Spin Control

“Speaking of men, I need details. About the murderer.”

“I told you, he’s innocent. An FBI agent with a spotless record. He was framed, and hopefully I can help unframe him without getting myself charged with contempt in the process. Wish me luck. I’d better get back in there before he starts rummaging through my files.”

“Is he as good-looking as my cousin said?”

“Yep. Picture a blend of Highlander and a young Obi Wan.”

“Which Highlander?” Noelle asked, her tone challenging. “Yours or mine?”

“There can be only one,” Suzannah reminded her with a laugh, wondering for the umpteenth time how Noelle could prefer Christopher Lambert’s Highlander to Adrian Paul’s. “Anyway, I’d better get back to him. I’ll call you when he leaves.”

“Are you sure he’ll be leaving? He sounds pretty sexy. Maybe he’ll sleep over.”

“He’s a client. And a murder suspect. Plus, he’s not my type.”

“Give me a break,” Noelle drawled. “You said yourself he’s a cross between your two favorite heroes. Does he have an accent?”

“Well, not Scottish, that’s for sure. If anything, he’s got the tiniest hint of a cowboy twang.” She expected Noelle to react strongly, but she said nothing, so Suzannah prodded her. “Noelle?”

“Sorry, I just drooled all over myself.”

“You’re such a nut.” Suzannah grinned and repeated, “I’ll call you when he leaves. Don’t elope or anything before then. ’Bye.”

She hung up the phone, then braced herself for another round with Justin. She was getting used to the idea of being his attorney, but having her privacy invaded was something else.

He cons and seduces people for a living. So be careful….

Taking a deep breath, she returned to the living room and found him dutifully working the jigsaw puzzle, just as he’d promised.

He had draped his leather bomber jacket over one kitchen chair and had slung his shoulder holster over another. Just those few subtle touches, along with his not-so-subtle sexuality, had given her home a strong infusion of masculinity that she found disorienting.

So this is what it’s like to have a man around the house, she teased herself nervously. Next he’ll be opening jars for you and taking out the trash.

Shaking off the confused mood, she walked over and sat at the table. “I’ve got more questions about the case.”

“Shoot.”

“Speaking of shooting…” She eyed the shoulder holster, which was empty. “They confiscated your gun and your badge, right? I mean, temporarily. So…?”

“Force of habit. I can put it away if it bothers you.”

“It’s fine.” She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys usually have backup weapons? Something with the serial numbers sanded off or whatever?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that?”

“Good point. Never mind.”

“What about you?” he asked. “A pretty girl, living alone. How do you protect yourself?”

“I use the dead bolt whenever I’m home. And I have a can of mace in my purse whenever I’m out.”

“You should keep the mace by your bed at night, too.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Good advice. Thanks.”

Her attention was attracted by a group of yellow self-adhesive notes he had attached in a row to the nearby wall. It appeared to be some sort of timeline.

His gaze tracked hers. “That’s my system. Must look pretty lame to an organizational genius like you, but it works for me.”

“Those look like Angel of Mercy notes. Shouldn’t we be concentrating on Gia’s murder?”

“They’re interrelated.”

“So you admit it’s possible that the Angel of Mercy killed Gia?”

Justin shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But it’s more likely that Horace Masterson’s murderer tried to capitalize on Charlie Parrish’s crime spree by committing a look-alike murder and hoping Charlie would take the rap.”

“Or—” Suzannah met his gaze directly “—Charlie killed them all. The three nursing-home residents out of a sincere but deranged belief that they wanted him to kill them. Then Horace. And then Gia because she publicly announced she’d never honor her father’s wish to have the plug pulled. Maybe Charlie found her attitude so arrogant and repugnant he wanted to punish her for it.”

“Gia said the same thing to me,” he mused. “The night she died.”

“What?”

Justin nodded. “She was nervous that night. More than usual. She kept saying she thought the Angel would come after her next because of the videotaped statement by her that was shown on the news after Horace was diagnosed. She said that was the kind of thing a truly insane man would never be able to forget.”

“Wow. What did you say?”

He shrugged. “I comforted her. Told her that wasn’t Charlie’s MO. He uses drugs, not guns. And he truly believes he’s helping the victims, not hurting them. He’s the Angel of Mercy, not Vengeance.”

“You talk about him like he’s rational. But I agree with Gia. He’s a nut. And probably getting crazier by the minute. All that killing—it might have made him feel powerful. Validated. Almost godlike.”

Justin grinned. “Very cool analysis. You remind me of a friend of mine.” He began digging in his briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope. “I meant to give this to you earlier. Don’t open it. Just put it somewhere safe.”

