BOOK 7

‘I’ve screwed things up, Derrick.’ Jackson slipped his hands into the pockets of his Alfani slacks and faced his sales manager.

‘God, Jackson, and here I thought you walked on water.’ Uncrossing his feet and taking them off the desktop, Derrick sat forward with his elbows braced on his thighs. ‘So spill. What’s going on with the investigation?’

Rubbing his palm over the back of his neck, Jackson circled the confines of his office. ‘Remember that necklace I bought from Rachel Gold?’

‘Yeah, brilliant move.’ Derrick shook his head without disturbing a single strand of precision-combed brown hair. ‘But don’t sweat it. I think I’ve found a buyer.’

‘Don’t bother.’ Jackson selected a photo from the creased manila folder lying on his cluttered desk. Leaving Rachel that morning, her pleading gaze stabbing him in the back, he’d crushed the file in his hand to keep from going to her. The temptation to hold her, then strangle her had been overwhelming. Handing the picture to his manager, he said,