Veil of Night: A Novel

Chapter Twenty-five

“I DON’T THINK WE SHOULD GO TO THIS WEDDING,” SENATOR Dennison said uneasily as he and Fayre were getting dressed. “I mean, Sean is barely holding himself together, and with the funeral home visitation tonight—”

“Nonsense,” Fayre said briskly. “If either of us had cared for Carrie it would be different, but there’s no pretending, even to Sean, that we did. He knows we were prepared to welcome her for his sake, but that’s all. Even though she’s dead, I’m not going to let her turn me into a hypocrite.”

Fayre’s gaze was clear and unwavering. The senator sighed. Some people muddled through life, but not Fayre. She always knew who she was, what she was, and what she was doing—and apologized for none of it. She wasn’t a cruel person, but neither was she a particularly comfortable one. He was human; he made mistakes; he blundered along, doing the best he could and always aware he fell short of her standards. What was really unnerving was the unspoken thought that she was always aware of that, too.

But what would he do without her? He loved Taite; he really did, because he could relax with her. She wasn’t perfect, so he didn’t have to be perfect with her. With her, he was the one in the driver’s seat. With Fayre, he would always be the husband who rode on her coattails. It was her family money that gave them their social standing, her business sense that kept their income healthy, her connections that made things happen.

The worst part of it was, he loved her, too. Loved her, and feared her, and sometimes he couldn’t tell which emotion was the strongest.

So, because Fayre said they had to go to this wedding, he finished knotting his tie.

Jaclyn was already at the church before she realized that, with all the recent chaos in her life, she could easily and legitimately have excused herself from the Sunday-afternoon wedding. No one at Premier would have batted an eye; they would have banded together and made sure that everything was taken care of. But of the six weddings they’d handled this week, this was the big one. Everyone who worked at Premier had had a hand in today’s wedding and reception, and it was something they could truly be proud of. After all the stress of being investigated and shot at, after days of footballs, mullets, and family feuds, she needed to be involved in a wedding like this one. For her own sanity, she had to be here.

Besides, being at work was easier than being by herself, where she couldn’t escape from her thoughts, and from the unavoidable realization that she was a coward.

No, being here was better. The last of the week’s six weddings was the most traditional and definitely the most spectacular. Both families were big in business—one in music, the other in construction machinery, which was much duller than music but was evidently way more profitable—so money hadn’t been a concern. The bride’s mother was from one of the prominent families in Georgia, which upped the social awareness of the event a hundred times over. By the time you put it all together this was the wedding to attend, and the place to be on this particular Sunday afternoon.

The church was elegantly arrayed in white and pale peach roses, lilies, and so many flickering candles the overheads were almost an afterthought. A trio of violins had provided the music—classical and without flaw—as the guests had arrived, and for the procession. Guests were appropriately dressed and so far had behaved as they should, given the import of the day. Even the flower girl and ring-bearer were both adorable, and both had been well-behaved. There hadn’t been a peep out of either of them: no tears, no temper tantrums, no throwing up in the aisle. She could count that as a definite success.

The bridesmaids were gorgeous in a shade of pale salmon that suited them all, and each and every one of them appeared to be happy to be a part of this wedding. If any one of them was suffering from always-a-bridesmaid-never-a-bride syndrome, she hid it well. Their gowns were simple and elegant, and Jaclyn had no doubt that, instead of being sold at a yard sale or even burned, these gowns would be worn again.

The bride had chosen a sweeping, traditional gown, and the groom’s tux fit so well she knew it had been made for him—but then, this was the type of group where probably all of the groomsmen owned their own custom-fitted tuxes, as well. The church smelled of flowers and candles and a touch of perfume. Outside it was a hot day, but the air in the sanctuary was running at full blast so it was blessedly cool. For the moment, as the couple said their vows, all was right with the world.