“It’s not a confession, is it?”

He laughed. “No such luck. It’s my friend’s phone number. If something goes wrong—if I get killed, for instance—”

“Killed?” Suzannah bit her lip. “You think the murderer might come after you?”

“I’m a loose end. Plus, I’m determined to solve Horace Masterson’s murder. And now Gia’s, too. The real killer would be smart to get rid of me.”

“Oh, God, I never thought of that.”

Justin flashed a reassuring smile. “The good news is, he’s also got a strong incentive to keep me alive. If he kills me, then everyone will know I was innocent. Right now the evidence against me is so strong the authorities aren’t looking anywhere else.”

“But you’re looking.”

And so am I….

He must have heard her thought, because he patted her hand and assured her, “The bad guys don’t have any reason to come after you. As far as they know, you’re handling the legal angle, not the investigation. And it was clear in the courtroom today that you were a reluctant participant. So I’m pretty sure you’re safe.”

She held up the envelope. “But if something happens…?”

“Right. If something goes wrong, call that number. It’ll connect you to SPIN. Have you heard of it?” When Suzannah shook her head, he explained. “It’s a backup agency for agents like me. The Strategic Profiling and Identification Network. They call themselves spinners and they’re effing geniuses. Literally.”

“Wait! Are you sure it’s okay to tell me all this?”

He laughed. “Yeah, it’s okay. The only confidential info is the actual identity of the spinners. Their whole system is based on anonymity. They use aliases, and our only contact with them is by phone.”

“So you have a friend, but you don’t know his name?”

“Her name.”

“Oh, right.” Suzannah rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”

“Her code name is S-3. I nicknamed her Essie.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I’ve known her real name for a while now, but I never use it. Anyway, she can get you any information you need. Plus, her instincts are stellar. Downright eerie, really. No matter how bad things get, she can always figure out a solution. So…” He squeezed Suzannah’s hand. “If something goes wrong—if I get killed or you get scared or start to doubt my innocence, anything like that—call S-3. Got it?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she told him, pulling her hand free. “Let’s call her right now.”

“Huh?”

“She’s your friend. And she’s brilliant. We’ll brainstorm with her. Three heads are better than two, right?”

His eyes clouded. “It’s not that simple, Suzy. She’s not assigned to this case, so she’s not supposed to work on it. I’ve gotten her into trouble a couple of times over the last few years. I’ve promised myself I won’t do that anymore.”

“Too bad. We could use the help.”

“She’s got a tendency to go rogue, especially when her friends are in trouble.” He cleared his throat, then admitted, “I rely on her too much sometimes. It’s not fair to her. So I’ve gone cold turkey. I won’t call her. But if things go really wrong, I want you to.”

Suzannah studied his forlorn expression. “Are you in love with her? Even though you never met her in person? That’s so romantic.”

“I love her like crazy, but I’m not in love with her,” Justin said, chuckling. “I like my girlfriends to have bodies.”

“Like Gia?”

“Gia had one helluva body,” he agreed, fishing in his briefcase again until he found a folder containing a dozen or so photographs. “Here, see for yourself. The best rack money could buy.”

“Good grief.” Suzannah bit back a smile, wondering how such a tall, skinny woman had managed to carry herself upright with the giant breasts she had apparently bought for herself. “You said she was sweet. I’d say she was a little vain, too.”

“You’d think so,” he murmured. “But you’d be wrong. The boob job wasn’t because she wanted to look better. She just wanted to look different.”

“Pardon?”

“Look at this. It’s Gia nine years ago. Before she started having plastic surgery.”

Suzannah stared at the second photo, shocked to see a girl who only vaguely resembled the busty woman in the first picture. “She didn’t just have her breasts enhanced. She had—what? Her eyes? Her cheeks?”

“Eyes. Cheeks. Jaw. Bust. Six surgeries over a seven-year period.”

“She changed her hair color, too.”

“And wore blue contact lenses so her eyes wouldn’t look gray.”

“I don’t get it.” Suzannah shook her head. “She was so pretty.”

“So was her mother. So was her sister Mia.” His tone grew pensive. “Do you remember what I told you? That she was desperate for her father’s approval? But unfortunately she looked just like her mother and sister, the two females that had made him so angry. He apparently told her more than once that he could barely stand the sight of her.”

“Oh, my God. She actually did all this for him? And he didn’t try to stop her—his own daughter!—from mutilating herself? I mean, the end result was attractive, I suppose….”

