Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

Eduardo?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So you’re figuring that either White or Kirby was good for Lee Mandel’s murder too?” Sam asked.
    “Not White. He’d never heard the name. Didn’t know McCloud or the missing sapphires, didn’t know Kate Chandler, and hadn’t been to Florida since they put out a warrant on him for jumping bail on a DUI hearing three years ago.”
    “Maybe White was lying about that.”
    “Why bother? He’d already cut his deal with us. Kill two, kill three, kill thirteen, no matter,” Doug said. “You only get one life sentence without possibility of parole.”
    “What about Kirby then? He had the sapphire.”
    “That’s how we’re seeing it.”
    Sam hesitated. “So we’re thinking Sizemore was the guy on the distorter?”
    “Sizemore or anyone who had access to knowledge stored on his computer.”
    “And the ability to be accepted by the old-boy ex-military types,” Sam pointed out.
    “Yeah. Sizemore fits all the requirements. Why aren’t you sounding happy about it?”
    “Because I’m not.”
    “Your gut?”
    “I guess.”
    “You’ve got an interesting gut,” Doug said, “or have you already heard from Kennedy?”
    “Heard what?”
    “Sizemore never lifted the needle on the lie detector. Not once. We go to trial with what we have now and his lawyer will kill us.”

Chapter 66
    Scottsdale
    Sunday
    11:45 P.M .
    “You sure you can’t spend the night?” Peyton asked Sharon as they stood outside his hotel room door. “You know I don’t mind if you work.”
    “That’s why we’ve lasted so long,” she said, smiling and shifting the computer case to her other hand. “You let me be me.” Her smile faded and the nerves she’d been trying to hide showed in the line of her mouth. “Not tonight. Dad needs me.”
    “What’s going on, honey? You can tell me.”
    “No, he’d never forgive me.”
    Peyton smiled without humor. “Then the rumors are true.”
    “What rumors?” she asked sharply.
    “That Ted Sizemore got caught with his hand in the jewelry jar.”
    Sharon looked away and told herself that there was still time, it would be all right, everything would be all right. “Where did you hear that?”
    “You should get out more. It’s the talk of the trading floor.”
    She drew a swift breath and shook her head as though he’d slapped her. “There’s not one bit of proof!”
    “He may be a son of a bitch, but he’s still your daddy, is that it?”
    She just looked frayed and jumpy as a feral cat.
    “Listen,” Peyton said urgently. “You don’t have to go down with his boat. We can find a way to put your expertise to work. I’ll finance you through this mess. Change the name of the company. In a year or two people will forget and you’ll be running your own security operation. Hell, you run it now. Your daddy’s just the front. We can get through this. Together.”
    For a long moment she looked at Peyton’s earnest face and intent eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he really cared about her, perhaps even loved her. But she knew that at his core, he didn’t care about anyone but himself, which meant he was after something. Maybe sex. Maybe something else.
    Maybe she’d give it to him.
    Maybe she wouldn’t.
    “I’ll think about it,” she said tightly. “Thanks.”
    Peyton kissed her with something very close to relief. “We’re a great team. I don’t want to lose that.”
    She slid out of his arms. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    He watched her stride down the hallway between rows of framed flower prints and heavy wallpaper. Her shoes didn’t make a sound on the thick rug with the hotel’s logo woven in gold against a red background.
    “Sharon?”
    She looked over her shoulder.
    “Don’t wait too long, honey. I don’t want things to change.”
    She understood what Peyton didn’t say—if her father went down, she’d go down with him unless she started damage control very quickly.
    And if she went down, her affair with Peyton was over. He’d regret it, but he’d drop her just the same, because hanging on would shadow his reputation, which would cost money. Business first, last, and always.
    Men were predictable. Heartbreakingly, humorously, hatefully predictable.
    “I won’t,” she said.
    She supposed most women were predictable too.
    If there was a god, he or she must be laughing its ass off over all the predictable monkeys running in circles, whining and clutching their gonads.
    Sharon wasn’t going to be