Is a killer back for more?

A Cavanaugh Justice story by USA TODAY bestselling author Marie Ferrarella

A series of gruesome murders brings together an unlikely pair of homicide detectives: outgoing Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon and lone wolf Jackson Muldare. These utter opposites work around the clock together to solve these crimes. In the process, Jackson and Brianna must trust each other with their lives and secrets as they become closer than they ever imagined.

USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred and fifty books for Harlequin, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, marieferrarella.com.

Also By Marie Ferrarella

Cavanaugh Justice

Mission: Cavanaugh Baby

Cavanaugh on Duty

A Widow’s Guilty Secret

Cavanaugh’s Surrender

Cavanaugh Rules

Cavanaugh’s Bodyguard

Cavanaugh Fortune

How to Seduce a Cavanaugh

Cavanaugh or Death

Cavanaugh Cold Case

Cavanaugh in the Rough

Cavanaugh on Call

Cavanaugh Encounter

Cavanaugh Vanguard

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton Baby Rescue

The Coltons of Shadow Creek

Colton Undercover

The Coltons of Texas

Colton Copycat Killer

The Pregnant Colton Bride

The Coltons of Oklahoma

Second Chance Colton

Cavanaugh Justice

Cavanaugh Standoff

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Cavanaugh Vanguard

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07881-8

CAVANAUGH VANGUARD

© 2018 Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Marie Ferrarella

“Good banter and a charismatic detective are the highlights of this romance, along with an engaging, well-crafted plot.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cavanaugh Cold Case

“A charming romance wrapped up in a great suspense story.”

—Fresh Fiction on Cavanaugh Fortune

“Crisp storytelling coupled with a solid, engaging plot makes for an entertaining read.”

—RT Book Reviews on Cavanaugh or Death

“Fans of shows like Bones and NCIS will absolutely enjoy this newest Cavanaugh episode...a wonderful addition to an already favorite series.”

—Fresh Fiction on Cavanaugh Cold Case

“Fans of romantic suspense will find this book refreshing and entertaining.”

—Harlequin Junkie on How to Seduce a Cavanaugh

Dear Reader,

Did you ever watch cartoons where one of the characters is painting the floor and he winds up painting himself into a corner with no way out? Eventually, the character paints a door on the wall and is able to get out. Well, coming up with a unique mystery is kind of like the same thing. In wanting to make the story unusual, I found that I had painted myself into a corner and I really wasn’t sure how to get out of it.

In this story, a venerable old hotel is finally sold to make way for more residential developments. A construction company wins the bid and brings in their crew. However, as the wrecking ball brings down the hotel’s walls, bodies start turning up. How the bodies got into the walls without anyone noticing was the corner I had painted myself into.

Solving the case is what homicide detective Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon and major crimes detective Jackson Muldare are up against. As the story progresses, Jackson finds he has a far better chance of solving the forty-five-year-old cold case than getting Brianna to stay out of his life. Read this to find out who wins—and who killed all those people.

As always, I thank you very much for taking the time to read one of my books, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

All the best,

Marie Ferrarella

To

Sherry & Rick

Congratulations!

Fifty Down,

Fifty To Go

The First One Hundred Years

Are The Hardest,

After That, It’s A Piece Of Cake!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dear Reader

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

“Hey, boss man, I think you’re going to want to see this!”

Javier Hernandez, head foreman of Preston, Butler & Cowan Construction, which had, after an intense bidding war, wound up submitting the winning bid to tear down the Old Aurora Hotel, the city of Aurora’s oldest landmark still in existence, emerged out of the building in a dead run. The tall, sinewy foreman was searching for the company’s owner.

Warren Preston was just about to get into his silver-gray 4x4. The freshly waxed, newly purchased truck had been Preston’s gift to himself after landing the contract.

It was Preston’s habit to visit a site on the first day that work was to begin. He’d done it with his very first project, and over the years what had begun as a display of involvement for his men had turned into a superstition, one that he had never taken lightly or ignored. No matter how busy he was, Preston made a point to show up on that crucial first day and remain for at least a few hours. After day one, his visits were sporadic at best—unless there was a problem.

Turning away now from his new pride and joy, he left the door of his truck open as he looked at the foreman rushing toward him.

Judging by the expression on Javier’s face, there was definitely a problem.

How could there be a problem? Preston wondered. The workday was barely a couple of hours old.

This morning the demolition ball had mightily swung into the rear wall of what had once been an elegant structure. When the Old Aurora Hotel had first gone up, it had been the first of its kind, not just in the newly formed town, but in the county as well. George Aurora was said to have worked on the building himself.

A great many people in and around Aurora had fought the historic hotel’s demise, wanting to preserve the sprawling three-story structure for a host of reasons.

But, as was often the case, money trumped history and sentiment. The land on which the old, boarded-up hotel stood was worth a fortune. Aurora had grown from a small, three-traffic-light town surrounded by farmland to a thriving, ever-expanding city. A city where, it seemed, everyone wanted to live.

Land was at a premium, and an old hotel that was no longer of any use became a casualty of that siren song. Decisions were made, money changed hands and the hotel was to be demolished to make way for a brand-new, state-of-the-art residential development.

After a run of bad luck and investments that hadn’t panned out, Warren Preston was counting on this development to put his construction company back on the map—and in the running for more construction bids farther down south.

That was why everything had to go smoothly with this job.

“Javi, I’m late for a meeting. Can’t this wait?” Preston asked impatiently. With one foot still in his truck, Preston was ready to take off the second his foreman backed off.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Javier answered.

The foreman’s stance and his body language made clear that he was waiting to reenter the building he’d just vacated—but only with his boss in tow.

“What’s with the long face, Javi?” Preston asked, resigned to the fact that he would be late for his meeting. Leaving his vehicle, Preston closed the door. “Buck up—this is the first day of a brand-new project. Everything’s still fresh and new. Hell, man, you look like somebody died.”

“That’s just it, boss,” Javier answered solemnly. “I think somebody did.”

Bushy eyebrows drew together above small brown eyes, looking for all the world like two caterpillars awkwardly attempting to rise up as Preston glared at the man who had worked for him for over fifteen years.

“What the hell are you talking about, Hernandez?” he demanded. “Who died?”

Rather than answer, Javier was beckoning for his boss to follow him.

Taller than Preston and leaner than his boss by half his weight, Javier had a lengthy stride that put more and more distance between his boss and him. Clearly agitated, Javier seemed to be restraining himself from breaking into a run.

Hernandez insisted, “You have to see this for yourself.”

“See what?” Preston snapped, trying to catch up with the younger man. “I don’t have time for guessing games, Hernandez,” he warned.

“It’s not a game, boss,” the foreman assured Preston. “I only wish it was.”

He brought the construction company owner into the rear of the hotel that had been designed to emulate an elegant Southern mansion.

The dining room had been considered exceptionally stylish and upscale in its day, but time and the elements that had seeped into the structure had not been kind. The expensive wallpaper that had graced the walls had long since begun peeling.

Standing in the doorway, Preston fisted his hands at his ample waist as he irritably scanned the area. Daylight was coming in through the hole where the wrecking ball had made first contact.

“Okay, so what’s this big emergency?” Preston demanded.

“Right there, sir.”

Javier pointed to the reason he had urgently called for both workers and machinery to come to an absolute grinding halt. To the right of where the wrecking ball had left its first startling imprint, knocking down part of a wall, what looked like a skeletal hand reached up out of the gaping hole.

