Cutting Edge: A Novel of Suspense Page 4

  “Agent English!” Rich Belham called, waving his arms to get her attention.

  Her voice was as cold as her expression. “Let’s take it inside.”

  Lance Sanger agreed, though he wasn’t giving up the argument. Duke followed them. Nora glanced at him, then looked skyward as if asking God: Why her?

  Because we are good together.

  Duke met Nora when a local congressman, a friend of Duke’s partner J. T. Caruso, had received death threats. Duke was attracted immediately upon laying eyes on the woman. But as soon as they had actually started working the case, he’d also known there was something more than physical lust between them. Nora knew it, too. She just denied it. Too vehemently.

  “With all due respect, Nora,” Sanger said, “I knew Jonah Payne. He was a local-boy-done-good story, born right here in Auburn, left for college and came back to build his business. Brought jobs, good jobs, to town.”

  The undercurrent of accusation in Sanger’s tone was clear: If you’d put them in prison already, Jonah would be alive.

  Her words were laced with ice. “We’ve followed every lead, Lance. This case isn’t being ignored. And you damn well know that.”

  Sanger grunted. “People are talking, Nora. They want to know why we—why I—haven’t arrested Leif Cole.”

  Nora softened a fraction. “I understand your position, and I’m doing everything I can. I know something about the rules—and which ones I can bend, and which ones are only suggestions. I don’t want this group out any more than you do. But you know very well that Professor Cole isn’t setting these fires.”

  “But he may know who is.”

  They stepped into the lobby, the stone floor slick with an inch of water. Two firemen, coats off, took an ax to the wall between the research offices and the lobby.

  Nora tilted her head to the side. “I’ve interviewed Cole half a dozen times. You know him personally. Would he keep quiet if he knew who had set these fires?”

  “I don’t know.” Sanger ran a hand over his buzz cut.

  “And neither do I.”

  “Do we have confirmation that the victim is Jonah Payne?”

  “Not yet, but we’re almost positive. Visually, even with the second- and third-degree burns, the victim resembles Dr. Payne. Same height and build, discovered in his office, his vehicle is parked in the rear of the building, registered to him. He wore glasses like Dr. Payne. We will identify personal artifacts, and when we move the body we’ll check for a wallet and any identification, and if possible, the coroner will print him.”

  “I’d like to see him,” Duke said.

  Nora looked at him, unable to hide her compassion and empathy. “You don’t need to—”

  “I do.”

  Her chin quivered, just for a second, and she took his hand. She understood; he didn’t have to explain. “I’m really sorry.”

  Duke squeezed her fingers. He’d take her sympathy, but what he really wanted was justice.

  “You were about to say something else,” he said, watching her dark gray eyes. Duke had always been drawn to Nora’s eyes—she was the only woman he knew who had truly gray eyes, and they were gorgeous, especially with her long lashes and red lips.

  She waited a beat.

  “You know I have clearance,” he said.

  “I know.” She pulled her hand from his. He didn’t let it go without a tug. “My instincts tell me that Cole is not directly involved, but he either knows or suspects who is. He supports legitimate civil disobedience, but he’s never advocated murder, nor is he a dyed-in-the-wool anarchist. I’ve read all his writings, even went to his big speech two months ago. He wants a stop to all biotech research. There is no middle ground with him. But you can’t arrest someone for expressing an opinion.”

  “You can arrest someone for inciting a riot,” the sheriff interupted.

  “He didn’t.”

  “He’s pushing those kids to burn down private property!”

  “He’s not telling them to.”

  “Not in so many words—”

  “I don’t have to tell you how the First Amendment works, Lance. We’ve had this conversation too many times before. I’ll be talking to Professor Cole again. You have to stay out of this.”

  Nora sounded extremely confident, but Duke also knew that it was extremely difficult to build a case for domestic terrorism. It usually took years before the FBI had enough evidence to get a warrant, and Duke was not that patient.

  Sanger fumed. “This fire is in my jurisdiction!”

