Barefoot in the Sun (Barefoot Bay)(58)

“No, Dr. Bradbury,” Fitzgerald said, taking note of the protective stance and flicking an interested eyebrow. “Mr. Hobarth’s alibi is ironclad and was never at issue during the trial, so don’t even go there.”

“I’ll go wherever I want,” Zoe shot back. “Including to Ohio to clear my aunt’s name.”

“Ms. Lessington, she is not your aunt.” All warmth was gone from the man’s eyes as he met Zoe’s gaze. “And you are not an investigator. I suggest you cooperate as fully as possible, as our investigation shows you have long gone past ‘victim’ in this case.”

Oliver stepped forward. “I think it’s time you leave.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t have a lawyer present.” Oliver ushered him to the door. “I’ll call my clinic and if you go there right now, they will arrange for you to get the DNA sample from Ms. Hobarth. You can verify it, take it, test it, and compare it to whatever you have.”

“And then—”

“And then,” Zoe said, cutting him off. “You can clear her.”

He gave her a long look, then nodded. “We’ll see about that.”

Oliver walked him to the door, watched him drive away, and returned to the living room to find Zoe madly dialing a cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Slade Garrison.”

“The sheriff? How do you think he can help you?”

She smiled. “I think I can help him.” She held up a finger and talked into the phone. “Slade? Zoe Tamarin. Wanna get married?”

Oliver almost fell over.





Oliver nodded throughout Zoe’s conversation with Slade, obviously not the least bit surprised as he listened to her arrange a meeting at the Naples sheriff’s office so she could break the case wide open for the young deputy.

When she disconnected, they stared at each other for a beat and she waited for the inevitable litany of questions. Why didn’t you tell me about her son last night? What are you hiding? Is Pasha a murderer?

“Her ex-husband killed the child,” he said instead.

Relief rocked her. “How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

She stood speechless.

“The same way she told you,” he explained. “She told me to find Matthew. She didn’t mean the son, she meant the father.”

“They’re both Matthew,” she finished. “But the newspaper said M. Harold Hobarth, so I figured he went by his middle name.”

“Whatever he went by, that’s who she’s been running from, Zoe, not the FBI or police.”

She stabbed her fingers through her hair, every follicle tingling with frustration. “God, if I’d known this earlier, I wouldn’t have wasted the day in a balloon, running away.”

Oliver reached for her hand. “Stop running, Zoe.”

“I should have that tattooed on my arm.”

“You should have it tattooed on your heart.” He pulled her closer, looking so deeply into her eyes the intensity rocked her. “I’ll be happy to do the work.”

“You forgive me for not telling you last night?”

“Yes, but why didn’t you?”

“The treatment was today and I thought…” Her voice faded, the idiocy of that decision so clear in today’s light.

“You thought I’d screw up somehow?” She could hear the hurt in his tone.

“I underestimated you,” she said softly. “My bad.”

“Yes, you are bad.” He eased her closer to kiss her forehead. “Let’s talk in the car. And you can tell me why this information is going to get Slade married. I’m assuming not to you.”

She just smiled.

On the way to Naples, she shared the conversation between Slade and Gloria, and they discussed all they’d been able to glean about Matthew Harold Hobarth from the news accounts.

“He’s crazy rich,” Zoe said, remembering a detail about him being on a Greek yacht during the trial. “Could she have been blackmailing him all these years and that’s how we’ve had cash? But what about his ‘ironclad’ alibi?”

“You answered that with your first statement. Crazy rich can buy alibis. I doubt she’s a blackmailer, but think about what drives your aunt.”

Zoe glanced out the window, following the sharp curve of white as a boat turned and changed its course and cut a new wake through the waters of the Intracoastal. Pasha would look at that and say something like That’s a sign that there’s an unexpected turn coming in our path. “She’s driven by nature’s clues.”

Oliver shot her a look. “She’s driven by fear.”

A breath of realization whooshed out of Zoe’s chest. He was right. “She ran, she hid, she changed her name, she stayed under the radar and out of the spotlight and off the grid.”

“Shitty way to live, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Point taken,” she conceded. “Why is she afraid of an old guy who had a stroke?”

“He wasn’t old years ago, and, as you well know, some very bad behaviors get so ingrained that they become the way you live.”

“All right, all right.” She fisted her chest. “You’re hitting home.” But then she relaxed her hand and reached over the console. “I’m so glad you’re here with me,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t want to do this alone.”

“You don’t have to do anything alone, Zoe.”

She closed her eyes and let the feelings wash over her, everything mixed together like a waterfall of gratitude and hope and contentment and…love. Wow. This was no half-assed admission that she couldn’t quite form in her mouth.

She loved him. She loved this man.

“Here’s the sheriff’s office,” he said, whipping his little sports car into the parking lot and yanking her from lovely realizations. She’d tell him later, she promised herself. The very first minute she could.

A half hour later, in a brightly lit conference room, Zoe and Oliver held hands under the table, a united front sitting across from Deputy Sheriff Slade Garrison.

“You were eavesdropping?” Slade asked for the third time, glancing around as if one of his cohorts might have heard.

“I was walking the beach,” she said. “And I happened to hear you.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What did you hear?”

“Enough to know you want to solve this case.” She pointed at the name and information on the table between them. “Go up to Ohio and snag some blood from this guy before he keels over and dies. I’m telling you this will get you the glory and Gloria all in one swoop.”

He almost smiled at her joke, but shook his head. “I’d need to involve another sheriff’s office, and the FBI wouldn’t like it.”

“You want the FBI to solve this crime?” Zoe asked.

“Because that Fitzgerald guy will beat you to it,” Oliver added.

“How do you know him?” Slade frowned, confused. “When did you meet him?”’

“He came to my rental villa,” Oliver told him. “Without you. He wants the glory, too, I think, and I doubt he wants to share it with the local sheriff.”

Under the table Zoe gave his hand a squeeze for the perfect assist.

“First we have to deal with Patricia Hobarth,” Slade replied. “Once she’s cleared, we can worry about other people who were tangentially involved and had watertight alibis.”

“But what if you were to preempt the FBI?” Zoe asked. “You’d be a hero.”

“You’d solve a cold case,” Oliver added.

“Gloria would be so proud of you.” Zoe narrowed her eyes to make her point. “Charity would talk about it from now until the end of time.”

He smiled slowly. “You really know how to get a guy, don’t you?”

Next to her, Oliver snorted softly. “You have no idea.”

“You’re right,” Slade finally agreed. “I’ll fly up there tomorrow.”

“Tonight,” Zoe said. “The guy is knocking on death’s door. Don’t miss this opportunity.”

“I’ll have to talk to my supervisor,” he said, standing up.

When they left, Zoe still felt buoyant with hope as they walked to the car and drove through Naples. She was waiting for the perfect moment. In the car? Over dinner? Later on, in bed?

“Shit,” Oliver murmured.

“What?” She followed his gaze, realizing they were on the street where his office was located, the wide boulevard where, not so long ago, Zoe had found him and begged him for help.

On the sidewalk outside of the charcoal glass doors of Oliver’s practice two people stood in deep conversation, and Zoe instantly recognized the FBI agent who’d been in Oliver’s living room and… “Is that Attila the Receptionist?”