was hoping you’d do a little investigating. Talk to some people.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’m due to visit Dad. If you don’t mind, you could come along with me. He wants to thank you for helping out. And while we’re there, we can get a list of names from him. Springer execs, employees, friends who might know something. While I’m busy at the courthouse, you can try to touch base with as many of them as possible. Take some notes. Find out what people told the police. See if anyone knows or suspects anything that might help us nail the real culprit.”
Rafe knew himself to be one of those people. He had a definite theory about the whys behind the chemical dumping, and he also had what could only be described as a scrap of evidence to back it up. However, hearsay was what the authorities would call it.
Hearsay coming from anyone was, at best, flimsy proof. Coming from an Indian, it would be considered idle talk. Meaningless scuttlebutt. That was why he hadn’t gone to the police about what he’d overheard all those weeks ago. And he didn’t tell Libby now because he didn’t think he could continue working with her if he were to reveal all he knew—all he suspected—and she reacted with doubt and skepticism.
He’d hold his tongue until he knew she trusted him. He’d play his cards close to the chest for now. Focus on digging up more information so he could lay out the pieces of the puzzle for her with simple clarity, with nothing but hard evidence. If real proof of David’s innocence was out there, Rafe would find it. And it had to be out there.
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” he told her, reaching for his jacket from where it hung on the back of the chair. “Let’s go see your father.”
David Corbett was sitting alone in the cold, stark interrogation room when Rafe and Libby entered. The metal table was dented, battered, extremely utilitarian. The walls were painted a greenish gray. Drab. Lifeless. Depressing as hell, Rafe decided.
Although his face was clean-shaven, dark smudges underscored David’s eyes. His brow was puckered, his jaw tight. He looked like a man with a great deal of anxiety eating at his thoughts.
Libby smiled brightly, hurrying to his side and bending to kiss his cheek.
“Hi, Dad.” She set her leather case on the tabletop. “How are you?”
“Fine, hon. I’m just fine.” David shifted his attention to Rafe. “Rafe, it’s good to see you. Pardon me if I don’t get up.”
Rafe thought it strange when the man offered him his left hand, but quickly realized that David’s right wrist was handcuffed to the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Taking the man’s hand in both of his, Rafe pumped it vigorously.
“It’s good to see you, sir.”
David shook his head. “Stop with the sir stuff, if you don’t mind. We’re meeting here as friends. At least, I hope we are.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
Realizing what he’d said, Rafe offered up an apologetic smile and David chuckled.
“Don’t you ever doubt it,” Rafe added.
“I appreciate your wanting to help my daughter with this mess I’m in.”
Darting a quick look at Libby, Rafe saw appreciation glistening in her gaze, and his heart jumped, tendrils of heat curling low in his gut. Her gratitude shouldn’t be causing him such satisfaction, but it did.
Warning flags waved in his brain. He wished his reactions to this woman had some sort of switch he could flip off or a cord he could sever.
“Trial location arguments begin tomorrow,” Libby informed her father, getting right down to the business at hand. “It could take a couple of days, maybe more, for the judge to make his decision. While I’m busy at the courthouse, I thought Rafe could do a little interviewing.” She opened her case and extracted a yellow legal pad and pen. “Dad, can you think of anyone…anyone at all who might shed some light on things?”
She slid the pad in front of her father, handing the pen to him.
Then her brows drew together, moisture instantly shimmering in her eyes, when she evidently realized the handcuffs were going to be a detriment to him. It was so obviously hard for her, Rafe reflected, seeing her father like this. She cleared the emotion from her throat as she reached for the paper.
“How about if I take down the names?”
David placed a quelling hand on the pad. “I’ll make do, hon. I’ll make do.” He picked up the pen in his left hand.
Libby nodded, muttering, “Idiot guards.” She rose from her chair, her cheeks flushed with sudden anger, and went to the locked door. She banged on it. Hard. “Can someone come in here? Now!”
A guard appeared and she demanded that her father be released. The guard stiffly informed her that would be impossible. He did, however, agree to switch the handcuffs to David’s left wrist. All the while, Rafe sat silent, watching, his protective instinct stirring. However, rising to give the policeman more grief would do nothing whatsoever to help the situation. Once the task was performed, the guard left the room, locking the door behind him.
David was busy writing, but, with his head still bent over the pad, he softly asked, “Should we think about making a bargain?”
“What?”
Rafe heard the sharpness in Libby’s tone. Her father refused to lift his gaze from where it was glued to the task at hand.
She reached out and touched David’s forearm. “Dad,” she said, her voice more pliant, “you don’t know what you’re saying. We haven’t had a chance to view the evidence. We don’t know that a plausible case can even be made against you. Why on earth would you want to admit defeat before we’ve even had a chance to put up a fight?”
Libby seemed to run out of energy suddenly, and Rafe glanced at her. Her expression was…odd. A frown puckered her brow. Concern darkened her eyes. She was gazing off, seeming to wrestle with some troubling thoughts. The urge to reach out to her was powerful, but it was overridden by the strong, abrupt sense that he was being stared at.
David’s brown gaze narrowed on him, and Rafe was sure the man was trying to convey a message of some sort. However, when Libby’s attention returned to the moment, his head dipped, and he once again began pushing the pen against the paper.
“We can fight this, Dad. We can.”
“I know we can, hon.”
But Rafe didn’t hear much conviction in his words. David’s demeanor was strange, Rafe thought. It was almost as if he was convinced that the battle was lost even before it had begun. Not at all like the strong-willed man Rafe had expected David Corbett to be.
“I’ve done a little reading…”
Rafe only half listened to Libby, his attention homing in on David. Each and every time that the man’s daughter turned her gaze away, David would spear Rafe with a sharp, almost desperate look.
“And since the authorities aren’t pursuing Springer,” Libby continued, “that must mean that the company is cooperating with them against you. I can’t believe the upper management creeps would do that to you after all you’ve given that company.”