Chapter 1

Major crimes detective Jackson Muldare had just exited the southbound 5 freeway when he felt the inside pocket of his sports jacket vibrating.

Again.

He didn’t need to pull his cell phone out to know who was calling. It was either his superior, Lieutenant Jonathan Cohen, or the lead homicide detective he was going to be working with at the latest crime scene. Either one of them undoubtedly had the same question for him: Why wasn’t he there already?

There was a simple answer for that, but not one he was willing to go into right now.

Just as he was leaving his apartment, he’d got the call to head out to the Old Aurora Hotel. Although he’d said he’d be there, his first destination of the morning wasn’t the site of the old hotel, or even the police precinct. Instead, he’d headed to the Safe Haven Rehab Center. Not because he wanted to but because he had to.

A police detective’s salary—at least an honest one’s—only stretched so far, and he had already paid the monthly fee for his father’s room at Happy Pines, the board and care facility where his father had been living these last three years. Jackson was consequently late with his payment to Safe Haven, the rehab center where Jimmy was currently staying.

He made it to the center with his check by the skin of his teeth. Though sympathetic, Alice Harris, the administrator who was in charge of the center’s business office, had told him that if he hadn’t come through with the payment by the end of this business day, Jackson’s younger brother would have found himself back out on the street.

Jackson had paid the woman, telling her solemnly that it wouldn’t happen again. He’d left quickly before his temper got the better of him and he said something he couldn’t take back. He was well aware that Ms. Harris and the center held all the cards, forcing him to keep his thoughts to himself. He was doing his best, but the money he earned only stretched so far, and on occasion, he came up short.

There were times, Jackson thought as he turned on the siren and flashing lights that allowed him to cut through the city’s traffic, when he found himself almost regretting that he’d turned his back on a life of crime.

Almost.

In his teens, the guys he hung around with in his old Oakland neighborhood had all dropped out of school and declared that staying on the straight and narrow was only for gutless losers. The thinking back then was that guys with guts could find all sorts of ways of gaming the system, lining their pockets with money and achieving the good life at the expense of others.

More than a few of his so-called friends ridiculed him for his choice to actually work for the money he brought home. But crime had never been an option for him. Jackson had people to take care of.

His mother had walked out on the family when he was ten, and his father, Ethan, although a kindhearted, loving man, had also been a functioning alcoholic who anesthetized his sense of failure with any bottle of alcohol he could get his hands on. He wasn’t choosy. Anything would do. Eventually, Ethan Muldare ceased functioning and just devoted himself exclusively to drinking.

The burden of providing for his family and keeping them together had fallen to Jackson by the time he turned fifteen.

Fourteen years later, he was still shouldering that burden. For the last three years he’d been paying for his father’s tiny room at the board and care residential facility. All those years of drinking had taken their toll on his father’s health as well as on the man’s mental faculties.

And because their mother had taken off and their father had turned to alcohol for solace, his younger brother, Jimmy, had sought relief in drugs by the time he was thirteen.

There were days when Jackson found it hard to keep it all together and keep going. Those were the days when he seriously entertained the idea of getting in his car and just driving as far away from his life as he possibly could.

But that was just the problem. No matter where he went, he always took himself and his sense of responsibility with him.

What that meant was that he had no choice but to do what he did. Someone had to pay the bills and to set an example, such as it was, for Jimmy. On good days Jackson still nursed the minuscule hope that eventually Jimmy would come around and realize that numbing his mind and his soul with drugs was just not the answer.

If anything, it was a death sentence.

Jackson supposed, at bottom, there was just the tiniest bit of an optimist within him.

He felt his phone vibrating again.

Jackson resisted the temptation of pulling it out and shouting that he was on his way. Yelling at Lt. Cohen would most likely get him suspended—or fired. Yelling at whoever he was being paired up with would, at the very least, start him off on the wrong foot, and he already had more than enough to deal with on the home front.

Jimmy had been hostile during the three minutes he’d had to talk to him, and when he’d swung by Happy Pines his father hadn’t recognized him. That was happening more and more often these days. Jackson just wasn’t in the frame of mind to make nice to whoever was on the phone, so he let it continue to vibrate and drove faster.

He was almost there anyway.

* * *

“You know, if I read about this kind of thing online or in the paper, I would have said that someone made it up,” homicide detective Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon said, shaking her head as she took in the chaotic scene around her.

“Oh, but you can’t make this kind of stuff up,” Sean Cavanaugh commented.

The head of the Crime Scene Investigative day team frowned as, like his niece, he slowly regarded the partially demolished hotel.

“No, I guess not,” Brianna agreed.

This was, she thought, a case of fact being stranger than fiction. With slow, deliberate movements, she picked her way through the debris, both newly created and old. She was careful not to disturb anything. At this point, it was still difficult sorting out what was part of the crime scene and what was just run-of-the-mill, everyday rubble.

Looking back over her shoulder, Brianna saw the chief of detectives entering the room. It was obvious to her that the tall, distinguished-looking man was temporarily transported back through time as he recalled, “You know, I can remember Aurora High holding their senior prom here the year I graduated.”

“What are you doing here?” Sean asked, no doubt surprised to see his younger brother. “The chief of detectives doesn’t usually come out to a crime scene.”

“He does if the scene is in the Old Aurora Hotel,” Brian Cavanaugh replied. Setting his memories aside, he became practical. “How many bodies?” he asked.

“Six—and counting,” Brianna answered.

Brian Cavanaugh didn’t frown often, but he did now. “Damn,” he murmured.

“That would be the word I’d use,” Sean agreed. “I’ve got a feeling that we’re going to need more medical examiners on the job by the time we finish.”

“Who do we have on it right now?” Brian asked.

Sean nodded toward his left. The ME and her assistant were closing up a body bag and placing the occupant on a gurney.

“Malloy’s wife, Kristin,” Sean answered.

Brian’s smile was grim. “This is turning out to be a regular family affair,” he commented, glancing toward the young woman. “Put the word out,” he told his brother. “We need every available ME reporting to the morgue. I need these bodies identified yesterday,” Brian instructed.

Sean had his cell phone in his hand. “Already on it,” he responded.

“Keep me apprised,” Brian said, leaving. It was unclear if he was addressing Sean or Brianna.

Brianna slowly scanned the area again, even though she had been here for more than half an hour. She and Francisco Del Campo, another homicide detective, had been the first to answer the frantic call that had come in from a patrol officer.

The latter had been the first responder on the scene. Fresh out of the academy, Officer Hal Jacobs had contaminated the crime scene by throwing up after viewing the first decomposing body. When Brianna arrived, she had hustled Jacobs out and had someone get the pale officer a glass of water as more bodies were being discovered.

A noise coming from behind her had Brianna whirling around, one hand on her weapon, ready for anything.

Coming forward, Jackson raised his hands. “If you don’t want me here, all you have to do is say so,” he told Brianna.

Brianna dropped her hand to her side. Although they were in different divisions, she and Jackson had previously worked together on a couple of cases. As far as partners went, he was intelligent and driven. He just wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but according to the job description, that wasn’t a prerequisite.

“Nice of you to join the party, Detective Muldare,” she said.

Rather than explain why he’d arrived late, Jackson merely said, “I got held up in traffic. What are we looking at?”

“The stuff nightmares are made of,” she told him. “You ever been here before?”

