Suspect. Jasmine Cresswell

speaking again. He didn’t want Jenny to have any idea where Chloe was actually staying so that his receptionist would neither be required to stonewall or to lie if anyone happened to ask her.

      “It’s better if you don’t return to your sister’s house tonight,” he said to Chloe. “The police don’t have enough manpower to stake out dozens of places, even in pursuit of the mayor’s murderer. But since they already know Sophie is staying with your sister, they’ve almost certainly spared at least one cop to watch her front door. I’ll bet they’re hoping to snag you for questioning when you come to pick up your daughter. In the circumstances, it would be best if you simply left Sophie at your sister’s.”

      “I can’t do that.” Chloe was quiet but adamant. “I’m not going to leave her all night with Alexia. You’re forgetting it’s Sophie’s father who just died. She’s scared, she’s sad and I’ve already left her for much too long.”

      “I’m not asking you to abandon your daughter, but you have to consider the big picture. She isn’t going to be reassured if you’re arrested when you go to pick her up.”

      Chloe paled. “Maybe my sister could drive her to a hotel?”

      Liam shook his head. “The police will follow your sister. Same result, except at a hotel with plenty of witnesses instead of at your sister’s house.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll have to pick up Sophie myself.”

      “But how will you avoid the police? What’s the difference between you driving her to a hotel and my sister making the same drive?”

      “I’ve had some practice in evading both the cops and the media. Above all, nobody will be looking for me. At this point, the police and the media have no idea there’s any connection between the two of us.” He held out his cell phone. “Use my phone to call your sister. Did you say her name is Alexia?”

      “Yes.”

      “Tell Alexia I have your permission to pick up your daughter. If she asks where I’m taking Sophie, or where you plan to spend the night, explain that you can’t tell her. That way, Alexia can’t be tricked into revealing your destination.”

      “If the police ask her where I’ve gone, what should she say to them?”

      “She should tell them the truth—that she has no idea if you’re even still in town. If they press her, she should insist that she’ll say nothing further unless she has a lawyer present. If the police decide she’s hiding relevant information, they could be persistent enough to be unpleasant. Having a lawyer present will prevent that.”

      Chloe fiddled with the cell phone, looking troubled. “I had no idea I’d be dragging my sister into the middle of such a mess when I asked her to look after Sophie. Isn’t there some less complicated way to do this?”

      “Trust me, this is a lot less complicated than having you spend the night in jail.”

      “In jail?” She stared at him, eyes wide. “Surely they wouldn’t put me in jail!”

      “Why not?” He was deliberately brutal. “Because you’re pretty? Because you won an Olympic medal? Because you married an important man?”

      “I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t implying I deserved special treatment. But I assumed I could post bail even if they arrested me…”

      “You can. As soon as a judge sets bail. If the cops arrest you tonight, you’d be required to stay in jail until court is in session tomorrow.”

      He’d managed to scare her to the point that her cheeks were now dead-white. “You really think I’m going to be arrested, don’t you?”

      He shrugged. “It’s a high-profile case. That works for you and against you. The cops will be more careful building their case, and they’ll make sure it’s strong before they seek any warrants. On the other hand, they can’t possibly let the murder of the mayor go unsolved, so there’s going to be a lot of pressure on them to make an arrest.”

      “But how in the world can I prove that I didn’t kill Jason?”

      “I don’t know that yet. If I’m going to help you, I need to find out everything that happened last night in painstaking detail. That’s why I need you and Sophie to stay with me at my apartment so that you and I can take as long as we need to discuss the case. I can only work out a strategy once I know everything you know about what happened last night.”

      “I understand.” Chloe straightened her spine, almost visibly girding herself for battle. Liam saw the return of some of the fire and strength of mind which he knew must be an integral part of her character. Any woman capable of achieving gold medal status in an Olympic event as challenging as downhill skiing must have courage to spare.

      “I appreciate the offer of safe haven in your home, Liam. That’s far more generous of you than I could expect.”

      “You’re welcome.” That was more true than he would have liked.

      “There’s one thing we have to get clear, though.” Chloe’s mouth firmed into a straight, determined line. “You do understand there’s no way I can allow you to tell Sophie you’re her biological father—”

      “Not tonight. Of course not.”

      “Not tonight, and perhaps not ever.”

      There was no way in hell he’d allow a child of his to grow up not knowing the truth about her parentage. He’d seen what happened to families built on a foundation of well-meaning lies and it wasn’t pretty. But that was a battle for another night, and he completely agreed with Chloe that a few hours after Jason’s death was no time to be burdening a three and a half year old with the knowledge that the man she loved hadn’t been her biological father.

      “I agree that we need to protect Sophie,” he said. “Tonight we’re going to do that by developing a strategy for keeping you out of jail. Telling Sophie that I’m her father—”

      “Jason was her father.”

      He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Telling Sophie that I’m her biological father is a discussion for another night. We need to take this one logical step at a time. Right now, that means we need to get Sophie back to my apartment without alerting the cops. Go ahead, Chloe. Call your sister. Let her know I’ll be leaving to pick up Sophie within the next ten minutes.”

      Four

      Chicago, the Same Morning

      Paul Fairfax climbed onto the stationary bike in his custom-designed exercise room and grunted in annoyance when he saw that his wife had altered the settings. This was his favorite piece of equipment and Julia knew it. He wished she’d stick to the treadmill, for Christ’s sake, since she was the one who’d insisted on spending thousands on the fanciest damn treadmill manufactured in the entire United States. Probably the fanciest treadmill in the entire goddamn world, Paul reflected morosely, since Julia’s ability to spend money reached a level that came close to high art.

      God forbid that she should change her spending and shopping habits now, he thought sarcastically. He’d warned her repeatedly since Ron Raven died that things were tough and the business was going through a little rough patch. He might as well have been telling the wind blowing over Lake Michigan to stop ruffling the surface of the water.

      Not that he expected his financial problems to last for long, Paul reassured himself. He was twice as shrewd as Ron had ever been, and the fact that he’d been unable to raise any new investment capital since Ron’s disappearance didn’t mean that the Chicago business community thought that Ron had been blessed with better instincts for turning a profit. How could anyone think that? Paul would never accept that good ole boy Ron, dragged up by a ranching family in the wilds of Wyoming, had been smarter than him—the eldest son and heir to a fine Southern family with roots growing three hundred years deep in the rich Georgia soil.

      Changing the bike settings back to his liking, Paul flicked the switch