Private Security Page 6

  She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. His gaze was soft. A tiny smile, not sarcastic at all, curved his lips.

  “How’re you doing?” he whispered. His fingers slid across her skin until they rested against the side of her neck and his thumb grazed her lower lip. That unconsciously erotic gesture stoked an awareness deep within her. She felt her body softening, changing. The awareness became a disturbingly sweet heat. She knew what he was about to do and she felt no compulsion to stop him. She was hurting and his touch was dissolving the pain.

  She lifted her head and her gaze drifted downward to his mouth. He had a nice mouth, wide and straight. It could set firmly or curve sarcastically, but right now it was soft, like his eyes.

  He bent his head. His thumb moved to her chin and pressed gently, urging her head to tilt a fraction higher. Then his lips brushed hers. Matches struck and flared inside her again. But this rush was neither flight or fight. It was desire.

  He pulled her closer, molded her body to his as his mouth met hers. Her mouth softened and she parted her lips. She felt the whisper of his breath as he gasped. Then he deepened the kiss, and swept her away from the harsh reality of her dad’s death and her single-minded search for an explanation. She was helpless against the confusing mix of feelings gushing through her.

  Dawson had done his best not to give in to the hunger that gripped him every time he touched Juliana—hell, every time he laid eyes on her. But he was a sucker for tears, like his dad. That thought nearly killed the desire, but just then her mouth moved sensuously and her tongue touched his and his rational thoughts scattered like shards of an exploding lightbulb.

  His libido urged him to lay her down right here in the dust and debris, but his brain warned him of the sheer stupidity of letting his desire do the thinking.

  Placing a hand on either side of her head, he drew back and gazed down at her. He ran his thumb lightly along the fading bruise on her cheek and she blinked and stared up at him. Her eyes were so dark. They absorbed the light like black velvet. He kissed the corners of her eyelids where tears still clung and tasted salt.

  “We should—” he started, but a loud metallic screech drowned out his words. Without stopping to think, he grabbed Juliana and dove through the open closet door. He twisted in midair, trying to take the brunt of the impact. His shoulder slammed against the floor.

  A deafening crash shook the walls and sent splinters, debris and dust flying. Dawson hunched his shoulders and rolled, putting his back to the destruction. He wrapped his arms around her head and ducked his.

  He waited until the last echoing thump died down and the walls stopped quivering before lifting his head and opening his eyes. He looked down at her. He didn’t dare move until he was sure she was okay.

  She was stiff as a board, her face buried in his shirt. Despite her rigidity, he could feel the fine trembling of her limbs and the hitch in her breathing.

  “Jules?” he whispered anxiously.

  Her body jerked and she slowly lifted her head. Her eyelids twitched, then fluttered. Relief gushed through him.

  “Dawson?” she whispered as she opened her eyes, then blinked. “What happened?”

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “Can you move?”

  She closed her eyes and gingerly tested her arms and legs. “Ow,” she said. “My shoulder hurts, but I think that’s all.”

  He sat up carefully.

  “What happened?” she asked, then, “Oh, my God!”

  Dawson looked over his shoulder and saw the source of the crash. A two-foot-wide metal I beam lay across what was left of the mahogany desk. Where before it had been broken in two, now it was smashed flat.

  “We were—” Juliana gasped.

  “Standing right there,” he said grimly. He craned his neck and looked up. He knew from the architect drawings his dad had given him that the main floor of the casino with its three-story-high glass-domed roof was flanked on three sides by restaurants, guest rooms, offices and conference rooms and on the fourth side by the enclosed parking garage. The Sky Walk had arced over the main floor, suspended from the grid of beams just like the one in front of them.

  He pushed himself to his feet and carefully approached the I beam. It lay parallel to the closet. He shuddered involuntarily as he measured its length with his eyes. If it had swung ninety degrees before crashing, he and Juliana would be dead.

  What the hell had made it fall? Pulling out his key ring, he shone his laser light along the metal surface. He leaned in and there it was. What he saw took his breath away.

  “Son of a—” He tensed. Instinctively, he held his breath and listened, rocking to the balls of his feet.

  His first impulse was to race out and chase down the man who’d sent the beam crashing down on them, but it had been at least twenty seconds, probably thirty, since the beam had fallen. Whoever did it had a half minute’s head start. Besides, he couldn’t leave Juliana here alone.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket to call 9-1-1, but there was no signal.

  Behind him, Juliana groaned as she got to her feet. She stepped up close to him and placed her hand on his arm. “Oh, my God, we could have been killed,” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Dawson, look at those bolts.” She pointed. “Shine the light there.”

  He knew what she’d seen—the same thing he had.

  “They’ve been cut,” she gasped.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Come on, we need to get out of here.” He put his hand on the small of her back.

  She didn’t budge. “I want to get a picture of that.”

  “Jules, the guy who did this is probably long gone, but I’m not willing to bet our lives on it. We need to be outside.” He showed her his phone. “I tried to call the police, but I can’t get a signal in here.”

  “Okay. Just a minute.” Juliana was digging in her bag for her camera.

