Harlan didn’t know the deputy well enough to know whether his grimace denoted finding something disturbing during the search of Trevor Lewis’s apartment-or finding nothing at all.
The answer was both. Sort of.
“The sheriff doesn’t think this is automatically actionable, by itself,” Jeff explained in an apologetic tone, laying a manila envelope on the table in front of Harlan. “But it’s not
Harlan eyed the envelope, torn between anticipation and dread. Jeff pushed it toward him, giving silent assent to go ahead and take a look at what was inside.
Harlan opened the envelope flap and carefully emptied the contents onto the table surface. A small collection of eight-by-ten photographs lay in front of him.
“Sheriff Hale said it was okay to show them to you, since you’re heading up the governor’s shindig tonight,” Jeff said.
Harlan flipped through the photographs, his stomach tightening with rage as he saw the subject matter. The photographs depicted the interior of a small but well-furnished bedroom. Big iron bed, expensive-looking bedding and curtains. A low, wide dresser with a mirror took up most of one wall. And on the dresser, filling almost every available inch of surface stood a series of framed photographs.
Photographs of Stacy Giordano.
“That sick son of a-”
“I know.” Jeff Appleton nodded with understanding. “I don’t know what law he’s broken by doing that, but I don’t see how we can just ignore it, either, especially after what happened at the ranch yesterday.”
Harlan looked back through the photographs again, paying particular attention to the close-up shots of the framed images on the dresser. They were all clearly candid shots of Stacy, taken without her knowledge, save for an ominous-looking image near the end of the dresser. That photo had clearly been clipped from the Austin newspaper only a few short days ago.
The photo depicted Stacy, dressed in her grimy, rumpled business suit, her face bloodied and haggard. It had been snapped just after she’d freed the governor from the collapsed dais; Harlan remembered seeing it the day it came out in the paper. Her gaze fixed on something beyond the camera lens, she looked shell-shocked and tragically beautiful, but Harlan doubted, somehow, that the aesthetic appeal of the shot was what had compelled Trevor Lewis to clip it from the newspaper.
Harlan clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. “It may not be enough to take him into custody, but it’s enough to give the governor cover to fire him.”
Appleton nodded soberly. “The sheriff gave me permission to let you take these copies to the governor as evidence. I don’t know if he’s dangerous to Stacy or not, but it’s not a risk I think anyone wants to take.”
“What about his connection to Planet Justice?” Harlan asked. “Did you find anything incriminating?”
“Some literature. Some black bloc-style clothing in his closet. But those things aren’t illegal, and we didn’t find any bomb-making material anywhere in the apartment.” Jeff shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he’s not the bomber, though. Maybe he wouldn’t want explosives where he lived. That’s a high-end apartment for someone who works as a stable hand. He’s got to have income coming from somewhere else.”
“His parents are wealthy,” Harlan said. While he’d waited for Jeff Appleton to return from the search of Lewis’s apartment, he’d heard from Vince Russo with more on Trevor Lewis’s background. He came from a wealthy family in the San Mateo area, wealthy enough to indulge his love for horses by subsidizing his work as a stable groom without incurring any real hardship for themselves.
“If he has money, maybe he rents or owns another place where he keeps the explosives,” Appleton suggested.
“CSI is already looking into his finances,” Harlan assured him. He eyed the weary-looking deputy. “Are you done for the day or do you have to go in to work?”
“I’m done for now-I’m part of the sheriff’s detail of extra officers you requested to back up your men at the fundraiser.” Jeff stifled a yawn. “Charlotte Manning’s going to be watching Zachary anyway, so she said she’d be happy to keep an eye on Abby for me.” He glanced toward the hall to the bedroom. “I’d better get Abby up and go check her into school. Did she wake up at all?”
“No. She won’t know you were ever gone.” Harlan couldn’t help but think about Zachary when he said the words. He glanced at his watch and saw with alarm that it was after eight o’clock. Stacy would have taken Zachary to school a half hour ago. She was probably waiting for him in her office, wondering why the hell he’d bugged out on her.
He kind of hated to tell her what had been going on while she slept. If the sight of those photos creeped out Harlan, what would they do to Stacy?
Chapter Sixteen
Harlan stopped off at the guesthouse, planning to shower and re-dress. He held out a small hope that Stacy might have gone back home before heading into the office for the big day of last-minute preparations, but when he asked the guard on duty if he’d seen her, he told Harlan that Stacy had taken Zachary to school and hadn’t returned.
Inside, he went to the hall closet to pull out fresh clothes for work but found nothing there but a few empty hangers. He shut the door, confused. Had she moved his clothes to her own closet? Was it her way of saying he was welcome in her bed for more than just one night?
But when he checked her closet, he found only her clothes. The clothes he’d shucked off last night were nowhere around.
He went back to the living room and found the answer to the mystery. His two duffel bags were sitting by the sofa, and if their shapes were anything to go by, all his clothes had been repacked inside. A folded piece of paper lay tucked under one of the duffel bag handles.
Apprehension making his gut clench, he opened the note. It was from Stacy, written in her neat, spare cursive. “Harlan, thanks for all your help. Zachary and I appreciate all you’ve done to keep us safe. With the fundraiser happening tonight, you’ll be going back to your own place, so I thought I’d go ahead and get your things together for you as a thank-you.”
She’d signed her name at the bottom. No postscript, no mention of what had happened between them the night before.
It was as if she’d decided to erase him from her life.
She’d said she wasn’t in the market for a relationship. He hadn’t been, either, until he met her and couldn’t get her out of his head.
After last night, he’d been sure she was beginning to feel the same way. In his arms, she’d been fierce and generous, taking everything he gave her and giving it right back to him. Could he have been wrong about what she was feeling?
Maybe her experience with her ex had done more of a number on her than he’d realized, he thought, refolding the note and tucking it into the pocket of his pants. If he ever ran into Anthony Giordano, he was going to have a hell of a lot to say.
Locking up behind him, he picked up the envelope full of photos he’d laid on the table by the door and headed outside. He left the truck parked in front of the guesthouse and walked the hundred yards between the guesthouse and the governor’s sprawling villa. It took him halfway there before the obvious answer for Stacy’s behavior slapped him right in the face.
He had left her bed without even leaving a note.
No phone calls to check in on her, no word at all. Just sex and a hasty escape-that’s what it would have looked like to her, wouldn’t it? No wonder she’d packed his bags and given him a brush-off note.
Stacy was in with the governor when Harlan knocked on the door. She looked up with cool lack of interest that made his chest ache. But he saw something in her eyes that convinced him she wasn’t as indifferent as she was trying to appear. A hint of pain at the sight of him, giving him evidence that he’d been right. She thought he considered her a one-night stand.
He’d disabuse her of that notion as soon as he could, but first, he had to show her and the governor what the