Playing Dead_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [126]
“If she crosses the line, damn straight I am.”
J.T. raised an eyebrow. “What is the problem?”
Claire spoke. “We’ve tracked down the pathologist who deleted the coroner’s reports on my mother and Chase Taverton. There has to be something odd in the reports if someone went to all the trouble to make them disappear.”
“Jayne told me about Mr. Willis.” J.T. leaned against the wall. “Megan. Allow me to follow up on the pathologist.”
“Dammit, J.T., your ways are not the Bureau’s ways.”
“I’m not a thug.”
“You forget I’ve known you a long time.”
“I forget nothing, Megan.”
Claire would have been more interested in her boss’s past if she wasn’t so worried about what had gone on while she was drugged and sleeping. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be ready to go first thing in the morning—”
J.T. turned to her. “You’re on leave.”
Claire’s stomach fell. She felt ill. She was going to lose her job. It’s okay, she told herself. If anything she’d done in the last three days had helped her dad, then it was worth it.
J.T. turned to Meg. “I heard about Donovan. What else happened? Is the homicide in Isleton related to this?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m always shocked at how you seem to know confidential information as if it’s idle party chatter.”
“What?” Claire said. “What homicide?”
“The police chief’s daughter was stabbed in her living room. No witnesses, nothing to indicate a struggle, but there were some odd findings. Her closet shelves were completely empty, for one. However, our evidence response team found drugs hidden in her bathroom. They couldn’t identify them on-site, so they’ve been sent to the lab for priority testing.”
“Since when do the Feds have jurisdiction over a local homicide?” J.T. asked.
“Since it’s connected to this case. Do you realize that there’ve been no homicides in Isleton—aside from the possibility of Oliver Maddox—in more than a decade? Then tonight Ms. Lane was in the same bar where Frank Lowe most likely drugged Claire, Lowe was killed, and now Ms. Lane? It’s connected somehow, and while the sheriff has technical jurisdiction, one of my men was shot and that makes this my case.”
“I am sorry about Donovan.”
“I know.”
“Lane?” Claire asked. There were only two women in the bar when she was there, an older woman and Lora. “Lora?”
Meg whipped around. “You know her?”
“She sat right next to me at the bar. She told me I was being mean to Tip. Frank Lowe,” Claire corrected. Why would anyone kill the woman? “When did this happen?”
“Between seven and nine p.m. tonight. Her mother was in Sacramento, and her father had secured the Rabbit Hole and was waiting for our forensic team to arrive. But the body wasn’t discovered until after midnight when her father came home.” Meg glanced at her phone, typed a message, and said, “I really have to go. We have a man on Claire, but if you want to take over you’re welcome to.”
J.T. said, “Warren? He’s fine. I’ll deliver the pathologist to you before noon. If you need my services, don’t hesitate to call.”
Meg just shook her head and walked out.
Claire said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Caruso.”
J.T. sat on the end of her bed and said, “It’s always been J.T. Let’s not get too formal.”
“I know I broke protocol, but—”
He put his hand up and said, “Stop. I know exactly what you did and why. You don’t have to justify your actions. What you have to explain is why you didn’t come to me or Henry for help from the beginning.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. I was helping a fugitive.”
“You asked Jayne for help.”
“I—” What could she say?
“She’s your friend.”
Claire nodded.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Claire. As an investigator for Rogan-Caruso, you need to understand that we are a family. I expect—I demand—to be asked for assistance, even in a personal matter such as yours.”
“I was walking a fine line, J.T. I didn’t want the FBI to have a reason to go after Rogan-Caruso.”
J.T. threw back his head and laughed. Claire didn’t understand the joke, and she tensed, angry, hating feeling like an idiot.
“Claire, the Bureau and I go way back.