The Hunted Read online

  “Please sit.” Justine indicated a pair of rattan armchairs set in the shade without meeting RJ’s eyes.

  “Ms. Sullivan, I am so very sorry for your loss. My name is RJ—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. RJ Rox. I’m not entirely sure why Michael felt the need to hire a private investigator, but I’ll answer any questions you might have as best as I can.”

  Benjamin had informed her that the widow believed she was a private investigator, and RJ was happy to play along.

  “Lemonade?” Justine asked, her chest heaving as she sighed. Without waiting for a reply, Justine filled the lone glass on the table with lemonade and set it in front of RJ. Justine looked at her hands in her lap and picked at an already sore and bleeding bit of skin beside a chipped, French-manicured nail. Silent tears streaked her cheeks as she struggled to wrestle control. When she finally looked up, RJ saw eyes hidden in red, puffy wells—eyes that likely hadn’t been dry in weeks.

  “I still can’t believe he’s not coming back,” she mumbled.

  RJ waited. It was all she could do. She could offer no comfort to the woman in front of her, except to find out the truth.

  Justine wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the light cashmere cardigan draped across her Pilates-sculpted, sun-browned shoulders, then took it off and used it to mop up the mucous that had built up under her nose. She balled up the cardigan and stuffed it between her leg and the side of the chair. Straightening her back, she rolled her shoulders and asked, “So, what do you want to know?”

  RJ lifted the left side of her mouth in a sympathetic smile. “Tell me about him. For now, just tell me about James.”

  Janice sniffed, and a squeak escaped from her lips. RJ feared she would lose control again but she held herself together and, for the first time, looked RJ directly in the eye.

  “He’s . . . he was a wonderful man. We met at college, before he made his money. I didn’t give him a second look when he asked me out the first time, but he pursued me relentlessly. To some, it might have seemed obsessive, but James . . . well, once he had his mind set on something, he didn’t stop until he got what he’d set out to achieve. He worked hard all his life, whether he was making money or giving it away. And he did a lot of that. Gave money away, I mean. He knew what it was like to have it tough and wanted to give others a helping hand. I don’t really know what else to tell you.” She looked up at RJ. “My family wasn’t pleased when I agreed to marry him. They soon changed their tune once he made those first millions only months later. Snobs, the lot of them, even Michael. Didn’t seem to matter when he needed campaign funds, though, did it?”

  “Did your family get along with James before his death?”

  Janice raised her hands to her face and rubbed them over her cheeks, pulling the skin up at her ears like a grotesque facelift. “They all love him now. Loved him, I mean. I still can’t get used to saying that. They started loving him as soon as they realized he was going to be wildly successful and rich. Congratulated me on our pairing, can you believe that? James didn’t care, though. He was too kind-hearted to think badly of anyone. He even justified their attitudes to me. If he had any faults, it was that he was too understanding, too nice. Don’t get me wrong, James was a hard ass in the boardroom, but he cared about people. That’s what first attracted me to him. He was driven and had to be the best at everything. He had to be the king of the jungle, but he was kind to people. He always was.”

  She stared out over the lake and swallowed.

  “What about your social life, your friends?”

  “James was too busy for all that. He worked and came home and only attended necessary engagements—charity dinners or political events. That’s all he had time for. Work. We went on vacation a couple of times a year, and he went hunting.”

  “Did you ever go with him? Hunting, I mean?”

  “God forbid! That’s not really my thing. He tried to get me interested a few times but no such luck. Sometimes I’d tag along on a trip, but it was good for him to be on his own sometimes. I pretty much left him to it. He was constantly surrounded by work and people—everyone was always demanding his time, for work or whatever his latest project was. He needed some alone time, some time to focus on something else.”

  “And you didn’t go to Scotland with him?”

  “No. Not this time.” Tears started to slide down Justine’s already streaked cheeks.

  “Did James—or you, for that matter—receive any threats? Did anything suspicious happen recently, anything that might now seem suspicious?”

