Sympathy for Errol Dickerson filtered through him, along with anger at the murder of his son. The question was how to prove it.
Picking up the phone, he dialed the Dallas Police Department and asked for Heath Ford. Heath was a homicide detective, best on the force as far as Chase was concerned.
The phone picked up. “Detective Ford.”
“It’s Chase Garrett, Heath. I’ve got a problem...a case I’m working that’s looking more and more like a homicide. I’m hoping you can help.”
“That’s what I’m here for. What have you got?”
Chase filled his friend in on the possible thallium murder of James Dickerson by his wife, Betsy, and the man they suspected was her lover, Dr. Bernard Atwood, the motive primarily greed.
Heath promised to look into the case and get back to him.
At six thirty Chase drove his pickup out of the parking lot onto Blackburn Street, then took Highway 75 down to Harper’s warehouse office on South 2nd Avenue, about a fifteen-minute trip.
When he walked through the main door of the building, Pete stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Harper’s suite of offices, a tall, thin guy in a dark blue Maximum Security uniform, a pistol in the belt around his waist.
“How’s it going?” Chase asked as he walked toward him.
“Been quiet. Same for Rich.”
Chase nodded. “I’ll take over from here. Have a good evening, Pete.” Chase pounded up the stairs, saw the office door swing open and Harper step into the hallway. She spotted him and met him at the top of the landing.
Wearing brown leggings and a yellow knit sweater with a stand-up collar and the EC parrot on the front, she looked way better than good. But then she always did.
Chase ignored a slide of heat that went straight to his groin. “You ready to go?”
“More than ready. It’s been a long day. I talked to your guy Rich a little earlier. He seemed very nice. He said he hadn’t seen any sign of the Buick.”
“Neither has Pete. He took over at four.”
“Maybe the guy won’t be back.”
“Or maybe he’s waiting for you to let down your guard—which we aren’t going to do.”
She made no comment, but her jaw looked a little tight. She wanted him out of the picture, wanted to keep him at arm’s length. It wasn’t going to happen. Not if he could help it.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he set a hand at her waist, which Harper shook off, and they walked to his pickup. From the warehouse, he drove toward her town house on Armstrong. It was Friday night, the streets busy, pedestrians strolling the sidewalks, couples walking in and out of local restaurants.
“I just realized how hungry I am,” Harper said as the Dodge rolled along.
“You want to stop somewhere and eat?”
She sighed. “I’m tired. Let’s just order some Chinese or something when we get to the house.”
He knew she was thinking that after they ate, she’d be able to go upstairs and not have to spend time with him. “All right,” he reluctantly agreed.
When they got to the town house, Chase checked for any sign of a break-in, found none and returned to the living room.
Harper looked up at him with those big blue eyes and a trace of vulnerability, and guilt trickled through him. He’d vowed to protect her and yet he had hurt her. He wondered if she had any idea how much she meant to him.
“So what should we order?” she asked. “Chinese or pizza?”
Chase knew exactly what he wanted. His gaze ran over her sleek curves, down those long legs in a pair of tight leggings and sexy high heels. Something shifted in the air between them, seemed to heat and thicken around them.
When he caught Harper looking at him with the same hungry need burning through him, Chase made a decision. Setting his hands at her waist, he drew her in front of him, close enough they were touching full length.
“Dinner can wait,” he said, and bent his head to kiss her.