“You mean to the hotel?” he asked. When she nodded, he told her, “I didn’t grow up in Aurora. And I’m guessing the place would have been a little out of my price range if I had grown up here.”

Brianna looked around, trying to envision the hotel the way it used to be in what she’d heard referred to as its “glory days.” It made her sad to see the way time had ravaged it.

“It was a hell of a showplace in its time. I saw pictures in a magazine once,” she explained. “Aurora was celebrating its fortieth anniversary of being incorporated as a city and the magazine article was a then-and-now kind of retrospective. I really doubt that anyone would have ever suspected that this highly regarded showplace was where someone was hiding bodies.”

“Hiding bodies?” Jackson echoed.

Brianna nodded, repeating what she’d heard from the nauseated first responder. “They were in the walls,” she told him. “The wrecking ball uncovered them.”

The macabre revelation had Jackson staring at her in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

Brianna turned toward the major crimes detective. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his reaction. The tall, dark-haired man seemed woefully uninformed about the nature of the crime scene he had entered. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Cohen just said to get my butt out here,” Jackson answered. “Look, I’m with major crimes,” he pointed out even though he knew that she knew that. “And while this is all pretty gruesome, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here.” He looked at Brianna. “Way I see it, since you’re with homicide, this case is right up your alley.”

“You’ve been with the police department for how long now?” she asked him, her voice almost mild and deceptively conversational.

He didn’t see what that had to do with anything, but he answered her. “Going on six years now.”

“Six years,” she repeated, as if she was rolling the information over in her head. “Don’t take much of an interest in the city’s history, do you?”

Jackson looked at the woman. Like so many other members of the police department he had run into, she was part of the Cavanaugh family, a legend throughout the precinct. Cavanaughs, he’d found, set the bar high, each and every one of them.

“Not particularly,” he answered. “Why?”

“Well, if you did know a little of the city’s history,” she told him, “you’d know that initially this was all farmland that belonged to one family. The Aurora family.”

“All right,” he allowed, still waiting to hear where she was going with all this.

Out of the corner of her eye, Brianna saw the ME, Kristin Alberghetti-Cavanaugh, wheeling another one of the newly unearthed victims out of the hotel. She stepped to one side, never missing a beat of the story she was telling Jackson.

“George Aurora was the original patriarch of the family. He started taking the money the family made selling their crops and investing it. The investments were solid, so he decided to use some of the profits to build a small town, which he named after himself.

“Everything in and around Aurora belonged to the Aurora family. Including the Aurora Hotel,” she pointed out, adding, “which, it turns out, Winston Aurora, George’s oldest grandson, recently sold to the city so that Aurora could continue to expand.”

“Winston’s the one who throws all those fund-raisers, raising money to build that new children’s hospital and new schools for the city, right?” Jackson said, recalling things that he’d heard.

“One and the same,” Brianna confirmed. “No one wants to risk getting on the wrong side of the man or his two brothers if they don’t have to, so I’m told that major crimes was called in to treat this whole thing—and the Aurora family—with kid gloves.”

The strained smile on her face as she concluded told Jackson just what she thought of that idea, seeing as how he was the one the major crimes lieutenant had chosen to represent the division.

Jackson read between the lines. “Are you saying you think Mr. Fund-Raiser is responsible for the dead bodies?”

“I’m saying we’re supposed to look at everyone else first before we even so much as think of pointing a finger at him or anyone else in his family. Having major crimes join homicide in the investigation is supposed to be the police department’s way of being thorough,” Brianna told him. “That means crossing every single t and dotting every single i. And if I recall correctly from the last couple of times you and I worked together, you are not exactly known as Mr. Diplomacy, so maybe I should be the one to talk to the Auroras.”

“Are we going to be questioning the Auroras first?” Jackson asked.

“No, not in the way you mean,” Brianna answered, thinking he was referring to interrogating the family. “We’re just going to inform them of what the construction crew discovered when they started knocking down the walls.”

Brianna paused for a moment. She’d been told more than once that she had a habit of taking over and leaping into the heart of things before others around her had a chance to digest what was happening. Since she and Muldare were going to be working together on this, she knew she had to do her best not to come on as strong as she had a tendency to. “Unless you have a different idea on the matter,” she added tactfully.

Jackson lifted his wide shoulders then let them fall again in a careless shrug. “My only thought is that maybe we should hold off talking to Mr. Fund-Raiser or anyone in his family until we have a final body count.”

She supposed that Jackson did have a point, but there was a problem with this idea. She glanced over toward where Sean and his team were working.

“I’m not sure how long that would take,” she said honestly. “The building only has three stories, but it’s unusually wide. Consequently, there are a lot of walls to take into account.”

“You really think there are more bodies in them?” Jackson questioned.

She wouldn’t have thought that there were any bodies in the walls, but that certainly hadn’t turned out to be the case.

“You think there aren’t?” Brianna countered.

“Sounds a little unbelievable, don’t you think?” Jackson asked, getting out of the way as another gurney with a body bag was being wheeled out.

“I think finding a single body buried inside a hotel wall is unbelievable, but according to what I’ve been told, they’ve uncovered six,” Brianna answered.

“Seven,” Sean called out.

Brianna and Jackson both turned in the man’s direction.

“Seven?” Brianna asked, stunned.

Sean nodded. “Destiny just told me that the team pulled out another body,” he replied, referring to his top CSI investigator, his son Logan’s wife.

Brianna closed her eyes for a moment, trying to absorb the information and ignore the effect the discovery was having on her stomach.

What kind of a monster had they just stumbled across? And, more important, was that monster still walking among them, or was this the work of someone who had vanished?

Best-case scenario was that the killer was dead. But what if the killer wasn’t dead and hadn’t vanished? What if the killer had just moved his desire to kill to another location?

“You okay?” Jackson asked. He saw his new partner shiver. It definitely wasn’t cold in the room, despite the fact that there was one wall missing.

“I will be,” Brianna answered with zeal. “Once we find the SOB responsible for this.”

Chapter 2

Jackson silently agreed with the detective he had been temporarily partnered with. “Then I guess we’d better get started,” he told Brianna.

Nodding, she turned toward Francisco Del Campo. Transferred to homicide a little over six months ago, the personable detective was still learning the ropes and had no problem taking orders from a woman.

“What would you like me to do?” Del Campo asked.

“Find out exactly when the hotel closed its doors and see if you can get your hands on the hotel’s guest ledger up to that point,” Brianna said. She felt that at least it was a start.

Del Campo furrowed his brow. “How far back do you want to go?”

“Since we don’t know how many bodies are in the walls and how long they’ve been there, why don’t you see how far back you can go,” Jackson told the younger man.

Rather than getting right on it, Del Campo shifted his eyes toward Brianna, waiting for her confirmation. He knew Brianna. He didn’t know Jackson.

She nodded. “What he said,” she told Del Campo, hoping that, at least for the time being, they could all work harmoniously. “I also want you to get all the construction workers’ names. We’ll need to question them if they saw anything unusual. Right now, we don’t know where those bodies came from or who put them there.”

“You got it.” Del Campo was already on his way out of the partially gutted dining room.

The moment Del Campo left, Jackson turned toward the woman on his left. “You know, this is going to go a lot easier if I don’t need your stamp of approval every time I say something.”

Brianna smiled at the major crimes detective. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Jackson pressed his lips together and kept his comment to himself.

They made their way out of the hotel, weaving around various members of the police department and crime scene investigators. Once outside, Brianna paused for a moment and took a deep breath.

