Dark and Deadly

“I’d love to,” Pam quipped, picking up her bag.

“Har, har. Would you mind getting me something to read too? Like a magazine or something?”

“Your wish is my command.” Pam dug around in her capacious purse and pulled out a People magazine, along with an InStyle and the Moore Manor spring issue.

“The Moore Manor’s the most interesting, of course. Wait till you hear who they picked for Fall. Enjoy. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Pam skipped out the door, a woman on a mission. Torie was about to buzz the nurse when another man walked in. Unfamiliar, but obviously a cop. He was gray-haired, but fairly young. As evidence, he immediately flashed a badge.

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Hagen, but I’m Officer Tibbet. I’m here about your—” he consulted a notepad. “cousin, is it? Mister Devereaux Chance?”

“Yes, do you know how he is? My friend’s gone to check on him.”

“He’s been out of surgery for a while now, and the nurses say he’s doing great, considering.”

“Surgery,” Torie managed weakly, envisioning all manner of terrible things.

“Yeah. You knew he was stabbed, yes?”

“Yes. The other officers, the fire investigators, they told me.”

“He got some licks in, too, evidently. Your cousin’s no slouch in the self-defense area, I’m guessing.”

“No, I’m sure he’s very proficient. I know he did a stint with some kind of bodyguard business, or something.”

“Hmmm, yeah, I’m figuring it’s the ‘or something’ part, but either way, he fought back. Problem was he got a whack on the head as part of the package, so he didn’t get a look at his attacker.”

The officer took her through the same time line the detectives had, but he dug deeper into her dating habits and her situation with Todd, searching for a link among the men she’d dated. A link other than her.

“The investigators gave me their data, what they pulled out of the database. This is the run of all the guys who uh,” he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I wonder if you’d look over this list, and see if I’ve left anyone off.”

She looked. Read the notes he’d penciled in next to each name: burglary, vandalism, arson. Arson. Two hit- and-run accidents, identity theft issues—although that one had been weird. The culprit had actually closed everything and told the credit bureaus the guy was dead.

The only one missing from the list was Christian.

Closing her eyes against the continued pain in her heart, she told him about her dates with Christian, and what had happened.

“Hit-and-run?”

“That’s what they told me.”

Tibbet took Christian’s name and last address, and jotted down the date of his death.

Where was Todd? Paul Jameson paced the lush confines of his office, worrying over the whereabouts of his best friend. He was sure that Todd was in trouble, just as he was sure that Torie Hagen had something to do with it. He’d told the police, when he reported Todd missing that she was the one with the most to gain by Todd being in trouble.

After all, she stood to inherit everything.

Not that she knew that. Unless Todd had been stupid enough to tell her.

He hoped Todd hadn’t been that rash.

The woman was a menace. Everything she touched—especially Todd—was damaged. He’d been glad when Todd had left her. There had been a time when he wanted her for himself. Even now he could see her, picture her athletic build and her twinkling brown eyes. Thinking about her, though, brought him around to the memory of her terrified face, from the incident in college to the look on her face as she socked Todd at the church.

Neither memory was pleasant, and pretty much negated any feelings of warmth he’d ever had for her in the first place. And, of course, after the disaster at the church, she’d run away, leaving Todd and Paul to clean up the mess.

“Mister Jameson? There are two investigators here about a fire.” His starchy assistant sounded affronted at the very idea of the officers.

“A fire? Todd?” Paul hurried toward her and the door. “Send them in.”

“Of course,” she said, unbending enough to add, “I hope everything’s all right with Mister Peterson.”

“I do, too, Martha. I do, too.”

“Gentlemen.” Martha ushered the two men into the office, where Paul shook their hands and showed them to the chairs opposite his desk. “How can I help you? Have you heard from Todd? Found him?”

“We’re not missing persons, Mister Jameson. We’re fire investigators. I’m Investigator Sorrels, he’s Chief Marsden. We’re here about a fire at Victoria Hagen’s home. Could you tell us where you were between six and eight p.m. last night?”

“Torie? A fire? Oh, my God. Is she okay?”

“You seem concerned, Mister Jameson,” Chief Marsden drawled. “I’ve been given to understand that there’s bad blood between the two of you.”

“Bad blood?” Paul could hear the harshness of his own words. “Not so much that I’d torch her house. As to your