I closed my eyes. The recording I made on my phone was originally intended to only consist of my conversation with Tad Ogelsby. However, it ended up being a complete audio documentation of Tad’s murder, Rob’s confession, Randy’s intention to shoot me, and Baxter’s order to Randy to put down his gun. My recording helped prove that Baxter followed protocol in the situation, but it also was damning evidence against Rob—as was the DNA I found during my overly thorough job of processing Eli’s shirt. I felt conflicted over the fact that my work netted the evidence to jail someone I’d slept with. The court would probably feel the same way, so I was in store for a nasty trial experience.
Baxter said, “Judith Cooper either didn’t bother to or didn’t know how to cover her tracks. We have phone records, emails, and money transfers all linking her to Randall Larson. Even with her team of lawyers, she’s going down.”
“That’s good. She deserves it,” I said. I was ready to change the subject. “So what’s up with the beard? Did you take a break from grooming yourself, too?”
He chuckled and stroked his beard. “I thought it would make me look tougher.”
“It does. So what else did you do during your administrative leave?”
Baxter hesitated. “Well, since I had plenty of time on my hands, I did some research. Now, I know you said you weren’t interested in reopening your mother’s case, but I think I might have the beginning of a trail on Marcus Copland.”
My heart dropped into my stomach, and my body went numb. “Nick, I told you not to dredge this up. I can’t handle it…especially right now.” My throat tight, I fought back tears as I whispered, “How could you?”
His face fell, and his shoulders slumped. “I…thought it would help you to get some closure. I never meant to upset you.”
“Was I not clear before about my feelings?” I stood up, trembling. “Let me be crystal clear now: I don’t want my mother’s murder case reopened under any circumstances. Do you understand? I don’t want any attempt made to locate or contact the psychopath who killed my mother. Rachel even changed her last name from Copland to Miller to make sure he couldn’t find her. Don’t put my family at risk because you always have to be the hero.”
Without a backward glance, I stormed out of the coffeehouse. I only made it a block down the street before Baxter caught up to me and grabbed my arm.
“What the hell was that?” he demanded.
I struggled to keep my emotions in check. “That was me being done with a conversation.”
“Well, I’m not.”
I wrenched my arm free. “Tough shit. This is my life, and you don’t get to meddle in it. Don’t worry. With the investigation over, you won’t be seeing me anymore anyway. You can move on to your next charity case.”
He stared at me, dumbfounded. “You think you’re a charity case to me?”
Throwing my hands up in the air, I said, “I can’t imagine what else I’d be.”
“You’re the best criminalist I’ve ever worked with. We make an amazing team.”
“I never wanted to be part of the team. I told you that from the beginning. I’m done.”
He wouldn’t let it go. “But think of all the good we could do. How can you just walk away from that?”
“Watch me.” We were near my car, so I hurried over and wrenched the door open before he could stop me. Before I got in, I added, “Nick, you don’t know me like you think you do. I’ll disappoint you. It’s what I do.”
I got in my car and sped away. When I got home, I locked myself in my room and drowned the pain until I no longer saw Baxter’s disappointed face every time I closed my eyes.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
Caroline Fardig’s next Ellie Matthews novel,
AN EYE FOR AN EYE.
An Eye
for an Eye
An Ellie Matthews Novel
PROLOGUE
Late one December evening, the first snow of the season began to fall, covering the quiet neighborhood with a blanket of white. Christmas lights adorning the homes gave off a warm, festive glow. As the snow piled up, children watched excitedly out their bedroom windows, hoping enough would fall so school would be cancelled the next day and their winter fun could begin.
In the house at the end of the street, a woman stood alone, eating Chinese takeout over the kitchen sink and wishing for the snow to stop. She had to show up for work regardless of the weather, and her car’s tires were bald and in need of replacement. She’d be lucky to get out of the neighborhood without ending up in a ditch.
She heard a noise coming from the backyard, so she set her container of food on the kitchen counter and shuffled over to the back door. That cat of hers had better not be walking around on her potting bench again, knocking tools and empty pots onto the ground. She’d had to pick up the shards of a busted terra cotta pot only last week.
Opening the door, she called out, “Whiskers, is that you? Come inside, cat, before you freeze to death.”
It was silent within the walls of her privacy fence; she heard not so much as a meow from Whiskers in reply. She closed the door and went back to eating her dinner, figuring he would soon change his mind and come crying to be let inside. A crash outside got her attention. This time, she donned a coat and boots, determined to find that stubborn cat of hers and bring him in from the cold whether he liked it or not.
On her way out the door, she flipped the switch for the outside carriage light on the back patio, but nothing happened. She sighed to herself, making a mental note to put “change light bulb” on her endless to-do list. Stepping down onto the patio, she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Visibility outside had grown worse since a couple of minutes ago. The snow was now falling fast in huge stuck-together flakes.
“Whiskers, kitty-kitty. Here, kitty-kitty.” Hearing a rustling to her left, she turned and peered into the bushes near the fence. “Come on, Whiskers,” she complained, walking toward the source of the sound. “It’s freezing out—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a blinding pain exploded at the back of her head. She stumbled forward, disoriented and dizzy. Unable to keep her feet under her, she collapsed to the ground. She managed to roll onto her back and wrench open her eyes, searching for what had hit her. Black spots, bright stars, and double vision clouding her sight, she could barely make out a dark figure swooping down on her. She raised her arms to push the person away, but her movements were slow, as if she were stuck in mud.
The figure clamped two gloved hands around her neck and squeezed. She gasped for air and tried to struggle free, but her body was sluggish and her energy sapped. She cried out, but could voice nothing more than a whimper with the pressure crushing her throat. As she wheezed out her last breath, she could have sworn she heard Whiskers let out a forlorn meow from the nearby bushes.
CAROLINE FARDIG is the USA Today bestselling author of over a dozen mystery novels. Fardig's Bad Medicine was named one of the "Best Books of 2015" by Suspense Magazine. She worked as a schoolteacher, church organist, insurance agent, funeral parlor associate, and stay-at-home mom before she realized that she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Born and raised in a small town in Indiana, Fardig still lives in that same town with an understanding husband, two sweet kids, two energetic dogs, and one malevolent cat.
To find out about news and upcoming releases, sign up for Caroline’s newsletter here: www.carolinefardig.com/mailing-list
Visit her website at www.carolinefardig.com
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