The air smelled sweeter away from the combined odors of death and dust. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jackson looking at her. “You want to drive?” she asked as she started to walk again.

“You don’t want to arm wrestle for it?” he asked, feigning surprise.

“Normally I’d consider it,” she deadpanned. “But Del Campo and I came here together, and he’s going to need a way to get back to the precinct.”

“So I get to do the honors by default, is that it?” Jackson guessed.

She’d started walking toward where she assumed Jackson had left his unmarked vehicle but she stopped now. The man definitely had a chip on his shoulder. She didn’t remember him being this way the last time they’d worked together.

“Look, if you’re going to want to debate every single move, this case is going to go a lot slower than either one of us—or the chief of Ds—is going to be happy about,” she told him. And then, getting into the car, she got down to the real question. “Do you have a problem working with me this time, Muldare?”

She wasn’t the one responsible for his mood. That had been set in motion before he’d got the call to come out here. Jackson knew he shouldn’t be taking it out on her or subjecting her to any fallout.

“No,” Jackson answered. And then he tagged on a word he hoped would cover the situation. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Brianna said. “Just don’t do it.” And then she got down to the business at hand. “If we’re going to be delivering bad news to one of Aurora’s three leading citizens, we need to present a united front. Otherwise Winston Aurora might get the idea we’re accusing him of being responsible for these bodies.”

“What if he is?” Jackson asked.

That was a giant leap, but it still could be true, she thought.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it—and brace ourselves for all hell breaking loose just for asking.” She glanced at him as she buckled up. “What are your thoughts on this?”

Jackson shrugged, buckling up himself. “Don’t have any.”

“None?” she questioned incredulously. That didn’t seem possible—or logical.

“Nope,” he said as casually as if he was deciding how many eggs he wanted for breakfast. “That might taint my view of the case and interfere with the way I investigate it.”

Listening to him, Brianna could only shake her head. “You are a strange bird, Jackson Muldare.”

He laughed drily. “So I’ve been told.”

“Why aren’t you starting the car?” she asked.

“Because you haven’t told me where we’ll find this guy,” Jackson answered. “Where do you want to go?”

She’d forgotten about that. “We’ll start at Winston Aurora’s home. If he’s attending some board meeting or some other business-related activity, his wife or someone at the house should be able to tell us where he is.” She looked at Jackson expectantly. “You do know where Winston Aurora lives, right?”

Jackson didn’t answer her. Instead, he started up the white sedan and pulled out of the parking lot.

The lot was still crowded with vehicles belonging to the officers who had responded to the call, as well as those of the construction workers who had been told to stop work on the demolition immediately. Del Campo was still taking down the latter group’s names, Brianna noted, seeing the detective talking to a group of hard hats.

“Oh damn,” Brianna said.

“Is that a general, all-inclusive ‘oh damn,’ or are you referring to something specific?” Jackson asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Brianna twisted around in her seat, peering out the rear window. There was a news van pulling up toward the cluster of police cars.

“That’s a ‘make sure that news van doesn’t suddenly decide to follow you’ oh damn,” she answered. She twisted forward again. “The last thing we need or want is someone from the Fourth Estate thinking we’re going to be talking to Winston Aurora or anyone in his family.”

“But we are,” Jackson answered matter-of-factly.

She wondered if he was putting her on or if he just viewed situations in a linear fashion. For the sake of argument, she explained it to him.

“We want to keep a lid on this and control the story for as long as we can until we know if there is a story involving the Auroras.”

“We already know there are bodies,” Jackson pointed out.

“Yes, but what we don’t know is if the Auroras’ connection ends with the fact that the hotel was built by their grandfather and bears their name—or if one of them is more involved than that,” she told Jackson. “If the media gets hold of this before we’re ready, there’ll be so much speculation going on, we won’t be able to do our jobs properly.”

Jackson said nothing.

She found it annoying and felt as if she was talking to herself.

Suddenly, the detective deviated from the road he was on. The next moment he was pulling his vehicle into a drive-through lane threading around a fast-food restaurant called Sloppy Joes.

“What are you doing?” Brianna demanded.

Jackson spared her a quick glance before inching the car forward. They were behind a Hummer 3 that was just barely keeping between the lines.

“Making sure that news van doesn’t think we’re onto something and follow us—haven’t you been paying attention to what you just said?” he asked innocently.

For a split second, she wanted to punch him, but she refrained, thinking she’d do more damage to her fist than to his really muscular shoulder.

Instead, Brianna laughed. “I forgot.” As she recalled, Muldare had an unorthodox method of operation. “You take some getting used to.”

Jackson made no comment on her observation. “Since we’re here, you want to get something?”

Food was the last thing on her mind. Brianna twisted around in her seat again. There was no sign of the news van. It hadn’t followed them after all.

Sitting forward again, she told Jackson, “Coffee, black.”

His expression remained stoic. “That stuff’ll rot out your gut,” he told her.

Unfazed by the image that created, Brianna said, “Haven’t you heard? Coffee is supposed to help keep dementia at bay.”

“That’s this week’s theory,” he said, unimpressed. “Next week they’ll rescind that theory and replace it with something else.”

Brianna shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I like coffee. It keeps me going.”

“Those are called nerves,” he told her as he placed the order—coffee for her, nothing for him—then pulled to the next window.

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be a real downer?” Brianna asked as she took out a five-dollar bill to hand him.

Eyes forward, Jackson waved away her money. “Yeah, you,” he answered. “The last time we worked together, as I recall.”

“Well, I guess nothing’s changed,” she told him. She waited as Jackson paid the woman at the drive-through window for the coffee and then handed the covered container to her.

“Not a real fan of change,” Jackson answered matter-of-factly as he drove away from the fast-food restaurant.

She could believe that, Brianna thought, but she kept that to herself.

Holding the container in both hands, Brianna looked around in all directions. There was no sign of the news van anywhere. “Looks like you lost them.”

“That was the intention,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Brianna took a long sip of her coffee, then put the lid back on. “Still the sparkling conversationalist, I see.”

Jackson glanced in her direction, then looked forward again. “Sparkling conversation was not a prerequisite for graduating from the academy.”

Brianna studied his profile for a long moment. “Maybe it should have been,” she said. “By the way, thanks for the coffee.” She raised the container to her lips again.

“Don’t mention it,” Jackson told her. “I’m serious,” he added before she could respond in any way. “Don’t mention it.”

Brianna sighed. This was going to be a really long, long investigation.

* * *

The road leading to Winston Aurora’s forty-thousand-square-foot mansion—by no stretch of the imagination could the structure be referred to as a mere house—was scenic, long and winding. Exceedingly winding.

“Doesn’t this road ever end?” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“Doesn’t feel that way, does it?” Brianna agreed. “Maybe they want you to feel like you got lost so you’ll just finally give up and turn around,” she guessed. “But if that is the thinking on their part, they forgot to take one important thing into account.”

Silence hung between them until Jackson finally asked, “And that is...?”

She offered him a self-satisfied smile. “We don’t give up.”

“We?” he deliberately questioned. He wasn’t accustomed to “we.” For as long as he could remember, he’d thought of himself as a loner, not as someone who was part of something for more than a few moments at a time.

“The police department,” Brianna told him with a touch of impatience in her voice. Was he deliberately making things difficult? “Work with me here, Muldare.”