  “And my unit is in charge of all cases of domestic terrorism. I don’t want to pull rank. I need your help—”

  “Doesn’t sound like you want any help.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  Sanger grunted. “You don’t know these people like I do.”

  Nora’s expression darkened, and her hands clenched so tight that her knuckles turned white, though she tried to hide them behind her back. Nora always tried to conceal her tells. It worked with other people, but not Duke.

  “On the contrary, Sheriff, I know these people a hell of a lot better than you or anyone.” She turned to Duke. “If you want to view the body, Rogan, come with me. Then I’d like you to walk me through the security system.”

  Duke watched Nora stride purposefully down the wide hall toward Jonah’s office, not looking back. She was upset and angry, out of character for her about something so small as Sheriff Sanger’s tit-for-tat argument. Duke had intentionally avoided using his resources to look into her background, though he’d been tempted more than once because few women had intrigued him like Nora English. He’d always suspected Nora had depth of character and experience that outweighed her thirtysome years.

  He’d dated so many women in law enforcement and the military that they’d begun to blend together, the many chips on their shoulders weighing down any chance of true joy. But the society women who’d filled his dance card these last few years also held no lasting attraction—Duke had grown bored with fancy dinners, charity balls, and falseness. It was only Nora he thought about time and time again, and the need to find out everything he could about her … from her lips.

  “Icy bitch,” Sanger mumbled. “I’m getting some coffee. Good luck with her.”

  Good luck with her.

  He needed good luck with Nora in more ways than Sheriff Sanger even suspected.

  Nora didn’t care whether either of the men followed her. She was so angry right now they’d better just stand down for two minutes. Why had she let Sanger get to her? She knew him, knew his type, had been able to manage the sticky relationship for years. The sheriff was more than willing to do anything she asked related to the case, and his two decades’ experience in the sheriff’s department was immensely valuable to the task force. But his personal connection to Professor Leif Cole, and the animosity he felt toward his old friend, was clouding his judgment. They’d been friendly up until Cole’s name had been mentioned during the course of the investigation into the first arson. Now she and Sanger barely tolerated each other.

  Of course he didn’t know her or her past. In fact, aside from a few people she worked with and Quin, no one knew she’d put her mother in prison. They could find out without looking too hard—the records weren’t sealed—but it wasn’t something she talked about.

  And then Duke Rogan—of all people!—showed up. He drove her absolutely crazy with his arrogant conviction that eventually she’d go out with him. Just because he was attractive, with that black Irish charm, that dark wavy hair, those blue eyes, and that dimple. And he was smart. And confident. And yes, dammit, she was attracted to him, but she didn’t have time for too-smart, too-sexy men who distracted her from her job. She didn’t want to make the time for Duke Rogan or anyone else. She’d avoided any personal involvement for four years of on-again, off-again working projects. The problem was that it was harder each time to withstand his appeal. And he knew it, which irritated her immensely.

  Focus on th
e case.

  The work always grounded her.

  She hadn’t noticed Duke following her until he said, “I know Leif Cole is a professor at Rose College, but what’s his story? Why is the sheriff so gung-ho certain he’s involved?”

  Nora stopped inside the threshold of the research wing and turned to face him.

  “Cole is a social science professor and has been involved in several high-profile demonstrations and speeches against biogenetic research specifically, and biotechnology as a whole. He has several arrests for civil disobedience and trespassing, spent a few months in jail, but has never been arrested for violence or arson.”

  “But Sanger thinks he’s involved.”

  “Look, Cole’s a prick, but he’s hardly the raving lunatic Lance Sanger makes him out to be. The First Amendment protects his speech, and we have no proof that his vitriol intentionally incited violence.”

  It would help if Cole had been more forthcoming with their investigation, but in the absence of proof, Nora couldn’t do a damn thing except keep digging. If they overreacted and brought Cole in—or, worse, arrested him—he would be a martyr. She was not letting Cole—if he was involved—or anyone else get off on a technicality. Cases like this were painstakingly built to insure that a conviction held up. Without proof, she’d never get a warrant past her superiors. Without evidence, she couldn’t build a case. If she tossed aside the rules, a killer could walk free.

