home and laugh at the stupid fear that was making her paranoia come to the fore.

  Augusta almost missed it, the move was so quick. From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow break away from the darkness of the narrow alley beside the bakery. Her head instinctively turned, but the dark figure had already clamped a gloved hand over her nose and mouth, another strong arm snaked about her waist, imprisoning her arms and slamming her back into a hard, burly body. Her feet cleared the ground and she was hauled backwards into the alley. Always hand over your purse or wallet. Don’t struggle. Once they get what they want, they’ll take off and you’ll be okay. Sound advice. But only if you’re not panicked, actually facing the situation and hadn’t been bullied by an overprotective boyfriend-turned-husband into taking self-defense training. Besides, how the hell was she supposed to hand over her wallet if she couldn’t move her arms?

  Do something, Augusta!

  She struggled, twisting her body this way and that. Her attacker, obviously experienced, wasn’t taken off guard. He tightened his hold on her. Her vision beginning to dot from lack of oxygen, she kicked desperately backwards, the adrenaline pumping through her veins giving her added strength. Her sharp heel did catch her attacker off guard. He dropped her and howled when it dug satisfyingly into his leg. But she didn’t have time to savor his pain as she gulped in air and scrambled to her feet. She didn’t make one running step before a hand fisted in her hair and viciously yanked her head back. She turned with the momentum, her arm outstretched with a subtle bend in her elbow, arcing with the turn. The side of her hand connected with skin, felt the Adam’s apple and tendons underneath. Choked, gasping sounds interspersed with curses filled the air. The hand fisted in her hair let go and her attacker fell to his knees, both hands curved protectively about his abused throat. Augusta sent a well-aimed knee into the man’s face for good measure, knocking him solidly on his back. Distantly, she registered something hot and wet exploding onto her pants. Then, ignoring the mangled howl of pain renting the air, she whirled around to run as if the hounds of hell were baying at her heels.

  Her mouth was open and she drew in great gulps of air to appease her burning lungs as she bounded up the steps of her stoop to her door. Key already in hand, she swiftly inserted it—and found that she didn’t need it when the door gave way under her weight. It silently swung inward and, gripping the doorknob as if it was a lifeline, she staggered inside.

  * * * * *

  Nick crumpled the note in his hand. She was grateful to him. He didn’t want her damned gratitude.

  He needed a beer. He wanted a lot more, but for now, he’d settle for a beer. Expression grim, jaw clenched, he stalked over to the fridge and pulled one out. A vicious twist and the cap came off. He took a
long swallow, but the cold liquid did very little to cool his temper. Why was she fighting him? She had to know that he believed she had nothing to do with the murder. He had that much faith in her. Why couldn’t she have that much in him?

  Nick strode into the living room and settled himself on the sofa, his long legs stretched out across the coffee table. He lifted the frosty long-neck bottle to his mouth and took another swig. Then he reached for the remote control and flicked on the television. Sounds of a laugh track chased away the silence, but his scowl darkened. Never before had the silence that came from living alone bothered him. In fact, after hearing the constant noise in his work world, the peace and quiet of his apartment was more than welcome.