  “No. I’m not sure if he’d have told me anyway, but nothing that I know of. No. Nothing. I don’t believe he was murdered. I know Michael is concerned, but I’m not. Even if he was . . . It makes no difference.”

  “It makes a difference,” replied RJ softly.

  “Not to me. He’s still dead. Whatever happened to him . . . nothing’s going to bring him back.” Justine slumped back into the chair, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed. “Michael’s just, Michael’s just . . .” She shook her head, then took some long, deep breaths. “He wants me to see a doctor, get some pharmaceutical help. I don’t want to be numb. I need . . . I don’t know what I need. I just need James.”

  Rapid, shaking breaths threatened to overcome her.

  “Michael wants to run for president in seven years. Did you know? He’s worried someone was blackmailing James and that it could ruin his precious reputation and his chances of running. I know he’s worried about me, but that’s the real reason he hired you. He doesn’t realize that I know, but I do. James would have been Michael’s biggest backer. It’s all just . . . just . . .” She threw her arms up in an act of futility.

  “Do you think someone could have killed James to get to Michael?”

  “No. Anything’s possible, but I don’t believe so. There are easier ways to get to Michael than through James. It doesn’t make any sense. None of it makes any sense. I feel like I’m in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I keep expecting him to walk in the door.” She looked up to the sky, tears brimming over her eyes before she jumped up and walked to the edge of the jetty. She leaned on the guard rail, her tears dripping into the water below.

  RJ waited until Janice turned to face her. “When was the last time you spoke to James?”

  “The police came around on the morning of Friday the seventeenth. I spoke to him the previous morning, just before lunch, my time. He’d had a good day. Just finished a tour of the estate where he was hunting. He was so excited to go out the next day to get started, and kept going on about the food on the menu that night. Every dish was caught or had been grown on the estate. He was like a kid in a candy store. He was having a good time.”

  “He wasn’t worried about anything, bothered by something?”

  “No, just the opposite. If you’re going to ask, or are asking in a roundabout way, if I think he might have killed himself, then the answer is no. He had plans—we had plans. He just wouldn’t. If there was anyone who wouldn’t, it was him. If you knew him, you’d know he just wouldn’t.” She looked at RJ with such a ferocity in her eyes that RJ believed her, or at least, believed that Justine had faith in what she was saying. “I realize that everyone always says that, but I know him. He just wouldn’t. He had what some might say was an unyielding spirit. It there was a problem or an issue, he would find the solution, no matter what. He always had to be in control. Even if he didn’t have the answer to something, he was always confident that he would find it. It’s the reason we have all of this.” Justine gestured dismissively at the house, her face screwed up in pain. “He was excited about some new challenges and opportunities ahead. He would not do what you’re suggesting.”

  “Okay,” RJ reassured her in a soothing voice. “I had to ask, so we can rule it out.”

  “His boat was due to be put in the water tomorrow. It would have sat right there.” Janice pointed just to the left of RJ’s seat. “He would’ve been out on it first thing in the morning, trying
to catch the monster bass that supposedly lives in the lake. No one we know has ever caught it. It’s always been someone who knew someone who knew someone else who caught it. They all believed in it, all the fishermen round here. It can get quite competitive in the summer. James was determined to be the one who finally caught it. He won’t get that chance now.” She dissolved into another fit of sobbing.

  RJ stood up and laid her hand on Justine’s shoulder.

  “I have to ask, and I apologize in advance, but have you ever had any reason to suspect that your husband was unfaithful?”

  Justine looked at her with pure hatred. “How . . . you can’t seriously think—”

  RJ tried to look conciliatory but offered no further comment.

  Justine put chin up and through clenched teeth, replied, “James would never cheat on me, nor I him. We loved each other. You have no idea.”

