Wildest Hearts

Cork?”

    “Cork may have known too much. And he was in the business of selling information. The killer might have paid Cork to get the kind of inside data he would need on Daniel's plans in order to set up the plane accident.”

    “Used Wally Thorpe to sabotage the plane and then decided to get rid of both Thorpe and Cork so there wouldn't be any witnesses?”

    “The theory fits some of the facts,” Oliver said thoughtfully.

    “If that's true, the killer was home free. No one even suggested that Lyncroft was murdered. No one noticed that Thorpe was missing. And unless you make an issue of it, chances are no one will question Cork's accident. So why is someone going out of his way now to make Annie suspicious of you and thereby raise all kinds of questions?”

    Oliver studied the city lights as Bolt drove back toward downtown. “If we assume that destabilizing Lyncroft Unlimited is not the goal, then we have to look for other motives.”

    “Daniel Lyncroft is dead. Someone may be trying to set you up as the fall guy. If he makes it work, you could conceivably wind up in prison for a very long time.” Bolt turned his head briefly to glance back at Oliver. “I'd say you were a target, Mr. Rain.”

    Oliver was silent for a moment. “But why the convoluted approach? Why not kill me outright? Why go through the trouble of murdering Daniel Lyncroft first?”

    “I don't know,” Bolt admitted.

    Oliver frowned. “And why risk the possibility that I won't be convicted of murder? After all, there's no evidence. Not even Daniel's body, let alone the sabotaged plane. I might have to hire some expensive lawyers if things get nasty, but there's not much chance that I'll end up doing time for the murder of Daniel Lyncroft.”

    “No, but the publicity would be pretty rough on the family,” Bolt said softly.

    “Yes.” Not unlike what they had all gone through fifteen years ago when his father had walked out, Oliver acknowledged silently. Only this time the pain and humiliation the others would feel would be his fault. An intolerable thought.

    “The killer may be planning to produce fake evidence,” Bolt added.

    “Complicated.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “And where the hell's the motive?” Oliver muttered.

    There was a long silence while Bolt mulled that over. “It's been my experience that there are usually just three basic motives for murder, Mr. Rain. Greed, passion, and revenge.”

    “There's no obvious financial motive,” Oliver said. “That leaves passion and revenge.”

    “I'd say revenge is the most likely one. But who do you know who would want to get revenge on both you and Daniel Lyncroft? You didn't have much in common. The two of you didn't even move in the same circles. Your only connection to Lyncroft was a business one.”

    “Until recently,” Oliver reminded him. “I'm married to his sister now. I've taken control of his company.”

    “But the two of you don't know the same people or have the same enemies,” Bolt insisted. “In fact, as you pointed out, Lyncroft didn't have any enemies at all as far as we know.”

    “That's not entirely true,” Oliver said slowly. “Daniel and I had one enemy in common.”

    “Who?”

    “Walker Gresham.” It was strange how often lately his thoughts were returning to that night in the island warehouse. “The problem is that Gresham is dead.”

    “Are you absolutely certain of that?”

    “Yes,” Oliver said, remembering the vast pool of blood on the concrete floor of the warehouse. “I'm very certain of that.”

    “Then that leaves us back at square one.”

    Annie was waiting with tea and a demand for a full accounting of the night's activities. Oliver and Bolt gave it to her. She deserved the answers, Oliver told himself. As she so often reminded him, her brother was at the heart of this. And Daniel was still at the top of Annie's list of priorities.

    “It seems to me,” Annie declared as she paced up and down Oliver's study, “that you're overlooking something here.”

    “What's that?” Oliver sipped tea and watched her as she stormed back and forth across the small room. All that feminine energy and vitality fascinated him. He could sit and watch her for hours, he thought, although if he had a choice he would rather make love to her.

    And he did have the choice. She was his wife. And she said she loved him.

    “You say Gresham is dead so he can't be the one who's behind all this.” Annie whipped around and