  She’d seen it happen more than once. It would not happen to her.

  “Do you have someone undercover? Someone in his classes? Talking to his students?”

  Nora didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking, especially when it involved Duke Rogan.

  “Don’t even think about it, Duke.”

  He looked at her wide-eyed, but hardly innocent. “I was just asking.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s always good to see you, Nora. I’m sorry it’s here.”

  She shook her head. “Just stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Save it.”

  “For later?” he asked, hopeful.

  He was playing her. She wasn’t going to bite.

  “You can consult, but that’s it.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  He glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to Payne’s office and sobered immediately. Her heart went out to him, against her better judgment. The victim was Duke’s friend, after all, and even after everything she’d seen and done in her life, Nora still retained compassion. It was human empathy that separated the cops from criminals. “Are you sure—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted, all humor gone. “Let’s do it.”

  She touched his arm and squeezed. “It’s pretty bad, Duke.”

  Duke braced himself for the worst. He pulled together his reserves, but was barely prepared for the sight of Jonah Payne’s burned body when Nora moved away from the door.

  Jonah was laid out on a white sheet, in the process of being transported. The last time Duke had seen his friend was a month ago, at an end-of-summer party at Jim’s house. Once the security system went online five years ago, Duke wasn’t needed any longer, just came by a couple times for diagnostic testing, ran background checks, hired I.T. staff as necessary. Most of the system’s maintenance was done by the I.T. team, not Rogan-Caruso. Why was it that life, careers, commitments interfered with friendship? With the advances that Rogan-Caruso had been making over the years, the last full day off he had was a friend’s wedding more than two months ago. Even Sundays, when he tried to ignore business and take the boat on the river during the summer or go skiing in the winter, inevitably ended as working days.

  A blonder, shorter, younger, and spunkier woman than Nora trekked over from the far corner. She gave him a full-body graze before turning to the FBI agent and saying, “It’s the same accelerant. I’ll take the samples back to the lab, but I know. But get this—the victim had no shirt on.”

  “Wasn’t it burned off?” Nora asked.

  “Nope, no shirt. His back has no burns. There’d be remnants of a shirt beneath him had he been wearing one, but the fire didn’t burn long enough to incinerate clothing. There’s nothing.”

  Nora frowned. She was about to ask a question, then glanced at Duke. “Quin Teagan, Duke Rogan. Quin is a state arson investigator on the DOMFOR task force. Duke Rogan is with Rogan-Caruso, Butcher-Payne’s security company.”

  Quin smiled in surprise. “You’re Duke Rogan?” She glanced at Nora. Duke had the distinct impression that Nora had discussed him with this woman. Somehow, that made him both hopeful and apprehensive.

  Nora asked Quin, “Is it okay for Duke to get a closer look at the body for a positive ID?”

  “Sure. Look, don’t touch.” She smiled again at Duke, and he didn’t miss the double entendre. “Sis, can I talk to you a sec?”

  Sis? Quin Teagan was Nora’s sister? Curious. He wanted to know what they were saying when the women walked to the far corner of the room—it obviously had something to do with the arson—but he was drawn to the doorway.

  “You can come under the tape,” the M.E. said, “if you need a closer look. But walk only on that path.” He pointed to a white sheet that had been spread from the doorway to the body. “We’re trying to minimize contamination of evidence.”

  Duke lifted the tape to stoop under. He took three steps toward the body and stopped.

  The corpse was red and black, much of the skin completely gone. Little hair, no shirt, barely looking human. Duke didn’t want to contemplate the smells that mingled with smoke and smoldering metals.

  “He didn’t suffer,” the M.E. said with compassion.

  “How do you know?”

  “He was found on his back. He was at least unconscious when the fire started.”

  “You can tell how he died from the autopsy, right?”

