Taken In

Chapter One

Until she saw the stranger standing by her front door, Alex Ryan thought it was going to be a relaxing Saturday.

She’d already done the morning’s errands: oil change on her car and picking up the dry cleaning on the way home. Most of it was CJ’s clothing, as always. Alex’s wardrobe tended toward machine-washable cottons. CJ preferred silks, wool, cashmere, and other hard-to-care-for fabrics, the byproduct, Alex supposed, of growing up with a lot of money.

Now it was time for a shower and lunch with friends. A day off with CJ was always worth looking forward to—but the man standing in front of the closed door of the condo she shared with CJ produced a jolt of alarm.

The stranger was broad but not tall. He wore a black suit that didn’t fit him very well. The pants were too long, the jacket pulled too tightly across his thick shoulders. He was pacing a few steps up and down the hall, but he stopped when he spotted Alex.

More than twenty years as a cop had trained Alex to make quick assessments of people. This man looked wary but not overtly hostile. More importantly, as far as Alex could tell, he wasn’t armed. The tightness of that jacket made it hard to miss a hidden gun.

He had a shaved head and it gleamed in the overhead light. He turned his stout body toward Alex as she approached, blocking the entrance to the condo.

We’re busy, he announced. Go away.

What the hell? Alex’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch.

She stopped a few feet away, too far for him to jump her without a chance for her to escape. Who are you? she demanded.

It don’t matter. The lady don’t want to be disturbed. Now go away.

The lady? He couldn’t mean CJ. Keeping her eyes on him, Alex carefully laid the dry cleaning down on the polished wood floor so it wouldn’t wrinkle. She reached into her bag.

She pulled out a leather wallet and held it up to him. Her shield was on one side, her photo identification on the other.

I’m Captain Alex Ryan, Colfax PD. This is my condominium and I’m going inside. Move away from the door.

He peered at her badge, looking back at her face. She could see him trying to match an ordinary, average-looking, middle-aged woman with the title of police captain. She gave him a moment to think about things since it seemed to be taking him a long time.

She said, You’ve got two choices. You can leave the building now or you can tell me what’s going on. Either option, you’re getting out of my way.

Alex watched him tighten his shoulders. For a second she prepared for a swing at her head. She moved her feet apart a little, shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to move.

She saw the moment of indecision, the second of disbelief. The next minute she relaxed as his shoulders sagged and his hands dropped.

My boss, she’s inside. She don’t want nobody to bother them.

Who is your boss?

He shrugged. Dunno. I’m a driver. Picked her up this morning at the Hilton. She told me to keep anybody away. Gave me a hundred bucks. Dunno her name. He eyed Alex again, clearly disgruntled at the turn events had taken. She didn’t tell me there was gonna be cops.

Alex wondered how many priors he had. Using her best authoritative tone she demanded, Give me your identification.

He frowned but dug his wallet out. Alex slipped his commercial driver’s license from the plastic case, kept it and handed the wallet back to him.

Okay, Mr. Davis. Go downstairs and wait in your car. I’ll be sending your client down in a while.

He stared longingly at the card still in her fingers. I gotta have my license.

Behave yourself and I’ll send it down with her. Now leave.

He shook his gleaming head. She ain’t gonna like that.

I suppose not. Good-bye, Mr. Davis.

Defeated by higher authority, he rumbled down the elegant hallway, looking as out of place as overalls at a black-tie dinner.

Alex waited for the elevator doors to close behind him before she picked up the dry cleaning again. She took a couple of breaths to help clear the adrenaline thrumming through her veins. But she was still keyed up from the encounter as she unlocked the front door and went inside.

She hung the dry cleaning in the front closet of the foyer. She didn’t know who was visiting CJ, but she was beginning to have an inkling.

I’m home, she called out.

She saw CJ first, sitting on the sofa. Sitting wasn’t really the right description, Alex thought. CJ was perched on the edge of the leather couch, as if she were preparing to flee at any moment. She was staring at someone Alex couldn’t see in the easy chair.

Alex stepped into the large living room. CJ had owned the condo when they met, but Alex left her small house and moved in happily soon thereafter. She loved the size of the rooms—and the lack of yard work. In the years they’d been married, Alex had grown to think of the condo as their home together. The mystery novels Alex loved were neatly on the shelves beside CJ’s poetry and biographies. Alex’s favorite jazz music was playing softly on the sound system in the corner.

Alex knew every inch of the room. But she didn’t know the woman who was staring at her angrily from the chair.

Their visitor was meticulously dressed in a linen dress and suit jacket. Her low beige pumps were the exact shade of the purse that sat on the floor beside her. The hands that lay in her lap had several rings, including a large diamond in an old-fashioned setting on her left ring finger.

