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Authors: LISA CHILDS
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behind him. But he didn’t need to see to know that it wasn’t his brother—Logan wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him.
And if Logan had sent backup for him, whoever it was wouldn’t have pulled a gun on Parker, either. But a hired killer would....
Chapter Eight
Sharon couldn’t stop shaking, but she was no longer in shock. She was angry. Parker Payne was supposed to be the one person she could trust, but he had let the police take her down to the station. And he had just disappeared.
How could he desert her like that when she had needed him?
Because he didn’t need her. She wasn’t the mother of his son. She had no information to lead him to the person who had offered money for his murder. And hers...
She had nothing to offer Parker Payne. So he had offered her nothing. He hadn’t even acknowledged her when the police car had driven off with her in the backseat. Of course, he had been preoccupied with the auburn-haired woman.
“I have answered all of your questions,” she told the detective who sat across the table from her in the small, windowless interrogation room. “You have no reason to hold me here.”
When the officer had questioned her at the hospital, he had used an office with a window. It hadn’t been so confining and suffocating.
“You were the last one to see the Honorable Brenda Foster alive,” the detective said—again. He had kept repeating it as if that statement alone would force her to confess to something she hadn’t done.
And Brenda Foster honorable? Sharon wasn’t so sure about that. After working for her awhile and listening to her brag about how she had tricked Parker into fathering her child, Sharon had learned that her idol had had clay feet. Now Brenda had a broken neck. Sharon grimaced as an image of the woman’s dead and grotesquely contorted body flashed through her mind.
Her head pounded, too, with stress and exhaustion. Maybe that was part of why she kept shaking. “Her bodyguard was the last person to see her alive,” Sharon repeated for the umpteenth time.
“A man whose last name you don’t even know,” the detective said with the snide little smirk he had been flashing her for the past couple of hours. He was older than her but not by much, so he had apparently made detective young enough that it had gone to his head. “That’s quite convenient.”
Nothing about this had been convenient for Sharon. Maybe it was the fatigue or the headache, but her tenuous control over the anger she had been feeling snapped. “It’s quite convenient that you’re forgetting I have rights, Detective Sharpe. Rights that you haven’t read me because you have no evidence to put me under arrest.”
His smirk widened. “Now I can tell that you’ve been working for a judge for a while. So then you should know that I can hold you as a material witness—”
“I didn’t witness anything.” This time. “And I haven’t just worked for a judge.”
His voice rising with excitement, he leaned across the small, scratched-up metal table. “Oh, you and Judge Foster were more than employee and employer?” He obviously thought he had found a salacious motive for the judge’s murder. A lover’s quarrel...
Sharon couldn’t believe that such an idiot had made detective. He had to know that there was no physical way that she could have broken her boss’s neck. So with her temper rising even higher, she pulled out a card she had never played before. “I haven’t just worked for a judge,” she repeated. “I am the granddaughter of a judge.”
He leaned back and lifted a brow. “Really?”
“I am Judge Wells’s granddaughter.” It wasn’t something he had ever freely or happily admitted, but it was an irrefutable fact. Like Judge Foster, police officers had respected Judge Wells for his tough sentences.
The guy leaned forward again and he got that look on his face—that look of horror and concern—that told her he knew her story. Even as young as he was, he had
And if Logan had sent backup for him, whoever it was wouldn’t have pulled a gun on Parker, either. But a hired killer would....
Chapter Eight
Sharon couldn’t stop shaking, but she was no longer in shock. She was angry. Parker Payne was supposed to be the one person she could trust, but he had let the police take her down to the station. And he had just disappeared.
How could he desert her like that when she had needed him?
Because he didn’t need her. She wasn’t the mother of his son. She had no information to lead him to the person who had offered money for his murder. And hers...
She had nothing to offer Parker Payne. So he had offered her nothing. He hadn’t even acknowledged her when the police car had driven off with her in the backseat. Of course, he had been preoccupied with the auburn-haired woman.
“I have answered all of your questions,” she told the detective who sat across the table from her in the small, windowless interrogation room. “You have no reason to hold me here.”
When the officer had questioned her at the hospital, he had used an office with a window. It hadn’t been so confining and suffocating.
“You were the last one to see the Honorable Brenda Foster alive,” the detective said—again. He had kept repeating it as if that statement alone would force her to confess to something she hadn’t done.
And Brenda Foster honorable? Sharon wasn’t so sure about that. After working for her awhile and listening to her brag about how she had tricked Parker into fathering her child, Sharon had learned that her idol had had clay feet. Now Brenda had a broken neck. Sharon grimaced as an image of the woman’s dead and grotesquely contorted body flashed through her mind.
Her head pounded, too, with stress and exhaustion. Maybe that was part of why she kept shaking. “Her bodyguard was the last person to see her alive,” Sharon repeated for the umpteenth time.
“A man whose last name you don’t even know,” the detective said with the snide little smirk he had been flashing her for the past couple of hours. He was older than her but not by much, so he had apparently made detective young enough that it had gone to his head. “That’s quite convenient.”
Nothing about this had been convenient for Sharon. Maybe it was the fatigue or the headache, but her tenuous control over the anger she had been feeling snapped. “It’s quite convenient that you’re forgetting I have rights, Detective Sharpe. Rights that you haven’t read me because you have no evidence to put me under arrest.”
His smirk widened. “Now I can tell that you’ve been working for a judge for a while. So then you should know that I can hold you as a material witness—”
“I didn’t witness anything.” This time. “And I haven’t just worked for a judge.”
His voice rising with excitement, he leaned across the small, scratched-up metal table. “Oh, you and Judge Foster were more than employee and employer?” He obviously thought he had found a salacious motive for the judge’s murder. A lover’s quarrel...
Sharon couldn’t believe that such an idiot had made detective. He had to know that there was no physical way that she could have broken her boss’s neck. So with her temper rising even higher, she pulled out a card she had never played before. “I haven’t just worked for a judge,” she repeated. “I am the granddaughter of a judge.”
He leaned back and lifted a brow. “Really?”
“I am Judge Wells’s granddaughter.” It wasn’t something he had ever freely or happily admitted, but it was an irrefutable fact. Like Judge Foster, police officers had respected Judge Wells for his tough sentences.
The guy leaned forward again and he got that look on his face—that look of horror and concern—that told her he knew her story. Even as young as he was, he had
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