  RJ was getting nowhere fast and it was clear that she’d get no further with Justine Sullivan in her current state. She thanked her for her time and told her she would be in touch as she handed over her card and asked her to call if she thought of anything else that might help the investigation. “Nothing is insignificant, no piece of information is too small.”

  Justine radiated a quiet rage as RJ prepared her retreat.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said before making her way back down the jetty towards the house, her car and, ultimately, a small village near the Highlands of Scotland.

  Chapter 4

  RJ looked out at the landscape below as the plane circled, waiting for permission to land. Green fields and craggy peaks gave way to industrial estates and high-density housing. Motorways filled with ant-like cars snaked through the land, filling her field of vision as the plane tipped slightly to the side. She felt nothing. She hadn’t been sure what she had expected to feel, but from this height, this land felt as alien to her now as the Sahara Desert. It was no longer home—her parents’ deaths had ensured that it never would be again. It didn’t fill her with the same dread she’d felt when she had to leave it before, when she escaped to the other side of the Atlantic to take up her professorship in what was now another world away.

  No, she didn’t feel dread. She tried to pinpoint what she was feeling but came up empty. Nothing, she felt nothing.

  Even though she’d assured her uncle that she would be fine, she herself had been worried about her reaction to being back in Scotland. As it didn’t seem to have the effect on her that she had feared, she felt ready to hit the ground running. She’d managed some sleep on the flight and had spent the rest of her time going over the facts as she knew them. Which, at the moment, weren’t much.

  James Sullivan, self-made tech billionaire, forty-three. Married to wife Justine for twenty-one years, no children. Workaholic. Brother-in-law to Governor Michael Kowalski, who had lofty plans to enter the presidential race. Philanthropist. Brought up on the wrong side of the tracks. Keen hunter. No known enemies.

  Not much to go on. She hoped her assignment partner, whoever he was, would know more by the time she landed. All she knew about her partner was that he was from the UK branch of Kingfisher and was scheduled to meet her in the Arrivals hall, then drive her up to the area where James Sullivan’s death had occurred.

  RJ squirmed in her seat, unable to sit still. She was itching to start work. The plane seemed to circle for an age before the captain announced, “Cabin crew, please take your seats for landing,” in that generic voice that belonged to pilots all over the world.

  She continued to watch the once-familiar world below her become more real as they descended. The plane straightened, a grinding noise indicating the wheels had been lowered. RJ’s stomach flipped as the plane dropped lower. Her stomach flipped again when the wheels finally touched down and the passengers were thrown forward slightly due to the forward momentum. One person gave a solitary, congratulatory clap to the captain as the plane began to slow.

  The lines for immigration moved quickly, and RJ’s bag was one of the first to come through, so she didn’t have time to think before she stepped through the double doors and into Arrivals. She’d been told her partner would have a sign with the name Fisher on it. She scanned the waiting crowd, dismissing those people obviously looking for family members until she found the small group of drivers and tour guides, no doubt waiting for golfers or history buffs keen to discover what Scotland had to offer them in way of sport, culture, and probably more than a little whisky.

  Seeing no sign, she scanned the hall again but still no luck. She walked towards the tour guides and almost walked past one leaning nonchalantly against a pillar. His sign read Urquhart Tours but on closer look she saw his name badge displayed the name T. Fisher.

  “I believe you’re looking for me,” she said as she looked up to meet his eyes.

  “That’ll be right,” he said and turned sharply on his heel, his earlier seemingly lassitude forgotten. He moved quickly but favored one leg over the other. He was either trying to hide his limp or it was an old injury. There was no way someone with a recent injury could move that fast.

  RJ followed, more than a little annoyed. She struggled to keep up with him as he weaved in and out of the crowd. Hampered by her large bag, she dodged and swerved around travelers and their companions. When they emerged into the dull afternoon light and crossed the street to the car park, he didn’t slow his pace at all, remaining a step ahead of her the entire time.

  She followed him to an old silver Saab. He got in at the driver’s side, popping the boot as he did so.