  “It depends; fire fatalities are among the trickiest to pin down a cause of death.”

  Duke focused on identifying the body, but one look and he was certain it was Jonah. Even with the burns, it was him. If there were any doubt, seeing his wedding band, covered in soot, on the left ring finger, even though his childhood sweetheart was twelve years in the grave, would have convinced him. But he didn’t need the ring, or the glasses, or the other evidence. It was Jonah.

  “Rest in peace, my friend,” he whispered.

  He walked back to the doorway, a deep sadness battling with a driving need to know the truth. He glanced at Nora and her sister the arson investigator, who were huddled in the corner. Nora looked at him. He nodded, glanced back at Jonah, then left the building. As soon as he stepped out into the fresh dawn air, he breathed easier.

  He pulled out his iPhone and called his little brother. Sean had been wanting to be more involved with Rogan-Caruso business, and this was the perfect time to give him an assignment.

  Sean answered with a groan. “It’s six-fifteen in the morning, Duke.”

  “You’re going back to school.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Hell yes. Shower and dress, I’m picking you up in one hour.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Nora listened to Quin’s theory. It made some sense, but Nora had more questions. “How can you tell they took the animals instead of releasing them? And how do you know that any animals were here in the first place?”

  “On my way back from San Francisco I had Devon working on my laptop doing some research on Butcher-Payne—”

  “Devon? Who the heck is Devon?”

  “I told you I was in San Francisco on a date.”

  Nora blinked. “I—I guess I assumed you’d gotten back together with Josh.” They’d broken up two weeks ago.

  Quin rolled her eyes. The habit had irritated Nora when she was a teenager, and it irritated her more now.

  “When have I ever gotten back together with any of my old boyfriends?”

  She had a point. “And who’s this Devon? Why are you bringing him into a federal
investigation?”

  “Ouch, a little passive-aggressive there, Nora?”

  “Quin, I had two hours of sleep before the phone rang. Can you just answer the question?”

  “Devon is a doctor. He’s all over the biotech stuff. He’s a good guy, not an arsonist or rabble-rouser. I’m not an idiot, Nora.”

  She silently counted to ten. “I’m sorry. I’m testy.”

  “Really,” she said sarcastically. “I think you need to take Duke Rogan to bed. My God, Nora, I can’t believe you didn’t go out with him when he asked! Are you insane?”

  Nora glanced over at Payne’s office. Duke Rogan wasn’t there.

  Quin laughed. “Made you look. He walked out two minutes ago.”

  “Let’s not talk about my sex life.”

  “What sex life?”

  “Quin—”

  “Damn, Nora, you had that hot guy interested in you and you put him off?” She shook her head.

  “The animals, Quin.”

  “Right, the bunnies.”

  “Bunnies?”

  “Well, I don’t know what critters Payne had around, but Devon looked up their projects online—at least what they have publicized. Though they have patents for developing nanotechnology—”

  “Nano? Like biocomputer cells?”

  “Beats me, I haven’t a clue, though I bet Duke Rogan does.” She winked. “He could give Apollo a run for his money.”

  “Apollo?”

  “He looks like an Apollo to me. Zeus is too old—”

  “Quin!”

  “Right. All business, all the time.”

  Nora reluctantly realized that Duke probably did know a lot about nanotechnology, but she didn’t want to ask him if she could get the answers from Quin or someone else. She really didn’t want to bring Duke in as a civilian consultant, but he did have clearance and expert knowledge in security, as well as being familiar with Butcher-Payne.

  “Forget I told you about Duke, Quin, or I’ll never talk to you again about men. What did—”

  Quin interrupted. “Do I hear a bit too much protesting?”

  “Tell me what your boyfriend said, Quin.”

  Quin knew when to get serious. “Okay, so their big thing used to be nanotech, but they shifted gears a couple years ago and are now heavily involved in gene therapy. Looking for a cure, or an inoculation, for the avian flu. It’s a particularly strong virus that can be spread from birds to people. Other strands can be transferred from pigs to—”