Alex took in the age spots on the hands and the ropy muscles of her neck to estimate her age. Perhaps seventy? Alex had trouble guessing because the woman had the kind of well-preserved skin, hair, and nails that only money and a determined attention to self-care could accomplish. Her fingernails looked newly done, a light pink polish that didn’t call too much attention to her manicure. Her pale skin looked as if it had never seen sunlight and she was carefully made-up, not too much rouge. The only jarring notes in her appearance were the scowl on her face and the choice she—or her stylist—had made for her hair color. It was aggressively red, no longer a color found in nature, although Alex supposed it was highly effective at covering the gray.

Even from halfway across the room, Alex could see that her eyes were a bright shade of green, a color with which Alex had intimate familiarity.

Alex could not have been more astonished if the Easter Bunny had suddenly materialized.

Mrs. St. Clair, I presume. She greeted the woman who had to be CJ’s mother.

Apparently the man is too stupid to follow the simplest of instructions, she answered tartly. Whoever you are, this is a private conversation. She had a raspy voice, more a betrayal of her age than her appearance. Alex wondered if she’d ever been a smoker.

Alex turned her gaze to CJ, who finally seemed to regain her ability to speak. CJ stood and walked to Alex’s side. She said, Mother, this is Alex. My wife.

CJ rarely referred to her as a wife, usually preferring partner, but Alex knew CJ was making a point to a woman she hadn’t seen in a very long time. By Alex’s count, it had been more than a decade since Lydia St. Clair had seen or spoken to her daughter. So what are you doing here now?

I don’t care who you are, Lydia St. Clair answered crisply. I’m having a private conversation with my daughter. Please leave.

Mama, CJ cut in sharply. She’s not leaving. This is her home too.

I doubt that. She gave Alex a probing look. I imagine your money paid for all of it. Or more precisely, your grandfather’s money.

Alex had just a moment to make a choice. She’d never had to face a hostile parent with an announcement that she was gay. Her mother had died of cancer when Alex was ten years old, and her father had died on the job when she was nineteen. She hadn’t been able to come out to herself until just a few years ago.

Falling in love with CJ had changed the world for her. For the first time, Alex was happy. They’d been through a lot together, but CJ meant everything to her.

And now this stranger, CJ’s mother, was here making CJ look both angry and frightened at the same time. Alex wasn’t having that, but she wasn’t going to fight either. It would only upset CJ more than she was already.

Alex said calmly, May I offer you something, Mrs. St. Clair? We finished the morning coffee, I’m afraid, but I’m happy to brew another pot. Or would you prefer something cold? We have iced tea or I think there’s lemonade still in the fridge.

CJ turned to her with an expression just short of astonishment. Alex smiled at her.

No, thank you, Mrs. St. Clair said through tight lips. This is not a social occasion.

Alex led CJ back to the couch and sat next to her. No, I’m sure you wouldn’t have taken the time to travel from Georgia after all this time for a social call. Please tell us what you need. She took CJ’s hand and settled in for the conversation.

Mrs. St. Clair shifted unhappily in the chair and Alex couldn’t suppress a flutter of satisfaction. There was only so much a Southern woman could do in the face of a courteous response. Alex had her outmaneuvered.

CJ gripped her fingers firmly. Alex could feel anxiety—and gratitude—in her touch.

Mrs. St. Clair began abruptly. If your father were still alive, I wouldn’t have to be here.

Alex felt rather than saw CJ’s flinch. Her father had died a couple of years ago. Mrs. St. Clair had sent word through CJ’s trustee that his daughter would not be welcome at the funeral.

CJ found her voice. What is this about, Mama? Do you need money?

Mrs. St. Clair straightened her back as if preparing for an assault. Alex couldn’t imagine what the hell was going on, but all of her instincts were on high alert.

It’s your brother, Mrs. St. Clair said at length.

Clayton? Is he sick? CJ asked.

No. He’s been arrested.

Arrested? CJ exclaimed. For what?

He’s been charged with murder.

Chapter Two

Well? Mrs. St. Clair said into the stunned silence. Haven’t you anything to say?

Did he do it? CJ rasped.

The color rose on Mrs. St. Clair’s face. "What an absurd question! Not that I should expect anything different from you, I suppose. Of course he didn’t do any such thing!"

But he’s been arrested. Charged by the district attorney. And arraigned by now, I imagine.

Yes, but he pleaded not guilty. It’s all a ridiculous mistake.

CJ shook her head. Probably not.

What on earth…

I’m a police officer, Mama.

Mrs. St. Clair’s lips tightened again in what Alex was beginning to realize was a signature expression.

Yes, I’m aware of that.

Well, just to let you know. Cops usually get it right. Not always, but almost always. If Clayton’s been charged, there are some really good reasons for it.

It’s ridiculous, her mother repeated. The local police have some sort of vendetta against him.

To Alex’s astonishment, CJ broke into a bitter laugh.