Jaclyn glanced around the sanctuary and gave herself and her mother a mental pat on the back, and delivered a still and silent high-five to Diedra and Peach for a job well done. This was a day to remember for the couple at the center of it all, a perfect moment in time they would never forget. It was a relief to know that in a crazy world, such moments still existed.

She shouldn’t have looked around, because her gaze fell on the tall, muscular man who was standing motionless at the back of the church, half-hidden in the shadows. He hadn’t been invited, but the badge and weapon he wore were their own engraved invitations. When he arrived, the two fathers had gravely conferred with him, both of them had nodded, and Eric had gotten what he wanted, which was to be here. He’d stayed out of the way, but she’d never for one moment forgotten he was there, or been unable to pinpoint his location without even looking.

From the first second she’d seen him, her life had been turned on its head. In less than a week she’d completely overthrown her normally cautious nature to indulge in a one-night stand, then she’d been assaulted and fired by a client, then been suspected of and investigated for that client’s murder—by the same man she’d had the one-night stand with. Oh, yes, she shouldn’t forget that she’d also become the target of a would-be murderer, probably the same person who’d killed Carrie Edwards, and now her car had been impounded and she was living in a hotel because it wasn’t safe for her to be in her own home. She’d always thought of herself as being strong, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to get through this ordeal alone. She was glad Eric was there. She might not be able to admit it to him, but she had to admit it to herself.

If Carrie hadn’t been murdered, Jaclyn thought, she would still have him on her mind. She’d be waiting for him to call and ask her out, wondering if he really would. This week, she’d told him, after the craziness of six weddings in five days was behind her. If their first night together was any indication, they would have ended up back at her place, maybe starting something new and wonderful, maybe finding much more than what they had been looking for when they’d met. She’d heard that it happened that way sometimes, love coming out of the blue, surprising and unexpected, but she’d thought people exaggerated.

But, Carrie had gotten herself killed, and Jaclyn had been a suspect, and Eric had interrogated her and taken her clothes to check for bloodstains, and even if her blood and body did start to steam a little every time she looked at him, how could she ever get past that?

That was where the cowardice came in, because she wanted to get past it, yet was afraid to. She was tired of being alone, tired of watching other people find happiness while she stood on the sidelines, with only her mother and friends to keep her company. Not that she didn’t appreciate how important they were to her life, but still, it wasn’t always enough. She wanted to do what other women did, to reach out and grab for happiness. She had, once, only to watch it disintegrate right in front of her eyes. Had her marriage fallen apart because instead of completely committing herself to her husband she’d held part of herself back, waiting for him to let her down? Which, of course, he’d promptly done. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But she was still holding herself back, still afraid to take that chance, to really love a man. The only man who had ever tempted her out of her comfort zone was Eric Wilder, and she’d let circumstance put him off limits—way, way off limits. And in spite of telling herself again and again that it didn’t matter, she knew deep down that it did, more than she dared to admit.

Eric hadn’t even tried to pass himself off as Jaclyn’s date. Not only was it not necessary in this particular crowd, but she wasn’t alone here; her mother and the other two women from Premier were here, and if he’d begun acting all lovey-dovey with Jaclyn he figured the three of them would try to take his head off. He’d have to do something about that, he thought as he did yet another narrow-eyed scan of the people in the church.

Did they think it was easy to do his job and keep an eye on her at the same time? He was doing double duty, literally, because Garvey could only occasionally put a uniformed officer on Jaclyn. Eric had to shower and shave, he had to eat and sleep, and, damn it, he had to work. Only Garvey’s agreement that the person who’d tried to kill Jaclyn was almost surely the same one who’d killed Carrie had gotten the lieutenant to approve this duty, but if it hadn’t been approved he damn well would’ve done it anyway, and they could kiss his ass. Probably Garvey knew that, and had asked Lieutenant Neille to do what he could.