“But it wasn’t her face. Or her body. She said that to me more than once. That she felt like a stranger to herself when she looked in the mirror. But at the same time, she kept having surgery. Breast implants. Then her eyes. Then the cheek implants—she had those after Horace went into the coma, by the way.”

Suzannah gasped. “Why?”

“She said she was sure he’d regain consciousness one day, and when he opened his eyes, she didn’t want the first face he saw to remind him of his unfaithful wife.”

Suzannah grimaced. “No offense, but that was one sick chick.”

“One sick father,” Justin corrected her. “The more I found out about Horace Masterson, the less sorry I was that someone had offed him. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his company did top-secret research, I would have considered his murder a petty crime.”

“Poor Gia.”

Justin nodded. “She was a lonely, frightened, sweet girl. It was pitiful. And it made her bizarrely irresistible. Not sexually but emotionally. I wanted to make her feel better. Feel loved. I screwed up, but it wasn’t what it looked like. Not lust, Suzy. Just…”

“Compassion?” Suzannah slid the photos of Gia back into the folder, then buried her face in her hands and peeked through her fingers. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, it’s rough. Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Okay.” Suzannah gave him a hopeful smile. “You said you’d give me more details about the Night Arrow project. Maybe now would be a good time for that.”

He beamed. “You’re fascinated by it, too?”

“Nope. Just fascinated by your obsession with it. There’s a difference.”

Justin’s cell phone began to ring, and he winced as he asked, “Do you mind if I take it?”

“No, please do.” Suzannah jumped up and went to the refrigerator for a bottle of water, glad for the chance to digest the information he had given her about Gia Masterson. The idea that any father could be despicable enough to contort his daughter’s affections the way Horace had done made Suzannah sick.

Then she scolded herself, remembering that Gia Masterson had been a wealthy, powerful woman who had turned her back on her little sister just when the girl had needed her most.

So get a grip, will you? Worry about Justin, not some crazy dead heiress.

He was arguing softly with someone, but his eyes were on Suzannah, and she realized he was looking a little guilty around the edges, which told her the caller was probably one of his girlfriends.

Did he really think she’d be bothered by that? What an ego!

“Okay, I’ll come over,” he muttered into the phone. “Just don’t do anything crazy. And don’t expect me to stay long. I’m not kidding, Mia. So…huh? Oh, okay…See ya.”

He closed the phone and laid it on the table, then gave his attorney a sheepish grin. “Hi.”

“Mia? As in, Mia Masterson? You’re in touch with her?” Suzannah eyed him sternly. “Do you want to go to prison?”

“I tried to get rid of her. But she’s freaked out about some premonition she had. She thinks whoever killed Gia is coming after her next.”

“Tell her to call 911.”

“I did. But she was crying….” He shrugged as if to say, Consoling beautiful rich girls is what I do. Don’t ask me to stop just because I’m on trial for murder.

Pushing back his chair, he stood and reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back in two hours, tops. I know we still have a lot to talk about—”

“We can talk in the car. You drive, I’ll lecture.”

“Huh?” He laughed warily. “You’re sure you want to come along?”

“Do you have rocks in your head? Or just in your pants?” Suzannah demanded. “Can’t you see what’s going to happen? You’ll go over there. Get your prints all over her and her house. Then after you leave, the Angel will swoop in and murder her, and Taylor the Jailor will lock me up. He released you into my custody, remember? You aren’t going anywhere without me except to your hotel room at night, and that’s only because I’m afraid to sleep with an accused murderer in the house.”

“In other words, it’s all about you?”

“Believe it.”

Justin laughed. “This is actually a great idea.”

Suzannah had to admit she liked it, too. Getting the facts of the case through Mia’s eyes, rather than just through Justin’s, made sense. And aside from Charlie Parrish, aka the Angel of Mercy, Mia was the prime suspect, at least in Suzannah’s mind. The younger Masterson daughter was inheriting millions of dollars from Gia, not to mention control of their billion-dollar corporation. Talk about a motive!

“Give me five minutes to change back into my suit—”

“Don’t do that,” Justin interrupted. Then he explained carefully, “Anyone can look professional in a suit. But you carry it off in jeans. Let Mia see that. It’ll drive her crazy and keep her off balance.”

“I don’t play games.”

“Trust me on this, okay? Sometimes a game is the best strategy.”

Because he cons and seduces people for a living, Suzannah reminded herself. And obviously he’s good at it, so…

“Can I wear heels at least?”

“Absolutely. The higher, the better.” Justin’s blue eyes began to twinkle. “You and Mia—man, this should be good.”

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