  Dawson didn’t object. He wanted photos of the beam as badly as she did. Not only to study, but also to show his dad. He figured the cuts had been made by bolt cutters, but he wanted his dad’s opinion. Plus, he liked the idea of having proof, if they had been cut.

  After she’d snapped several shots, Dawson touched her arm. “Let’s go. Now!”

  They picked their way past the beam and out onto the main floor of the casino, then headed for the main entrance. Dawson heard the sound of the doors gliding open. Then suddenly, there were two uniformed officers with guns and bright flashlights raised.

  “Don’t move,” the lead officer shouted. “Get your hands up. Higher. Above your heads.”

  “She can’t—” Dawson started, but the officer cut him off.

  “Shut up and get those hands up,” he shouted. “You, ma’am, take your arm out of that sling.”

  Juliana glanced toward Dawson, but he didn’t want to do anything to antagonize the officers. He nodded.

  She eased her arm out of the sling and raised it until her hand was level with her shoulder. He heard her muffled moan.

  The officer was apparently satisfied. “Now walk over here. Slowly. And keep those hands up.”

  A second officer held his gun on Juliana while the first one covered Dawson.

  “Who else is in here?” he demanded.

  “No one.” Dawson knew he wouldn’t get anywhere trying to explain what they were doing here until the officers had disarmed them and gotten them out of the building.

  The lead officer spoke into his shoulder mic. “I have two intruders at the Golden Galaxy Casino. Meeker and I will walk them out. Have the car ready to take them in for questioning. Send Stewart and Simon to clear the building.”

  Meeker gestured with his gun for them to pass him and take the lead. “Let’s go,” he said. “Keep those hands up. Either one of you makes a sudden move and I will shoot you.”

  * * *

  JULIANA SAT IN the interrogation room of the Waveland, Mississippi, Police Department, trying not to look at the one-way mirror that covered the up
per half of one wall. She’d been fidgeting for over an hour, imagining detectives and assistant district attorneys standing on the other side of the glass, watching her.

  Instead, she concentrated on identifying the dingy color on the walls. Did they paint the walls such a vomit-green on purpose? Because between the wall color and the creepy mirror, she was almost ready to confess to anything just to get out of there.

  The door opened and a young officer brought in a paper bag from a fast-food restaurant. “Hope you’re not a vegetarian,” he said with a smile. Juliana managed to get down about half a hamburger and was drinking the watery cola when the door opened again.

  A medium-height, pleasant-looking man came in. He looked tired as he sat down and took a small pad out of his inside coat pocket. He had a pen in his hand and he clicked it as he flipped pages.

  “I’m Detective Brian Hardy,” he said. “You’re—”

  As soon as she heard his voice, she recognized him. “Juliana Caprese, but you already know that.”

  He nodded. “I spoke with you on June 20, the day your dad was killed.”

  She nodded. “You were very nice.”

  The look he gave her told her he wasn’t in the mood to be nice today. He clasped his hands on the table. “Ms. Caprese, what were you doing at the Golden Galaxy?”

  Just like the day of her dad’s death, he got straight to the point. She felt her face heat up. “I’d rather not say,” she said.

  Hardy’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’m afraid you don’t have that option. We’ve looked at the contents of your purse—”

  She frowned in surprise. “You can do that?”

  Hardy’s mouth turned up. “We had probable cause, considering that you were trespassing at an active crime scene. And considering that we found items taken from there—” Hardy flipped more pages. “Specifically an album, a day planner and a hanging file folder.”

  “How do you—” She clamped her mouth shut, but Hardy grinned.

  “How do I know those were the items you took? Okay, well, they appeared to belong to your father.” He held up his index finger. “They were in your purse.” He held up a second finger. “And they were smeared with drywall dust. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. What were you doing there?”

  Juliana sighed. “I heard that demolition was going to begin Monday. I wanted to see if the police—if you had left any of my father’s things there.” She shrugged and spread her hands. “I wanted them. I’m sure you saw that the album has pictures in it, and the day planner—it’s his writing, his notes and thoughts and the things that made up his day.”

  Hardy was watching her closely. “So CSI missed those items and you found them.”

  “I’m his daughter,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Why are you wasting time with me? Why aren’t you finding out who was responsible for his death?”

  “We are. In fact, I need to ask you about what happened while you were in the casino.”

  “You’ve got the statement I wrote,” Juliana said. “Everything that happened is in there.” She assessed him. “Did you look at that beam? The bolts were cut. It was obvious. I took photos of the bolts. For evidence. My camera’s in my purse.”

  Hardy’s mouth turned up again. “As it happens, our CSI team is taking photos, too. We’ll be investigating what happened to cause that beam to fall. Were you aware that you were being followed?”

  “Followed?” She figured he wasn’t talking about Dawson. “You mean the person who dropped the beam on us? No. Dawson would have known. He’d have told me.” Speaking of Dawson, where was he? She glanced toward the door, then back at Detective Hardy. Just as she was about to ask, Hardy spoke.

  “What happened to your arm? And your face?” he asked.

  She touched her cheek. “I fell,” she said shortly.

  “You fell,” he repeated, raising his brows. “That must have been some fall. What happened?”