After tomorrow, things should get easier. Franklin would be back to work in the morning. If necessary, Eric could hand over the Edwards case and take on guarding Jaclyn full time, though it would be better for continuity if he stayed on the case. But Franklin would be there, Garvey could go back to the sergeant’s desk, and they’d get a little slack in the schedule.

Today though, today was hairy. Senator and Mrs. Dennison were here, guests at the wedding. Eric had no idea what would happen if the senator saw Jaclyn or she saw him, but so far neither had happened. The church was big, and Premier had all four women working, plus the Dennisons were seated at the front of the church. The enormous sanctuary had stadium seating so everyone had a good view of the altar, but people sitting at the front literally couldn’t see what was happening at the very back of the church. He’d like to maneuver Jaclyn so she had a good look at the senator—without telling her what was going on—to see if actually seeing him again triggered enough memory for her to identify him. What he didn’t want, under any circumstances, was for the senator to see her.

It helped that people on the Dennisons’ level almost never paid attention to how things got done around them. They noticed only that the things were either done or not done.

At the moment Jaclyn was talking to the wedding party, arranging the line at the door of the reception hall, giving them last-minute instructions. Diedra and Peach were overseeing the layout of the food, and Madelyn was talking to the bandleader. She was safe enough for now, with the bulk of guests outside awaiting entrance.

The reception hall in Hopewell was very nice, yet this one in Buckhead almost put it to shame. The main hall was more than twice as large as the one where Carrie Edwards had been murdered. The parking lot was three times as big and surrounded by trees, providing precious shade on a hot summer day, and from the front entrance the hall looked like an antebellum mansion. If they’d been going for the look of Old South and Old Money, they had definitely achieved it, on both fronts. At the moment the room was decorated in the same colors that had been used at the wedding. It was all a little froufrou for his tastes. Personally he’d preferred yesterday’s barbecue at the farm, a confession he wasn’t about to share with Jaclyn. But this was nice. For froufrou.

The bride and groom were still being held hostage by the photographer, who insisted on snapping a jaw-dropping number of pictures, so there weren’t many people in the reception hall yet. Soon the doors would be opened to the crowd for a well-mannered celebration. He could relax for a few minutes, at least until the doors opened. Nothing was going to happen right now, with no one other than the wedding party and a few workers present. He figured the Premier bunch would all be even busier once things moved into full swing, but now was the perfect time to do something about the hostile situation he found himself in.

Madelyn shook the bandleader’s hand and turned away. She took a deep breath and surveyed the room with a critical but approving eye. Eric took his own deep breath—fortification was needed for this confrontation—and headed in her direction. As he got closer, she turned that critical eye on him, and there was nothing approving in it.

“Everything looks great,” he said in an attempt at an icebreaker. “I like the orange.”

Her chin came up, and ice filled her gaze. “It’s peach and salmon, not orange,” she said, as if he’d just presented her with a pile of dog shit on his outstretched palm.

Okay, so peach and salmon looked like shades of orange to him; so sue him. It was obvious beating around the bush wasn’t going to get him anywhere, and just as obviously he was a failure at small talk, at least as far as Madelyn Wilde was concerned. Eric figured he might as well take the metaphorical bull by the conversational horns, or something like that. “I like your daughter,” he said bluntly. “When this is all over, I’d like to take her out, see where it goes.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you out of your ever-lovin’ mind?” she snapped.

“It’s possible,” he agreed, “but I don’t think so.”

Amusement was the last thing he wanted to see on Madelyn’s face, but there it was, chasing out the astonishment. “Do you really think Jaclyn will go out with you after the way you’ve treated her?”

Eric had to tamp down the rush of anger. It wouldn’t help his case to go off on Jaclyn’s mother. But at the same time … to hell with it. “The way I’ve treated her? I’ve busted my ass to make sure she was cleared and protected, and done the best I could in a bad situation. Because we dated once, I—”

Madelyn’s head jerked back. “Dated? What’re you talking about? Jaclyn would have told me if she’d dated you.” The tone was very much the same she would have used if she was telling him her daughter would have told her if she had a fatal disease.