  RJ looked on in disbelief at the man she was to spend her time with on this assignment, took a deep breath, and moved to the back of the car. She easily managed her bag but had to reorganize the existing contents in the boot to make room for her bag. She squeezed two black hold-alls deep into the boot and moved a small suitcase to the side, then slid her own in, pushing the top of the boot down with extra force to ensure it clicked shut.

  “Look, I don’t know what the problem is, but we’d better get it sorted out now,” she told him as she climbed into the passenger side and closed the door.

  “Really?” he asked, his face contorted with disdain.

  “Whatever the issue is, we have to work together. We won’t be able to do that very well if we can’t even have a civil conversation.”

  “You really don’t recognize me, do you?’

  RJ studied his face. He did look ever so slightly familiar, but she just couldn’t place him. Surely, she’d never have any reason to have met him . . .

  Recognition hit her like a slap in the face. “Oh. Oh, I, um . . . oh.” Heat rose to her cheeks as she realized where she knew him from. He looked very different from the rat-like man she’d met when she was unknowingly in the middle of her interview for Kingfisher. The rat-like man who had chased her through Hyde Park. The rat-like man whose kneecap she had shattered in an attempt to get away. “I . . . um. I didn’t get the chance to say how sorry I am. I didn’t know. I am so, so sorry”

  RJ stared at her hands in her lap in mortification. She felt his eyes boring into her and looked up to meet them. He looked so different from the person she had met briefly in Hyde Park. Had he been wearing a prosthetic then, or was he simply able to change his demeanor in such a way as to look like a completely different character? The man in front of her now was not rat-like in any form. In actual fact, he was not unattractive. He would have been attractive if his gaze wasn’t about to reduce RJ to a pile of ash and rubble. The slick-backed hair she had seen previously was now thick and wavy, the sleeves of his blue shirt pushed up past his elbows, and the khaki chinos could have fitted in any situation and with people from every walk of life. She couldn’t determine his age, but due to the disarmingly attractive effect of laughter lines that had started to form around his eyes, she figured he was in his late-thirties.

  “Not your fault, I suppose,” he said begrudgingly. “You actually thought I was going to hurt you. I should’ve been better
prepared. They should have told me you knew how to do that.”

  “They didn’t know,” she said, speaking of the organization they both worked for.

  He scowled. “They know everything.” Glancing over his shoulder, he pulled out into lane that would take them over the Erskine Bridge to the other side of the River Clyde and Loch Lomond beyond.

  RJ played with the ring on her right finger, twisting the smooth metal off and on over her knuckle.

  They passed the next few minutes in awkward silence until RJ couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Seems an odd choice, don’t you think? To put us together for this after—”

  “You’d already been assigned to the case,” he told her in resignation. “I’m the most obvious partner available in the country as I’ve got mountain-climbing experience. We might need it up there. Putting us together makes sense to them. This is my first assignment since I got back from leave. Believe me, if I could have gotten out of it, I would have.”

  “You said you didn’t blame me.”

  “I don’t, but I’m under no obligation to enjoy the experience, either.”

  RJ sighed. “Noted.”

  The countryside whizzed past in direct contrast with the slow march of time within the car.

  It was strange being back. Surreal. RJ had driven this road countless times on road trips with her family or with friends, and now she was back again. So much had changed for her since the last time she’d been on this road, yet this place had been frozen in time. It felt both like she’d never left and like her life there had never existed at all. It didn’t feel like home anymore, just like a place where she used to live at one point in her life. If this wasn’t home, then where was? Did she even have a home now?

  Yes, she realized, her home was with Benjamin. Home was wherever her family was, and right now that consisted of Ben.

  They slowed to a crawl behind a tractor, the traffic quickly building up behind them. A mile down the road, the tractor pulled off to the side and waved them past. They pulled over at the next rest stop to let the line of impatient traffic speed off to wherever they all had to be in such a hurry.