“Doing my best,” Jackson replied in a voice that couldn’t have sounded more disinterested if he’d intentionally tried.

She gave him a penetrating look that would have made any other man squirm. “No, you’re not,” Brianna countered.

Without a word in his own defense, Jackson spared her a quick glance before looking back at the road.

The path to the mansion was growing progressively narrower. Jackson half expected to see mountain goats dotting the area any second now. He hadn’t thought that any part of Aurora was still this pastoral looking.

“Is this where I’m supposed to argue with you?” he asked. “Because if it is, you’re going to have to let me in on the game plan, O’Bannon. I’m not much on picking up subtle cues.”

That was for sure, Brianna thought. Out loud she said, “The plan is for you to get your head back in the game and pay attention.”

A dark expression came over his face. “I thought that was what I was doing.”

She shifted in her seat. The hell it was. She only had half his attention, if that much. As far as Brianna could see, there was only one explanation for something like that.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?” she asked point-blank.

“Going to talk to some rich guy who thinks because he has enough money to buy a city, that means he’s above the rules?” Jackson guessed. “No, not particularly.”

“Okay,” Brianna allowed. “Then what would you rather be doing?”

That was easy enough to answer. “Identifying the victims. Finding out how they became victims and then tracking down the person who made them victims.”

Jackson braced himself for an argument. He knew that his mode of operation and his view on things were never the kind to win him popularity contests. But he wasn’t in this for popularity. He was here to act on behalf of the victims. To take their side and, whenever possible, to avenge their deaths.

He was surprised when O’Bannon didn’t attempt to take him apart.

“All very good goals,” Brianna told him, and she genuinely seemed to mean it. “But in order to reach any of those goals, we have to start at the beginning, and the beginning, in this case, is to notify the man who was the last owner of the property of exactly what was found on his property. Who knows? He might say something that will point us in the right direction to find the killer or killers.”

Although he appreciated that she didn’t attempt to belittle his viewpoint, he couldn’t bring himself to agree with what she’d just said.

He laughed harshly. “You really believe that?”

Brianna regrouped. She did her best not to take offense. That would be petty, and she’d been taught to rise above pettiness. Especially when the stakes were high, as they were here.

“I believe in a lot of things you probably don’t,” she answered.

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter what you believe, because I don’t think we’re ever going to get to this guy’s house,” Jackson retorted. The road continued to wind and weave before him like a serpentine river, irritating him no end.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Brianna scoffed, irritating him even more. “Look,” she said, pointing in the distance. “There. Straight ahead,” she told Jackson, then amended, “Well, maybe not so straight, but it’s right there, up ahead of us.”

One more twist of the road and then he saw it—a mansion that looked as if it had its own zip code.

“I’ve seen cities that were smaller,” Jackson commented under his breath.

Brianna heard him nonetheless. “If I lived here, I’d need a ton of bread crumbs,” she said. “Better yet, my own tram.”

He thought of the tiny room where his father spent his days and nights. Part of the time, Ethan Muldare was oblivious to not only how small his surroundings were, but where they were as well.

“Who needs this much room?” Jackson muttered as he pulled up into the circular driveway.

It was a rhetorical question, but Brianna answered him anyway. “Apparently, Winston Aurora and his family.” She had just got out on her side when she saw a young man dressed in what could have passed as valet livery hurrying up to them.

“May I help you?” the man asked in a crisp voice that was far from welcoming.

“We’re here to see Mr. Aurora,” Brianna said, answering for both of them. “Winston Aurora.”

The man’s eyes washed over them disdainfully. “Do you have an appointment?” His tone indicated that he was certain they didn’t.

Jackson took out his badge and ID, holding both aloft. Less than half a beat behind him, Brianna displayed hers.

“We do now,” Jackson informed the man he took to be the mansion’s head of security.

The man looked at each badge and ID individually. Then, appearing annoyed, he nodded. “Wait right here,” he told them curtly.

Turning away, he took out a walkie-talkie and spoke into it in a hushed voice. The unit gave off a loud, piercing squawk, and then a deep voice ordered, “Send them in, Rollins.”

Chapter 3

Leaning in toward Jackson, Brianna said in a hushed voice, “Looks like we get to see the wizard after all, Toto.”

Jackson frowned. “Toto was a dog.”

Brianna merely smiled. “He followed Dorothy wherever she went,” she replied, as if, in her opinion, that was enough of a reason for the nickname.

The man who had detained them was back. “Mr. Aurora will see you.”

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” Brianna murmured under her breath.

Eyes like highly polished small black marbles narrowed as the head of the estate security looked at her. “Excuse me?”

She was aware that Muldare had taken a single step in front of her, putting himself between her and the powerful-looking head of security.

“Nothing. Please lead the way to Mr. Aurora,” Brianna requested, gesturing ahead of the man.

Rollins muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he turned away from them and began to walk toward the mansion.

“That was very noble of you,” Brianna whispered to Jackson, looking up at him, a smile flickering over her lips. “Unnecessary, but noble.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jackson responded in an unemotional voice. The expression on his face was completely unreadable.

The hell he didn’t. Under that dour demeanor, the man was a Boy Scout, Brianna thought. She vaguely remembered that from last time.

“I can take care of myself,” Brianna reminded him.

“Never questioned it for a moment,” Jackson replied in the same nondescript tone.

How could a man be so annoying and yet so intriguing at the same time, Brianna asked herself. But there was no question in her mind that Jackson was both.

You don’t have time for this. You’ve got bigger things on your agenda right now, remember? Brianna reminded herself as she and Jackson walked behind the estate’s head of security and into Winston Aurora’s residence.

After a lengthy walk through the first floor, Rollins led them into a room that was twice as large as the dining room in the Old Aurora Hotel had been. It turned out to be one of the mansion’s two libraries. There were books lining two of the walls, going from the floor straight up to the vaulted ceiling. One of those walls had a door at its perimeter. Two people, a man and a woman, both in their twenties, were just exiting that way. A third wall was entirely made of tempered glass, allowing afternoon sunlight to bathe the room while effectively keeping the heat at bay.

Seated behind the oversize, highly polished mahogany desk, looking like an emperor presiding over his empire, was Winston Aurora.

Winston Aurora was a man who would have easily taken command of any room he entered. Tanned and slender with distinguished-looking graying hair, he was dressed in a suit that would have easily cost a detective first grade a month’s salary—possibly more.

If she hadn’t known better, Brianna would have said that the oldest of this generation’s three Aurora brothers looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and into this library.

Rising when he saw them entering, Winston came over to greet them. His smile was amiable and appeared to be completely genuine. He shook both their hands warmly, starting with hers.

“My son and daughter just left,” he explained, noting the interest in Brianna’s eyes. “Forgive me,” Winston said in a deep, resonant voice that was quite pleasing to the ear. “I’ve lost track. Is it time for the police department’s widows and orphans fund-raiser already?” Even as he asked, he was taking a checkbook out of his inside breast pocket.

Brianna put her hand up to stop the man from writing out a check. “We’re not here about that, sir, although my uncle said you’re always very generous when it comes to making donations to the fund.”

“Your uncle,” Winston repeated. He raised an eyebrow, asking, “And that would be?”

“Brian Cavanaugh,” Brianna responded. “He’s the—”

“—chief of detectives, yes, I know,” Winston interjected. “I know Brian quite well. Are you here in Brian’s place?”

Not answering the multibillionaire’s question directly, Brianna bent the truth a little and told Winston, “He said to say hello.”