Probably Jaclyn had kept the news of their night together to herself because it hadn’t really been a date, and because she wasn’t the kiss-and-tell type—not that he could say that to Madelyn. “We’d just met,” he explained. “But because I knew Jaclyn personally, I had to be even more objective with her than I would have with anyone else, or I’d have been jerked off the case faster than you can spit. We’ve been shorthanded, so I did what I had to do. That doesn’t change how I feel. I’m interested in her—hell, I care about her—and when my partner gets back from vacation tomorrow, if I have to, I’ll take myself off the Edwards case so I can keep an eye on Jaclyn full time until the killer is caught.”

Was it his imagination or was there a subtle softening of Madelyn’s eyes? She was easy to read, more open in her expressions than her daughter. “Will the Hopewell P.D. approve that particular duty?”

“If they don’t I’ll take my vacation and do it on my own time.” And he would, too. He just hadn’t realized it until the words left his mouth. Like it or not, Jaclyn had become important to him.

Maybe Madelyn saw that, because her mouth relaxed, though a touch of sadness filled her eyes. “All right,” she said, then repeated it more firmly. “All right. I believe you. Go for it, young man, but I think you should know that Jaclyn has real trust issues.”

A jolt of anger made Eric’s spine stiffen, because too often, in his world, “trust issues” were directly related to physical abuse. “Her ex?” he growled.

Madelyn sighed and shook her head. “Nothing so dramatic, just a lifetime of dealing with her father. Maybe she’d have been better off if I’d divorced Jacky when Jaclyn was still a baby. I knew even then that, well, let’s just say that Jacky Wilde is a walking emotional disaster. Not to himself—Jacky always looks after number one—but to everyone around him. All her life Jaclyn has been collecting broken promises from her father, and that’s something that’s hard for a child to get past even when she’s all grown up. Then her own marriage fell apart so fast … She’s afraid to trust herself, much less a man.”

And in Jaclyn’s eyes, he hadn’t exactly proven that he trusted her, or that she could trust him. In fact, the opposite was true, not that he could have handled the situation any differently. Still, he felt as if he was on more solid ground now, because he not only understood exactly what he was up against, but maybe now he had someone on his side. He probably wouldn’t have stood a chance if Madelyn disapproved of him, but with her understanding and support he at least wasn’t going under for the third time.

As the photographer was finishing up, Jaclyn saw Eric talking to her mother and a stupid but powerful rush of panic made the blood roar in her ears. The only thing they could possibly have to talk about was her, which made her feel as exposed and vulnerable as if someone had walked in on her in the shower. Lovely. She’d feel a lot better about it if her mother continued to scowl at him, but even as she watched, Madelyn’s expression changed, softened.

Great.

Then the doors were opened, and the guests began to file into the room. Instead of a sit-down dinner there was an impressive hot buffet, and round tables, each seating eight, were arranged around the glossy hardwood dance floor. The bride had suggested the more informal setup so her friends and family would be able to mingle, visit, have a good time. There was informal, and then there was so casual shoes weren’t required. She couldn’t help contrasting this reception with the one the day before, and an unwilling smile tugged at her lips. She had regaled the others with tales from Hee Haw Hell, as Bishop had named it, but she’d also had to admit that in the end she’d had a blast.

For a while Jaclyn was too busy with her duties to think about Eric Wilder … almost. Every time she turned around he was there, directly in her wake or just a few steps away, watching. His alertness worried her, made her wonder if he knew something he hadn’t told her. He had a history of not telling her stuff.

She took a quick survey of the crowded room and had an unpleasant surprise. Movers and shakers stuck together, so she should have expected that she’d recognize two of Carrie’s bridesmaids. If they were here—and that struck her as kind of cold, considering tonight was the funeral home visitation for Carrie—then how many other people in the room had been connected to Carrie? That gave her a chill, because likely Carrie’s killer had been someone connected to her.

