Page 45 of Trap ’N’ Trace

When they’d left the castle earlier, he could swear someone was out there. Remy hadn’t alerted, and he didn’t see a thing. It was just a feeling, one that hadn’t gone away then and didn’t now. Then, outside the funeral home, he’d been hit with the same sensation.

They were being watched.

And that damned rose. No matter how much Kat didn’t want to believe him, his gut told him it was Manny. Still, he needed more than just a gut feeling to justify filing a formal complaint, let alone slapping an order of protection on the guy.

He stole a glance at the adjacent office where she sat behind a spare desk, talking on her cell phone. He’d seen women in black suits before, but black had never looked so good. The way that slim skirt and snug little jacket hugged her curves… Hell, the woman could make a burlap sack look like high fashion.

Paulson’s monitor flickered as the video finished loading. State troopers had reacted swiftly to the nationwide BOLO on Donnelly and pulled the man in for questioning. The Newark FBI SAC office sent their two best interviewers, Diaz and Caldwell, to assist with the interrogation. That had been two hours ago.

While the interview was in progress, he and Kat had grabbed some chow at a nearby deli. While they ate, he ran a cursory check on Manny, whose name turned out to be Emanuel Gomes. No criminal record. By the end of the meal, Kat had taken no fewer than five phone calls, including making one to Emily, during which they’d reviewed several charity grant proposals. Until that moment, he’d assumed Emily did all the heavy lifting. Man, was he wrong. Being the caretaker of so much money was, apparently, a full-time job.

Paulson’s monitor filled with the interior of a holding cell. A significantly slimmer Kelso Donnelly sat in a chair, with Agents Diaz and Caldwell sitting opposite him.

“For the record,” Agent Diaz said, “the time is one p.m. Present are FBI Special Agents Thomas Diaz and Daniel Caldwell, interviewing Kelso Donnelly at the New Jersey State Police Barracks in Moorestown, New Jersey.” Tommy Diaz paused then looked at Donnelly. “Where were you this past Tuesday?”

The day Becca was killed, according to the county medical examiner’s preliminary report.

Donnelly yawned, as if he didn’t have a freaking care in the world. “Driving cross country from the west coast.”

“What was your destination?”

“New York.”

Dayne sat on the edge of Paulson’s desk.

“Where in New York?”

“Tappan.”

“Specifically, where in Tappan?”

“FBI Special Agent Rebecca Garman’s office.” The grin Donnelly made was more of a sneer, his lip curling back and revealing teeth yellowed from years of chewing tobacco.

“Why did you want to see Special Agent Garman?”

Dayne knew the answer before Donnelly said a word.

“To kill her.” He spat on the floor at Diaz’s feet.

No way. This is too easy.

“Did you? Kill her?”

“Fuck, no.” Donnelly’s eyes narrowed to angry slits, and the sneer on his face now was one of pure rage. “Some asshole beat me to it.”

“So you didn’t kill Rebecca Garman?”

Donnelly held out his arms. “Haven’t you idiots heard a goddamn word I’ve been saying? No! I didn’t kill her. But I wish to fuck I had. The bitch deserved to die.”

“Can you prove where you were all day this past Tuesday?”

“How did she die? Was it painful?” Donnelly’s sneering grin returned. “I hope so.”

Dayne fisted his hands. It was probably a good thing, after all, that he hadn’t been in that cell interrogating the guy.

“Again,” Diaz said, “can you prove where you were on Tuesday?”

Dayne had already heard from the troopers that Donnelly didn’t have an EZPass transmitter on his vehicle, so they couldn’t track him that way.