“Ah” was all Winston said, acknowledging what wasn’t being said. “Well, if you don’t want my donation for any of your worthy causes, how can I help you two fine young representatives of the Aurora police department?” Winston asked, looking from one detective to the other.

Brianna glanced over her shoulder. The man who had brought them here was still standing just inside the library threshold like a silent, immovable sentry. While she wasn’t afraid of the head of security, the man’s presence did make her feel uneasy. “Could we talk alone?”

“Rollins is privy to everything that concerns me. I pay him quite a bit to make sure that he is,” Winston said pointedly.

“Then you can tell Rollins all about this after we leave, if you decide he needs to know,” Jackson quietly told the older man.

Just a glimmer of displeasure passed over Winston Aurora’s smooth, amazingly unlined face. The next moment, the expression disappeared as if it had never existed.

“Very well,” Winston agreed. “Rollins, step out, please. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Unlike his employer, Rollins made no attempt to mask his displeasure. Scowling, the man withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“Better?” Winston asked Brianna once the door was closed. Whether it was because he thought she was in charge or because he preferred dealing with women was unclear. But his attention was directed to her.

“Our thinking is that you might possibly wind up preferring it this way,” Brianna explained.

Winston nodded, making no comment. “Sit, please,” he said, indicating the light gray sofa.

Like the desk, the sofa was oversize. It could have accommodated six people without effort.

When the detectives complied, Winston reseated himself behind the desk. For all the world he appeared like a benevolent ruler holding an audience with two of his subjects.

“Now then, I know that Brian’s your uncle, but I’m afraid I didn’t get your name—or yours,” he added, nodding at Jackson.

Brianna automatically reached for her wallet to show the man her credentials. “Detective Brianna Cavanaugh O’Bannon,” she answered, pulling out her wallet.

“I’ll take you at your word,” Winston told her, waving away her wallet, but his brown eyes shifted toward Jackson expectantly.

“Detective Jackson Muldare,” Jackson replied.

Winston nodded. “Now that we all know one another, I’ll repeat my question. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.

“Winston, please,” the billionaire corrected her. “‘Mr. Aurora’ makes me feel ancient.” He chuckled. “Please, continue. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Brianna obliged. Moving forward on her chair, she said, “You recently sold the Old Aurora Hotel.”

“Yes, I did,” Winston replied, “and if you’ve come here to tell me that, you could have saved yourself a trip. I’m not quite the doddering old fool yet. I am aware of all of my financial dealings,” he assured her with a dry laugh.

“When was the last time you were at the hotel?” Jackson asked, wanting to push this along. O’Bannon might be buying this charming act that Aurora was projecting, but he wasn’t sold on it—he thought Aurora seemed to be stalling.

Why the man was stalling wasn’t clear yet, but Jackson intended to find that out as well.

“You mean physically?” Winston questioned.

Jackson looked at him, puzzled. “Is there any other way?”

“Well, there’s Skyping,” Winston answered. “But I closed down the hotel before we could implement that form of communication.”

“All right,” Jackson said, “when was the last time you were at the hotel in person or in spirit?”

Winston paused, thinking. And then he shrugged. “I’m afraid I really can’t remember an exact date. Why? Is it important?” The billionaire turned to direct his question toward Brianna, since she was obviously the friendlier of the two, in the man’s estimation.

“What my partner is attempting to do is establish a timeline, sir,” Brianna explained.

Winston furrowed his brow. “Why?” Not waiting for either of the two detectives to answer that, he continued, “Is there something wrong, Detectives? Don’t tell me that the construction company forgot to get all the right permits.”

Wanting to remain on the man’s good side, Brianna tactfully answered, “As far as we know, sir, all the permits are in place—”

“Then I’m afraid that I don’t understand the reason for all this,” the billionaire confessed, waving his hand at both of them. “Just why is it that you’re here?”

Brianna couldn’t quite decide if what she heard in Aurora’s voice was impatience or concern. For now, she let that go.

“When the wrecking ball hit the rear wall, a body was dislodged,” she told the man, wanting to proceed slowly.

“Several bodies,” Jackson interjected.

Winston looked from one detective to the other, appearing completely caught off guard and speechless. When he finally managed to collect himself, Winston could only echo in hushed disbelief, “Bodies? Whose?”

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, sir,” Brianna said.

Winston grew pale right before her eyes. “Do you have any idea who—who killed them?” he asked, his voice almost failing him.

“Another good question,” Jackson told him, his tone totally devoid of emotion.

Exasperated and momentarily losing his temper, Winston demanded, “Well, do you have any good answers, Detective?”

“Not yet,” Brianna answered quickly before Jackson could say something to further irritate Aurora. “But we’re doing our best.”

Responding to Brianna’s soothing voice, Winston seemed to calm down a little. He took in a deep breath, then slowly released it.

“I’m sorry, Detectives. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that,” he apologized. “But I find having bodies uncovered on my former property very upsetting and deeply disturbing.”

“We completely understand, Mr. Aurora—” Brianna began.

An almost shy smile quirked the man’s rather small mouth. “Winston,” he reminded her.

Brianna inclined her head obligingly.

“Winston,” she corrected herself. “We definitely have no desire to upset you. At the moment, we’d just like to establish a few basic things.”

Winston nodded a number of times as he listened to Brianna. “Yes, of course, I quite understand. What can I do to help?”

Jackson thought back to what he’d heard his temporary partner tell Del Campo. It was a good place to start.

“We need the hotel’s guest ledgers going as far back as possible, plus a list of all the hotel’s employees,” Jackson said.

Winston appeared mystified. “You do understand that the hotel is over half a century old.”

“We are aware of that, yes, sir,” Brianna answered.

The billionaire’s next question was unexpected and threw them. “How old are these bodies you say were uncovered?”

You say.

Brianna replayed the question in her head. She wasn’t sure if that was just a slip of the tongue on Aurora’s part, or if he was deliberately implying that the whole thing was merely trumped-up charges.

Jackson was obviously rubbing off on her, she thought.

“We won’t know that until our ME finishes doing the autopsies,” Brianna answered the man.

“If it would help move things along, I know several medical examiners in Sacramento,” Winston told them. “I could put in a call for you and get them down here by the end of the week, perhaps even sooner.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but the lab has already put out the word in the department. We have several medical examiners on call already. There’s no shortage of willing hands,” she assured the billionaire. “But thank you for the offer.”

Brianna didn’t want to risk offending the man or getting on his bad side. Most of all, she didn’t want him to think that they were looking at him as a possible suspect. Right now, that wasn’t the case—and it might never be, so they were playing it safe. If it turned out differently down the line, she didn’t want to put Winston on alert.

“Win, what on earth is going on here? Why is there a sedan parked in front of the house?”

A statuesque blonde, appearing to be between her late forties and early fifties, came into the library. Sharp green eyes took immediate measure of the two strangers in the room.

“Who are these people?” she asked, glaring at Jackson and Brianna as if they had just invaded her castle and tracked mud all over the highly polished floors.

“Gloria—” Winston, on his feet, extended his arm out toward his wife, indicating that he wanted her to come stand next to him “—I’d like you to say hello to these two fine young detectives.”

“Detectives,” Gloria Aurora repeated. “Police or private?” she asked in a tone that had icicles attached to it.

“We’re with the city’s police department, Mrs. Aurora,” Brianna told the woman, doing her best not to react to the judgmental tone.

