Page 51 of Provocation (Temptation 3)

John’s nostrils flared, his anger building with every second he spent listening to this disgusting excuse for a human speak of his niece.

But he wasn’t so much angry at Domenic as he was at himself.

Because, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the man was right.

Annabelle’s stepfather did touch her a lot. She did get uneasy around him. John thought it was due to him taking her father’s place. The result of a typical teenage girl’s attitude.

“It’s no wonder he always dragged her on those homebuilding missions,” Domenic continued. “Unrestricted access to her without her mother being the wiser? Or maybe she knew what he was doing, yet didn’t care since she needed someone to help support her and her daughters.”

He tilted his head. “Tell me, Agent Curran. How’s…” His brows furrowed. “Oh, what’s her name? Gretchen? Annabelle’s younger sister? The baby her mother was pregnant with when your brother was killed in the line of duty. She was quite young when Annabelle passed away, so she’d be…” A mischievous grin pulled on his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, she’d be a teenager now, wouldn’t she? I do hope it’s not too late.”

“You bastard,” John hissed out through his clenched jaw, the words escaping before he could stop them.

Domenic raised his hands in front of him. “I’m not the one who raped her.”

“That’s not what your journals said. According to those, you did rape Annabelle. You drugged her, broke into her apartment, then raped her.”

“I admitted no such thing. Not once did I say I raped her.”

“That’s right. You ‘freed’ her,” John mimicked, using air quotes.

“Precisely. I gave her what she needed to finally have the courage to end her suffering.” Domenic nodded toward the photograph of Claire Hale. “Just like this beautiful woman ended her suffering.”

John lifted his brows. He hadn’t mentioned how Claire had died. Hadn’t mentioned anything about her at all.

“Did she?”

“It appears so. Wrists slit. Submerged in a bathtub. Tile stained with blood.” He pushed the photo back across the table, but John could sense it was a struggle, Domenic continually glancing at it. “It is a bit gory for my taste.”

“Her name is Claire Hale.”

“I heard all about her tragic death, but I’m not quite sure why the FBI’s interested in a suicide. Correct me if I’m wrong, but according to the local newspaper, suicide was the final determination of the investigation. Was it not?”

“It was.”

“But you don’t believe that to be the case?”

“I don’t.”

“And do the fine, upstanding individuals at Major Crimes here in Atlanta concur with you? Or is there not much physical evidence to support your theory? If I’m right, which I usually am, the FBI doesn’t have jurisdiction to investigate local crimes. Not unless they’re invited in by local officials. And since I haven’t heard a thing about them reopening their investigation into Ms. Hale’s death, I’m guessing you haven’t been, making this more of a personal matter. Correct?”

John nodded. “Correct.”

He’d probably get in deep shit if his superiors found out he was here at all, even if he claimed he was simply checking on an inmate on behalf of a victim. Routine offender checks didn’t typically involve sitting down for a conversation. But the warden was a good friend who happily consented to John’s request, agreeing to keep it between the two of them, as long as nothing went awry.

“And how do you expect me to help you?” Domenic ran his finger along Claire’s face, a creepy sort of appreciation on his expression.

“I know she visited you on multiple occasions over the past few months, including the day before she died.”

“You think I had something to do with her death? She took her own life, Agent Curran. Not to mention…” He lifted his chained hands, the sound reverberating in the room. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied lately. Not much time for leisure, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right. There’s no way you’d be involved. That would take a level of planning by a criminal mastermind no one could possibly pull off, especially in here.” John waved a hand at his surroundings.

He didn’t believe the veracity of his statement for a second. Instead, he said it purely to get a reaction. And he certainly got one. Domenic’s expression turned indignant. He held his head high, spine stiff, as if the insinuation he wasn’t intelligent enough to commit crimes while incarcerated was a slap in the face.

It was all John needed to confirm his suspicion that Domenic was somehow involved in these more recent deaths.

Or, at the very least, was definitely aware of them.

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