Suddenly she felt hideously exposed again, but this time in a very real, imminent-danger kind of way. Her head kept swiveling as she looked from face to face, until finally she thought she had to take a break or scream from the tension. The reception was proceeding well, people still filing in and offering congratulations to the bridal couple, and until it was time for the cake to be cut her duties were on hold. She grabbed a cup of punch, nonalcoholic, took a long sip, and retreated to a quiet nook where at least she didn’t feel as if a gun was pointed at her back. All she wanted was a minute of solitude to get her nerves under control—

As if Eric would allow her that luxury.

He walked up, leaned against the wall beside her. “We need to talk,” he said in a lowered voice.

How many times had he said some variation of that?

“Something’s going on, isn’t it?” she asked nervously.

“Yes.”

She sucked in a quick, shallow breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“Just watch everyone as they come through the reception line. That’s all. Tell me if anyone rings a bell.”

She went pale. So she was right. The killer was here—at least, the person Eric thought was the killer was here, and what he thought was good enough for her to be scared.

“I can’t stand here forever,” she muttered some time later. “I really, really need to visit the ladies’ room.”

“Okay,” he said, his expression unreadable, but Jaclyn thought he was disappointed. He’d hoped she would recognize someone—the gray-haired man, obviously—but the only people she’d definitely recognized were the two bridesmaids. She had carefully examined everyone, not just the gray-haired men, but no one had seemed familiar to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she’d been a better witness. More than anyone, she wished she’d been a better witness! “I know I’m no help.”

“I wish you could make an identification,” he said, “but I definitely don’t want you to say you recognize someone when you don’t. That would hurt the case, not help it. And sometimes, eliminating people is as important as including them, because that helps you know who’s left.”

That made sense. She didn’t think he meant it, but it made sense.

She wound her way through the knots of wedding guests as she made her way out of the main ballroom. Long before she reached the doorway, he was following in her footsteps, watching.

And he saw her walk past Senator and Mrs. Dennison. Not close by them, but close enough that Mrs. Dennison saw her, recognized her as one of the event planners. It figured that she would notice things like that. The senator’s back was turned; he didn’t see Jaclyn and she didn’t see him. Eric held his breath, hoping Jaclyn made it past without being spotted, because while he’d wanted her to see the senator he sure as hell didn’t want the senator to see her, especially this close to him.

Mrs. Dennison gave a quick smile, reached out, and caught Jaclyn’s arm, stopping her. Eric picked up his pace, all but shoving his way through the crowd. Senator Dennison continued talking to some other man and for a second Eric thought Jaclyn would make it through, but then Mrs. Dennison reached for her husband’s arm, getting his attention so she could introduce the two.

Eric wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but he was close enough to see the senator lose every bit of color in his face. And Jaclyn was smiling, her calm, gracious manner never revealing that she was dying to pee. She even chatted for a few minutes, before excusing herself and continuing on toward the bathroom.

Senator Dennison stared after her with an expression gone as cold and blank as a statue’s.

Since Friday night’s failed attempt, it had been impossible to find another opportunity. Jaclyn hadn’t been back to her town house; she was staying somewhere else, and locating her during the day so she could be followed hadn’t worked out. No one seemed to know what event she was working; either that, or no one was saying. But now here she was, and following her from here would be easy.

In a way, it might make sense to wait a while longer before trying again. Locating her was the hard part. Just find out where she was staying, then let things rest. Eventually the cop would let his guard down; he’d have to leave Jaclyn on her own at some point. Eventually she’d go home. But what if Jaclyn remembered what she’d seen Wednesday afternoon before that happened? What if something—a visual, a scent, a dream—jogged her memory? The cops might try hypnosis or something, and then it was over. Done and done. Once the cat was out of the bag, it couldn’t be put back in.

Today. Like it or not, complications or not, Jaclyn Wilde had to die today.