The woman said nothing to either detective. Instead, she turned toward her husband and demanded, “What are they doing here?” When he didn’t answer her as quickly as she wanted, Gloria turned on the two people and questioned them herself. “Why are you here?”

Winston cleared his throat. It was obvious that he didn’t want his wife to create a scene, especially not in front of the detectives. He and his brothers had been raised to believe that image was everything.

“There’s a problem with the hotel,” Winston began to explain.

“The hotel,” Gloria repeated, almost with loathing. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of that old relic years ago? Why he hung on to it I’ll never know,” she said, addressing her words to Jackson. “The man’s just too sentimental for his own good. I swear he has a heart like a bowl of mush sometimes. You’d never guess that he’s considered to be such a shrewd businessman by his competitors.” Mrs. Aurora sighed. “If they’d only seen him the way I have.”

“Gloria, these detectives are not here to listen to matters concerning our private lives,” he said sternly.

“Neither are you, apparently. Why didn’t you sell that hotel before now?” his wife demanded.

Not wanting to get in the middle of a family dispute, Jackson picked up on Mrs. Aurora’s question. “Why did you pick now to sell it, sir?”

“Because, Detective,” Winston replied, “despite the fact that I did want to hold on to it because it had been my grandfather’s pride and joy, I felt that it was time to allow the city to continue growing. Coupled with that,” he added, slanting a glance toward his wife, “I received an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Chapter 4

“Do you know the name of the person who made this offer?” Jackson asked.

Gloria Aurora scowled. Her frown had the ability to transform an attractive face almost into a mask, one that even her husband had been known to be wary of.

“Winnie, don’t you think you should have a lawyer present before you answer any more of these people’s questions?” Mrs. Aurora’s tone was civil, but it was more of a demand than a question.

It was obvious that the woman was more than a little surprised when her husband held his ground, not against the police detectives, but against her suggestion.

“There’s no need for lawyers, Gloria,” Winston replied amicably. “There’s no wrongdoing here.” Chuckling, the family patriarch turned to address the two detectives. “You’ll have to forgive my wife. I’m afraid she’s not very trusting.”

Gloria’s eyes were as close to blazing as Brianna had ever seen. “And you’re too trusting, Winston,” the woman snapped.

Brianna exchanged glances with her partner. Was there just trouble in paradise, or did the man’s wife know something? Something she wanted hidden?

“Mr. Aurora,” Jackson said a bit more forcefully, “who made you the offer?”

“The city,” Winston replied mildly, appearing unfazed by his wife’s anger.

This felt as if they were tiptoeing through a minefield, Brianna thought. “Anyone in particular from the city?”

“For the answer to that, I’m afraid that you will have to speak to my lawyer,” Winston told them.

“Finally!” his wife cried triumphantly with a toss of her ever so carefully coiffed hair.

It was obvious that Winston Aurora was not about to let his wife have the last word. “I hated the idea of selling the property, so I turned everything over to Thomas Cahill, senior lawyer at Cahill, Adams and Sons. Call the firm, tell him I sent you. He can give you all the details behind the sale. Now,” he said in a tone indicating that he assumed the subject was closed, “is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, sir, but we’ll let you know if there is,” Brianna told the man pleasantly. Her gaze swept over both parties. “Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Aurora.”

“I hope this is the end of your interrogation.” Gloria Aurora’s tone was cold enough to freeze large cuts of beef.

“If not,” Brianna responded politely, not about to be intimidated, “we’ll be in touch.”

“With our lawyer!” Gloria called after them as they left the library.

“Well, that proves it,” Jackson said as they made their way out of the mansion under the head of security’s watchful eye.

“Proves what?” Brianna asked.

They went down the half dozen stairs from the front door to the circular driveway. “That money doesn’t buy happiness.”

Brianna shrugged. “He seemed all right.”

Jackson glanced in her direction. “I was referring to Mrs. Aurora. Every time that woman opened her mouth to talk, I had the impression that she was sucking on a lemon. A really sour lemon,” he underscored. “Almost made me feel sorry for her husband.”

“Almost?” Brianna questioned as she got into the car.

Jackson laughed shortly. “Hard to feel sorry for a man who could buy the whole state before noon if he wanted to.”

Jackson sounded as if he was sinking farther into a mood, so she tried to kid him out of it. In her opinion, he was an excellent detective, but he was really difficult to get close to. Even after being partnered with him three times, she was still trying to find the chink in his armor.

“Ah, but as you just pointed out,” she told him, “money can’t buy happiness.”

“Yeah, but it can buy a lot of other things,” Jackson replied as he started the car.

Was he going anywhere with this, or just complaining in general, Brianna wondered. “What are you getting at? What other things?”

“Like other people’s silence.” He began to drive toward the main road. “What do you want to bet that we’re not going to get any worthwhile information out of Aurora’s lawyer—or anyone else connected with this sale or the demolition, for that matter?”

Jackson sounded as if he believed a major conspiracy was going on. “Hey, the owner of the construction company was the one who called the police,” Brianna reminded him.

That didn’t change his opinion. “That was a spontaneous reaction,” he said. “Besides, some of his crew saw those bodies. And that was then. It doesn’t take all that long to talk to the involved parties and get them to see things differently, change their stories for a price, that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away here?” Brianna asked him. “We’re talking about the Aurora family, not a drug cartel or crime syndicate.”

Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “We’ll see.”

“Why do you insist on seeing the dark side of everything?” Brianna asked.

“Why do you always insist on seeing the bright side?” he countered.

She’d expected him to come back with that and was prepared. “Because I like having faith in my fellow human being.”

His eyes on the road, Jackson made a disparaging sound. “Fastest way to be disappointed, if you ask me, is to have faith in your fellow human being.”

Brianna looked at the man driving beside her for a long moment. She knew very little about Jackson Muldare—other than he was an excellent detective—even though they had worked together before. The little she did know, by way of rumor and innuendo, was rather sad and depressing. She debated saying something to him, trying to make him come around.

But before she could open her mouth, Jackson warned, “Don’t analyze me, O’Bannon.” He never took his eyes off the winding road.

“I didn’t say a word,” she said, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“You didn’t have to,” he told her. “I can feel you thinking.”

“That’s quite a talent you have there,” she replied, a touch of mocking in her voice.

“It’s my survival instinct,” he answered in all seriousness.

While he respected the woman as a detective and, yes, maybe even liked her to some extent, he was aware of the reputation she and the rest of her family had. They never met a person they didn’t try to bring into their circle and absorb. Whether or not that person was willing didn’t seem to matter. The Cavanaughs were firmly convinced that everyone was better off as part of a group.

Hell, most of the time he didn’t even really see himself as part of the police force. He certainly didn’t feel the need to buddy up to anyone, no matter what anyone thought to the contrary.

His best bet until this was resolved, Jackson felt, was to keep the woman’s mind on the case—and off anything personal that might have to do with him.

Having finally arrived at the main road, he glanced in her direction. “Where do you want to go?”

She thought of what Winston Aurora had said just before they left his mansion. “We might as well get the family lawyer out of the way, see if he can shed some light on the sale of the decade.”

Jackson laughed shortly, although there was no smile on his face. “I can just see the posting online—‘For sale, one classic hotel. Comes with built-in tenants, no extra charge.’”

“Why, Muldare, I had no idea that you had a sense of humor.”

His expression remained unchanged and almost stoic. “I don’t.”