Really, Mama? Since when does the Savannah Police Department take up vendettas against well-to-do white orthodontists?

Mrs. St. Clair stirred again in her seat. Alex thought she’d never seen anyone so uneasy in an easy chair.

There’s no reason for you to be unpleasant about this situation, she snapped. Your brother needs your help. He’s been unjustly accused.

If he has been unfairly accused, I presume his lawyer will be addressing the situation. I’m sure he has the best defense attorney your money can buy.

Their visitor finally seemed to find a comfortable position. It appeared to Alex that she was only at ease if CJ was uncomfortable. Alex wanted to order this unpleasant woman out of their house, out of their lives. Send her back to the oblivion she had been in before this morning.

We hired Miller Ross from Atlanta, she said. But I can tell he’s concerned about the case. He suggested we get a private investigator to see what we could discover to prove that Clayton is innocent.

CJ said sharply, You don’t have to prove he’s innocent. The prosecution has to prove he’s guilty. All the defense has to do is raise reasonable doubt.

You don’t seem to understand the situation, Mrs. St. Clair said irritably. This has been in the news, in the papers. Everyone knows about Clayton. ‘Prominent Savannah Dentist Arrested for Murder,’ that sort of thing. It won’t be enough for him just to be found not guilty. It’s imperative to prove that he’s innocent.

CJ lifted her hand to stop the flow of words.

All right, Mama. But what do you want me to do about it? I asked you before if you needed money. Is that it?

We don’t need money. Your brother needs you.

CJ snorted. For what? Moral support? I haven’t talked to him in years.

Don’t be absurd. He needs for you to investigate the case, show where the police got it wrong.

Alex shook her head, unwilling to participate in the discussion between mother and daughter but unable to completely suppress her reaction. CJ shot her a warning look, then said flatly, Mama, even if it would do you any good, I can’t just drop everything and come. I have a job, responsibilities.

He’s your only brother, Belle. There’s no reason to turn your back on Clayton.

Other than the fact that he’s refused to have any relationship with her because she’s a lesbian, Alex thought grimly.

CJ took a long breath. Finally she said, I’m not promising you anything. I can’t just leave. But tell us what happened. Who is the victim?

Mrs. St. Clair lifted her hands from her lap and laid them on the arms of the chair. Alex could see her fingers digging into the leather. Uh-oh.

After a long time she responded, It was Amy. Someone shot her and they think it was Clayton.

CJ was on her feet in an instant. "Amy? His wife Amy?"

Ex-wife, Mrs. St. Clair corrected her. They’ve been divorced for years.

CJ was pacing now. Oh my God! Poor Amy. I can’t believe it. And…oh, Mama! What about Laura?

Well, naturally she’s very upset, losing her mother and having these terrible accusations leveled at her father.

CJ thrust her fingers through her hair.

Alex risked a question. I’ve forgotten how old your niece is. A teenager?

Mrs. St. Clair answered, She’s fifteen. I’m surprised Belle has even mentioned the girl.

Alex couldn’t help herself. Why wouldn’t she? CJ sends her a birthday card and a Christmas present every year.

Mrs. St. Clair opened her mouth and closed it again with a snap. Ah, didn’t know that, did you? Maybe your son has kept some secrets from you.

The best thing you can do for Laura, Belle, is clear her father of this absurd accusation.

CJ stopped pacing and sat down again on the couch next to Alex. She leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, and looked intensely at her mother.

You keep telling us how ridiculous the charge is, but you haven’t told us what happened.

The lips returned to their firm line. Alex could see the fine wrinkles appearing around her mouth. Her carefully applied lipstick was just bleeding into the lines. She must have been truly desperate to come here, Alex realized suddenly. She’s more than just angry. She’s terrified.

Mrs. St. Clair took a moment. She returned her hands to her lap in an effort to regain her composure.

CJ didn’t move. Alex studied her profile. Her eyes were locked on her mother, her brows drawn in slightly in an expression Alex had often seen before—in the department’s interview rooms.

Tell me what happened to Amy, CJ said in a surprisingly soft voice. Alex had already figured out that CJ must have known Clayton’s first wife. She did the math. Clayton was already married when CJ left home.

She was leaving a meeting, at her church. She was walking out to her car when it happened.

Alone?

No. It was after dark. She was walking out with a friend, another woman.

All right. So we have a witness. What did she say happened?

The restless shifting resumed. A man appeared out of nowhere, she said. He demanded Amy’s purse. Then he shot her and ran away.

And the witness identified Clayton?

Mrs. St. Clair shook her head. No, she never saw his face. He was wearing a hood or something over his head.

She stopped and CJ waited.

Finally she continued, They thought it was a robbery, of course. But the next day they found Amy’s purse in a trash can near the church. It hadn’t been touched. So then they decided that the robbery was a pretext. They arrested Clayton.

Alex said dryly, "I doubt it was