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“He might technically still have been working for the PI outfit,” Hammond said. “Does Ms. Hollis think he could have been the one who grabbed her kid?”
No, she thinks the guy is dead wasn’t something Seth was prepared to share.
“That’s a possibility. He was a sometime-driver for Winstead, but she thought he was more of a bodyguard.” He hesitated. “During the months while she was trying to find an opportunity to leave the bastard, this McCormick was always there, watching her.”
“All right,” Hammond said readily. “I’ll start digging.”
Question was: Would he unearth a body?
Chapter Fourteen
Robin shut the bathroom door in Michael’s face, wishing it had more than one of those useless little push-button locks that could be opened with a bobby pin. Jacob could probably pop it.
Not that Michael would try. No, he’d just linger where he’d be sure to see her when she came out.
That seemed to be the Renner men’s plan: keep an eye on her at all times. Since Jacob also tended to trail her, she was about ready to go seriously crazy.
She closed the toilet seat and sat down, digging her fingers into her hair and tugging. What would they do if she didn’t come out?
Fiddle that stupid lock to open the door, that’s what. In Michael’s case, he’d act solicitous, be anxious to know why she felt compelled to hide. Seth would just give her a smoldering look that said he was as frustrated as she was. And yes, sexual frustration definitely contributed to her mood. There was no way that she and Seth could make love again in this house with his father home. And where would they go that they couldn’t be followed? Outside, where anyone could walk right up to them? Head to his house, leaving Jacob vulnerable with only an injured man to guard him?
She and Seth hadn’t talked about it. The closest they came was the first night after Michael was released from the hospital, when Seth walked her to her bedroom door and murmured, “Damn, I want to haul you off to my bed.”
She’d squeezed her thighs together in a futile effort to stifle the powerful bolt of need.
Yesterday, during Jacob’s naptime, Seth all but dragged her outside and around the corner of the house where he could kiss her until she was limp. Then he’d escorted her back to the deck where he gave her updates from his contact at Seattle PD.
He’d probably wanted to kiss her before giving her the bad news. Braedon McCormick had vanished within a time frame that fit with her having caved in his head.
“There’s a lot that’s hinky about it, though,” Seth had added. “Why wouldn’t Winstead have reported the death, if in fact he came home to find this guy dead? If your ex suspected you, he could have gotten you in trouble, which I’d expect him to enjoy. If he’d called 9-1-1 without mentioning you, SPD would have investigated the death under the assumption there’d been an intruder. I doubt they’d have considered him a suspect. Instead, it’s looking as if he buried the body or dumped it in the Sound.”
She didn’t get it, either, although she repeatedly mulled over something else Seth had thrown out. What if she hadn’t killed Brad McCormick? Furious because his trusted employee had screwed up, her ex-husband could have finished the job, but realized he’d likely left forensic evidence that would give him away.
She’d seen Richard’s icy rage when an employee hadn’t jumped high enough when he snapped his fingers. Yes, he was capable of murder in a temper as well as killing in cold blood—or, as the law put it, with malice aforethought. Say, an ex-wife who’d had no business leaving him.
With a sigh, she finally gave up and left her bathroom refuge to find Seth and Michael engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation in the kitchen. Seth broke off midsentence, and both their heads turned the instant she appeared.
“You okay?” Seth asked.
“I’m fine.” She’d chosen his least favorite words in the world.
His jaw muscles knotted.
She crossed her arms. “What were you two talking about?”
“Making plans,” he said shortly.
“While I was safely out of earshot?”