  Juliana didn’t want to tell the detective about her attack. She was afraid he’d order her to stop her investigation, and she wasn’t about to do that. “It was an accident,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. “I tripped and fell down the stairs.”

  “Hmm,” Hardy said.

  He didn’t believe her. She lifted her chin. “I hit my shoulder.”

  “Juliana, why would someone want to harm you?”

  She swallowed and shook her head. “Maybe someone thinks I know who was responsible for the Sky Walk collapsing.”

  “Do you?”

  She hesitated an instant too long and saw Hardy’s eyes narrow. “No. How would I know?”

  “Now that’s a very good question. I’m still interested in how you found those items after CSI missed them.”

  “It wasn’t that hard, Detective. They were in the back of the desk drawer. I found them because I knew they had to be there.”

  “And the keys to the casino doors and the electrical closet? Where did you just know they had to be?”

  Juliana dropped her gaze to her hands. “The doors opened automatically.”

  “Are you aware that it is a crime to withhold evidence?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, since these items aren’t related to the investigation, we’re going to release them to you. But tell me, is there anything else of your father’s I should know about?” he asked.

  She sent the detective a narrow gaze. “No.” She took a deep breath. “Am I going to be charged with something?”

  Hardy rose, and his chair screeched on the floor. “Not this time. But Juliana, don’t go back there. If you do and you make it out alive, I will put you in jail.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dawson shook Detective Hardy’s hand. “Thanks, Brian,” he said. “I appreciate your helping me out with this.”

  Hardy gave him a sour look. “I don’t like it.”

  Dawson understood. Detective Brian Hardy had been in Vice when Dawson’s dad was indicted eight years ago. It was Hardy’s dogged determination that had finally convinced Michael to accept a plea bargain for three years in prison rather than go to trial and risk a much longer sentence.

  “Well, you’re the one who told me I could call on you any time if I needed a favor.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of helping you with a criminal case, not hiding your identity from a beautiful woman whose father just died. I don’t like lying to her.”

  “It’s not lying exactly.”

  “Lying by omission is still lying,” Hardy said. “I had to sit there in front of her and deliberately not talk about you. Several times I was sure she was going to ask me why I hadn’t mentioned you.”

  “It’s your own fault. If y’all won’t put her in protective custody, I’m the only one who can protect her.”

  “So protect her. I can’t do anything until I get confirmation from the Forensics team that the I beam’s bolts were cut.”

  “That beam didn’t fall on its own. And before you say anything, I know she was followed.” Dawson grimaced. “I didn’t spot the tail.”

  Hardy assessed him. “Yeah, when I asked her if she knew she’d been followed, she said no. Said you’d have spotted the tail and told her. Are you sure this case isn’t getting a little personal for you?”

  “Sure it’s personal. My dad’s under investigation.”

  “Right. That’s not exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “She’s in danger. You saw how banged up she is. She was attacked and a letter was stolen from her.”

  “She said she tripped on the stairs.”

  Dawson couldn’t suppress a smile. “Well, technically that’s true, but as an eyewitness to her fall, I can testify that she had the bruises, the sling and a banged-up knee prior to falling down two steps.”

  Hardy narrowed his gaze at Dawson. “Tell me about the letter.”

  Dawson clenched his jaw. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. “She put an ad in the paper.”

  “That ad was hers? The ten-thousand
-dollar reward?”

  “I’m surprised you hadn’t already figured that out.”

  “Nope. I was going to put a guy on it, but I had to pull him to work another homicide.” He paused for a beat. “What’s her angle?”

  Dawson rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell Brian. He sure didn’t want him sniffing around his dad’s heels again. “I’m in a bind here. She’s beginning to trust me. If she finds out I’m a Delancey, she won’t let me near her.” Dawson shook his head. “I can’t let that happen.”

  “And why is that?”

  Dawson almost growled in frustration. Hardy knew the answer to that. He was just giving him a hard time.

  “She’s out to prove that someone is responsible for the Sky Walk falling. She wants justice for her father’s death.”

  “Let me guess. She thinks it was your dad.”

  Dawson nodded. “That’s right. She’s convinced that he skimped on the Sky Walk to make a bigger profit.”

  “Well, she can join the club. A lot of people think that.”

  “Including you?”

  “I believe in innocent until proven guilty,” Hardy hedged, eyeing him closely. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know.” Dawson heard the defeat and doubt in his voice. “I don’t think so.”

  “You were convinced your dad was guilty eight years ago.”

  “Yeah, I was a lot younger and I was tired of working for him.” Dawson paused for a beat. Then he shrugged. “I have the resources now to do my own investigation. I need to know the truth about my dad. And Juliana has information that I need.”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re so hell-bent on sticking to her?” Hardy didn’t sound convinced.

  Dawson shook his head. “Look at her. She’s going to get herself killed. I’ll tell you this,” he said, lifting a finger toward Hardy. “My dad didn’t have her assaulted and he didn’t drop that beam.”

  Hardy scowled. “I told you, even if there is proof that the beam’s bolts were cut, I don’t have the resources to keep her under guard.”