“That would explain a lot of things,” she responded. It occurred to Brianna that she hadn’t given him the address to the law firm. “Oh, Cahill’s office is located on—”

“I know where it is,” he cut her off. And then, in case she had any doubts about what he’d just said, he told her, “McFadden.”

Brianna just shook her head. “Muldare, you are just an endless source of surprises, you know that?”

For the first time since they’d left the hotel, she noticed just the barest hint of a smile on Jackson’s ruggedly handsome face. “I like keeping you on your toes,” he said.

What Muldare liked, she thought, was keeping her off balance.

She paused for a second, debating her next question. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she forged ahead and asked, “How’s everything?”

The simple question made no sense to him. He never liked things that made no sense. “In reference to what?”

“Your life,” she specified. Met with a stony silence, she tried again. “I’m asking you about your life, Muldare.”

“You writing a book?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied, doing her best not to get exasperated. “I’m trying to make small talk with my partner.”

“Your temporary partner doesn’t like small talk,” Jackson told her. “It serves no purpose. Hence the word small.”

He really was an exasperating man, Brianna thought. But she was far too stubborn to give up.

“Then you’re missing the point of small talk,” she told him.

“Isn’t that the lawyer’s building just up ahead to the right?” he asked, knowing full well that it was. He only asked because he wanted to divert her attention.

Aware of what he was trying to do, Brianna suppressed a sigh. This isn’t over, Muldare.

She turned her attention toward the very modern-looking building Jackson had just pointed out. The edifice was constructed out of what looked to be, at first glance, all reflective glass. At certain times of the day in the spring and fall, the building made driving by it close to impossible because of the glare. But since it was only for a few minutes each time, and the office building housed a number of important companies, no steps were taken to change anything.

“That it is,” Brianna said, confirming what she knew that Muldare already knew. “Small talk is tabled for now,” she said deliberately—and then put him on notice. “But I intend to get back to it.”

“Good luck with that,” Jackson murmured under his breath.

But she heard him. And she smiled because at that moment, she’d made herself a vow. She fully intended to peel away Jackson Muldare’s protective shield if it was the last thing she ever did. Not to satisfy her own curiosity, which she admittedly had in spades, but because she felt that he needed to expose whatever it was he was guarding so zealously to the light of day. She was convinced that he would remain a tortured soul until such time as he cleared out his demons.

* * *

Forewarned, Roman Thomas Cahill was waiting for them when they arrived at the law firm.

Stopping at the reception desk, Brianna and Jackson asked the very efficient-looking young man manning the desk if they could speak with Cahill.

“First door to your right,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Cahill is waiting for you.”

“One hurdle down, four hundred and ninety-nine to go,” Brianna said to her partner.

“Only?” was Jackson’s response.

A moment later, they were walking into R. Thomas Cahill’s cavernous office.

Leaving the shelter of his desk, Cahill met them halfway. “I was told that you’d be stopping by,” he said, shaking both their hands. He gestured toward the two chairs before his desk, his indication clear. “Although I must admit that I’m a little unclear why the Aurora police department would have the slightest interest in the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel.” He chuckled. “I realize that the city doesn’t have much in the way of crime to keep detectives like yourselves busy, but surely there are more pressing things for you to look into than the sale of that fine old building to the city in order to make way for another wave of development.” Finished, he leaned back in his richly padded chair, his hands on either armrest as he waited for the weight of his words to sink in.

“Well, that’s quite a mouthful, Mr. Cahill,” Jackson commented.

Was he deliberately trying to irritate everyone today, Brianna couldn’t help wondering. She instantly went into damage control mode.

“What my partner is trying to say,” she told the lawyer, “is that we’re wondering if you could clarify why the property was sold at this particular time and who on the city council authorized the sale.”

Cahill’s expression remained unchanged. “Again, I have to say that I hardly see why that would concern the police department.”

Jackson grew tired of all this beating around the bush. “It does if the building in question has bodies in it.”

“Bodies?” Cahill echoed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“When the construction crew began demolishing the hotel this morning, they found bodies in the debris,” Jackson answered.

Cahill didn’t look as if the news surprised him. Although there was a flash of color on his florid face, it gave way to a thoughtful expression as he advanced a theory. “That’s easy enough to explain. There were undoubtedly homeless people living in the building—they turn up everywhere—and they didn’t manage to get out in time.”

Brianna could see that Jackson was on the verge of losing his temper. Placing her hand lightly on his wrist to placate him, she took the lead.

“No, these bodies didn’t belong to any homeless people looking for shelter. These bodies had been encased in cement,” Brianna told the lawyer.

Cahill’s complexion turned a serious shade of red as he rose to his feet. “Surely you don’t mean to sit here and accuse my client of having anything to do with such a heinous crime. Bear in mind that I can and will sue you and your whole department for defamation of character if either of you even so much as breathe this outside my office.”

Not about to be intimidated, Brianna and Jackson were on their feet as well.

“Before we get into all that ugliness, Mr. Cahill,” Brianna said in a calm voice that seemed to have the exact opposite effect on the attorney, “why don’t you just tell us who approached your client about the sale of the Old Aurora Hotel? You tell us that and we will get out of your hair.”

“And you can get back to doing whatever it is that lawyers do,” Jackson interjected.

“Don’t tempt me to show you,” Cahill said as he drew himself up to his full height, which was at least five inches shorter than Jackson. Clearly struggling to keep his temper in check, Cahill turned away from Jackson and said to Brianna, “If you’ll wait right here, I’ll see about getting you that information.”

With that, the attorney stormed out of his office.

“Why do you think he didn’t use his computer to get that information?” Jackson asked, looking at the door.

“Probably because he wanted to get some space between himself and you before he did something that isn’t smiled upon in law school.” She looked at the other detective, more amused than annoyed. “Am I going to have to put a leash on you?”

“You can try,” Jackson told her. Then, eyeing her for a moment, he added, “Might even be fun to watch you try.”

For just a second, an image that had nothing to do with the case flashed through her mind. Not the time, she silently lectured.

“We’re trying to make nice with these people,” Brianna reminded him. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s easier to catch flies with honey than with vinegar? And if you give in to your urge and use a flyswatter,” guessing what was going through Jackson’s mind, “then you haven’t gotten anything at all for your trouble except for a flyswatter full of smashed flies.”

Jackson gave her a look she couldn’t read. “Anyone ever tell you you’re colorful?”

“Muldare, I’m serious,” she stressed. “We need these people to cooperate.”

A hint of disbelief entered his eyes. “Are you telling me that you expect these people to just raise their hands and say, ‘You got me. I did it’?”

“No, what I’m hoping is that one of these people might say something to help us find out just who decided to use the Old Aurora Hotel to cover up their killing spree.” She sighed as other thoughts occurred to her, things that needed to be checked out. “We’re going to need to get a task force together to help us tackle this.”

“Safety in numbers?” Jackson asked.

“Efficiency in numbers,” she countered. “I get the feeling that there are a lot of pieces involved in keeping all this secret, and the more people we have working on this, the better chance we stand of getting some answers before someone in the Aurora family tries to stonewall us.”

“Then you do think it’s someone in the family,” Jackson asked. His tone made it clear that he already thought that way.

“Until we get a few more things straightened out, I’m not thinking anything just yet,” she answered.

Jackson was about to ask her something else when Cahill walked back into the office.

At the same time, Jackson’s phone began to vibrate.

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