“Yes.” His face tightened. “She wanted me to turn around. I refused. We were almost there. Going back wasn’t an option. The road behind us was worse than what lay ahead of us.”
Bella still couldn’t see it. “Causing an accident is too risky. You couldn’t have known her injuries would be any more life-threatening than your own.”
“Unless I gave her head a couple of extra bashes against the window to ensure there was sufficient damage and then waited.” His gaze narrowed as if he were remembering. “I seem to recall at least two different accounts of what time our car was noticed. The police pressured me for a bit about the timing of my call for help.”
Her heart beat faster with his every word. She wanted to argue that he was only trying to make her uncertain of her own conclusions, but there was something in his eyes as he looked at her now...something that dared her to ignore his words.
He shrugged. “In retrospect, I suppose it was the perfect plan for getting away with murder. No murder weapon to prove I planned the act. No evidence at all to suggest anything but an accident. And the coup de grâce—half a dozen witnesses watched my frantic efforts to save my wife in that operating room.”
Bella adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Pierce. Good night.”
She walked out without looking back. He closed the door behind her without saying more.
Whatever he was hiding, it wasn’t murder. She would bet her career on that assessment.
Dr. Devon Pierce was a man of contradictions. Warm to his patients. Cold to the outside world. Pretentious and direct...and yet Bella saw an undercurrent of vulnerability and grief.
It was the latter that pulled at her defenses.
She needed to solve this case quickly...or risk falling under Devon Pierce’s enigmatic spell.
If she hadn’t already.
The Edge, Tuesday, June 5, 9:00 a.m.
Ms. Lytle had been waiting at his office door when he arrived at seven that morning.
Devon had warned her that he had work to do before they proceeded with the investigation. He refused to allow this diversion to distract him. The medical world was watching, scrutinizing every aspect of this facility’s performance. The slightest slip could create a major setback. The Edge and all it represented for the future of emergency medicine were far too important to allow anything to get in the way of forward progress.
He had provided Ms. Lytle with the assistant administrator’s office. The position was as yet unfilled, so the office was vacant. He was here sixteen or more hours most days and never far away the rest of the time. Perhaps at a later time, he would view the need for an assistant differently. For now, Patricia represented the only assistant he required. In fact, he’d already discussed with her the possibility of upgrading her position from secretary to personal assistant. She had been with him for ten years, first as his secretary at Rush and then during the development stage of the Edge. Patricia had never once let him down.
She had been most unhappy with Ms. Lytle’s request for an interview with her this morning. Now, forty-five minutes later, the private investigator had returned to her desk and so far hadn’t said a single word to Devon. He stared at the woman seated across from him now. “Patricia Ezell is above reproach. If you insulted her in some way, I would require that you apologize immediately.”
A smile lifted Isabella Lytle’s inordinately lush lips. At their initial meeting last night, he’d at first thought she wore lipstick but he recognized now that she didn’t. Her lips were naturally a deep crimson, full and wide.
“I asked the hard questions, yes, but if Ms. Ezell took offense at any of those questions, that’s unfortunate. They were all crucial. The people closest to you represent the greatest danger. Whether by design or accident, they make you vulnerable merely because they have your confidence.”
His first instinct was to argue the point but he chose to let it go. She’d already interviewed Patricia. Not another living soul knew him so well. The entire staff at the Edge had been made aware that Ms. Lytle was to be treated with respect and given complete access. “Since there is no one else to interview, what is your agenda for the day?”
He had not expected that she would stay so close. He didn’t know what he had expected. Having her study his every move was disconcerting.
Today she wore all black. Black slacks, black jacket, black sweater that hugged her throat. All that was visible of her pale skin was her face and hands. Her dark hair, as dark as the clothes she wore, had been arranged in a French twist. She might have appeared stern or harsh if not for her expressive brown eyes and that voluptuous mouth. There was a kindness, a gentleness about her eyes. Yet she emanated a firm, steady strength that warned she was far from soft.
“Actually, I’d like to interview the woman the police identified as your wife.”
A new thread of unease filtered through him. He’d stopped by the woman’s—a Jane Doe, for all intents and purposes—room this morning. She’d still been asleep. Security remained at her door 24/7. Until someone claimed her and took her away, he intended to keep her close and protected.
“Very well.”
As they exited his office, he noticed that Patricia did not so much as spare a glance toward Ms. Lytle. He would speak to her as soon as this interview was over.
Ms. Lytle walked slightly in front of him. Her stride was confident, determined. His research showed that she was not married, had never been married. No children. Isabella Lytle lived alone on Armitage Avenue in the Lincoln Park area. No previous engagements. No long-term boyfriends or girlfriends.
Before he could quash the thought, he wondered about the woman. Were her most intimate needs kept hidden? A dirty secret she wanted no one to know? His gaze moved down her shapely backside. Or perhaps she was like him—work was her only true companion. Anything else was an afterthought.
They moved around the circular corridor until they reached the quarantine unit. The Edge did not keep patients more than twenty-four hours unless it was necessary to quarantine them until proper care could be arranged. There were overnight beds in the behavioral and senior units, but all other patients were either treated and released or transported to nearby hospitals. The Edge was not intended as anything other than an emergency care facility. Since the woman’s true identity had not been determined, there was no next of kin to take her home and no medical necessity to prompt a transfer.
He would, however, need to turn the situation over to the police soon. No matter that she was an impostor and clearly connected to some criminal activity, he could not keep holding her as if she were a prisoner. As some point, the entire matter would need to be turned over to the police.
But not until he was satisfied.
A quick nod to the security guard outside the room and the man took a break. Devon rapped twice on the door before opening it for Ms. Lytle to enter ahead of him. The woman listed as Cara Pierce was awake. She turned in surprise or perhaps in fear as they entered the room.
“Good morning.”
