“What kind of research?”
“This and that.”
He frowned but sensed he’d not get any more from her. “No. Ain’t heard of Sugar.”
She patted her purse. “Okay. Thanks for the tape.” Without another word, he brushed past her knocking her sore shoulder. She cringed, hesitated as the pain rolled over her. She drew in a deep breath. Anxious to watch the tape, she sent a text to Colleen telling her she was leaving and headed out the front door to catch a cab.
“Looking for a ride?” Oscar McMillian stood feet away jangling his keys.
“No, thanks.”
The keys clinked as he tossed them up and caught them. “So this formal relationship we have means that I can’t give you a ride?”
“I’m afraid it does.” She gripped the handle of her satchel tighter.
He offered a smile designed to charm and influence. “I’m not a bad guy, Ms. Wainwright. I’m offering a ride.”
“Thanks. But, no. I’ll call you as soon as I have details of your case.”
“You’re being sensitive. Fussy. Like an old lady.”
Rachel glanced toward a yellow cab parked across the street, raised her hand and held it up. “Why are you pushing this?”
The slow shake of his head added to his amused look. “I’m not. You are a prude.”
“Don’t pretend to know me, Mr. McMillian.”
The smile faded. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”
The shift in his tone had her wishing they weren’t alone. “Good night, Mr. McMillian.”
McMillian advanced a step and then stopped.
Deke Morgan stepped out of the shadows. “There a problem?”
The cab stopped short of her by a block, nabbed by a pretty girl with auburn hair and a short skirt. Rachel cursed. “No. I was catching a cab.”
McMillian eyed Morgan. “I offered her a ride.”
“Which I’ve refused,” Rachel added quickly. “I’m fine as soon as I can get a cab.”
Deke whistled to a cab on the other corner, held up his badge and motioned him forward. The cab did a U-turn and in seconds was parked in front of her. “There you go.”
McMillian grinned and saluted. “Problem solved. See you in court, Ms. Wainwright.” He grinned at Deke. “Detective.”
Deke remained silent as McMillian strolled around a corner. “That guy is trouble.”
Whispered warnings agreed. “He’s a client. We shouldn’t be talking about him.”
“Don’t be fooled by his smile.”
Oddly shaken, she hid behind legal reasoning. “It takes more than a fake smile to convict a man of murder.”
“There’s plenty of evidence. And when you dig through his files you’ll see.”
“I will dig through the files and then find a way to discount it all. That’s my job.”
His smile was feral. “I’ve no doubt. Lawyers have a talent for twisting facts. You have a knack for it.”
Anger jabbed. The cab driver honked his horn. She opened the door. “Nice shot, Detective. We’ll see who manipulated the facts.”
When she reached for the door handle, he brushed her hand aside and took hold of the door. He hesitated, his body inches from hers. “Why did you go in the back room with Rudy?”
The question threw her off balance. She didn’t think anyone had noticed. “You were watching me?”
“Happened to glance over.”
He didn’t happen to do anything. “I didn’t realize I was accountable to you.”
He worked his jaw. “So you won’t answer me?”
“Nope.”
“Do you lie or hold back the truth with everyone?”
Bitter laughter rumbled in her chest. “The truth does not set you free, Detective. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
He leaned toward her. “We all have to trust someone.”
She remained steady, resisting the urge to plaster her back to the cab. “Do we? I’m not so sure.”
He pressed his finger against the hollow of her throat. “You are on a lonely path.”
Her heart rattled. “Is that experience talking? That the reason for the two divorces?”
A slight narrowing of his eyelids sharpened icy eyes, warning she’d hit a nerve. “Have a nice night, Rachel.”
The emphasis on her name roughened it in ways she didn’t like. “Thanks for the cab.”
“Any time. Be safe.”
She slid into the cab and he slammed the door closed. As the cab pulled away she felt his gaze on her. Her cheeks flushed. “Take me across town.” She gave her address.
She pulled the tape from her purse, wondering what Deke would have said if he’d known she had the tape of Annie.
At her house, she scrounged twenty bucks from her purse and paid the cab driver. She considered returning to work but the videotape weighed heavily in her purse. She fished her keys from a side pocket and got into her car. Thirty minutes later she’d bought a dozen glazed chocolate donuts, driven across the Cumberland River and stood in front of a small one-story house. The windows were barred and the front door well lit by a halogen and monitored with a camera. She dialed a number on her cell.
It rang once. “Better be good.”
“Chocolate glazed donuts.” She held the box up toward a security camera.
“How many?”
“A dozen.”
“You may enter.”
The door lock clicked open and she entered the dark house. Sid Danvers was in his early twenties and though he’d never graduated from any school he was brilliant with all electronics. She and Sid had met a year ago when she’d helped with a legal matter regarding an alleged hacking incident. She’d gotten him acquitted and he’d promised his future help in exchange for donuts.
Out of the shadows stepped a tall, thin man with long hair tied at the nape of his neck. He wore grungy jeans and a shirt embossed with Bogart’s image. He studied her. “Attorney Wainwright.”
She nodded. “Sid. Keeping your nose out of other people’s operating systems?”
“Of course.”
She knew enough not to push. She held up the box, “I need a favor.”
He took the donuts. “I did promise you one favor in exchange for donuts.”
She reached in her satchel and pulled out the VHS tape. “I want to watch this tape but don’t have the equipment.”
“That’s it?”
“Not much of a challenge, I will agree.”
“No. I’d have figured you wanted me to hack into Nashville PD computers and see what they are saying about your case. Or that reporter’s computer. That would no doubt be amusing.”
“No. This is totally legal.” Her grip on the satchel tightened. “Tell me you haven’t done that.”
A smile twitched the edge of his lips. “I have not.”
Again, better not to press. “Just the tape.”
“Do you want it transferred to a CD?”
“That would be great.” She scanned the piles of dusty, haphazardly arranged electronics. “Could we watch the tape now?”
He opened the box of donuts. “They’re still warm.”
“Out of the oven fifteen minutes ago.”
He held a donut up to his nose and closed his eyes. “We’ll watch the tape now.”
“Thanks.” Dragging in a breath, she entered the house. The main room, originally designated as a living room, was now his office and crammed full of hundreds of electronic devices. There were old projectors, computers, copiers, and a bellows camera. The stack of electronics left little floor space to maneuver, so she followed him along a narrow path to a long desk sporting four computer screens. One played a movie, the other news, the other a series of numbers, and the last satellite images.
He bit into the donut and chewed slowly. “So what do you have for me?”
She pulled the cassette from her purse. “It’s a recording of a singer performing at Rudy Creed’s thirty years ago. The singer is supposed to be Annie Rivers.”
Nodding, he gobbled the donut in two bites and then turned to his pile of electronics. He studied the collection, as a surgeon would his tools. He set several aside so he could reach an older dusty model. Chunky and thick, the machine looked awkward and clumsy.