by Mary Burton
“We’ve not finished, and I would recommend that you wait. Our makeup artist is very talented and will be able to showcase her natural beauty.”
“I’m sure. And that will be fine for the funeral. But for now, I’d like to see her just as she is.”
A neatly plucked brow arched. “If that’s your wish.”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
He trailed behind her down a long carpeted hallway past several sets of double doors that led into parlors. A couple were marked IN USE. Tyler had the sense of walking down a dark tunnel. The deeper he moved down that tunnel, the tighter his grip on his emotions grew. He would not cry. He would not lose his shit in front of the doctor.
At the end of the hallway they pushed through another wooden door, this one leading to a tiled room filled with a collection of drawers stacked neatly one above another. In the center of the room was a stainless-steel table, and beside it a collection of face paints and fillers. She moved to a drawer in the middle of the wall and laid her hand on the silver handle. “You’re sure?”
Hell no, he wasn’t sure. “Yes.”
She twisted the handle and the door swung open. Inside lay a draped body. She pulled out the slab until the body jutted out several feet. As she gripped the edges of the sheet, he thought her hands were just as pale as the thick fabric and wondered how someone came to have a job like this. Slowly, she pulled back the sheet.
For a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he got his first full look at Deidre since her death. There were angry bloodless gashes on her face. One across the cheek. The other across her chin. Color had abandoned her skin and her pale lips were parted slightly, as if she needed to whisper something to him in his ear.
Tears burned the back of his eyes and his throat tightened with emotions he’d never imagined.
Even in death, she possessed a terrible beauty that still drew him. He’d loved her for so long, he wondered what would fill the space in his heart that she’d carved out for herself. Whatever lay before him now might look like his wife, but he understood that his Deidre was dead and gone forever.
Carefully, he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. Cold to the touch, her skin didn’t feel like Deidre’s. Despite all the bitter problems that had eaten away at their marriage, he took satisfaction in knowing the last lips she’d ever feel against her skin would forever and always be his.
The phone cradled under his chin, Alex dialed Deke’s number as he made his way through traffic. His brother answered on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“Any more information on the listening device found at Deidre’s town house?”
The sound of Deke shuffling through papers echoed through the phone line. “Can be ordered from a hundred different Internet sites. Has a listening radius of a couple of miles.”
“Who was listening in on Deidre’s life?”
“Controlling soon-to-be ex-husband and secret lover aside, I think this could also have something to do with her work. Have you reviewed her case files lately? She’s put away a couple of really bad drug dealers.”
“Who’s top of the list?”
“Top three is more like it. Ray Murphy, Tyrone Willis, and Sammy King. All three of them are hurting because of her undercover work.”
“Which cases would have moved forward without her testimony?”
“They’re all solid cases. She did a hell of a job and she’s the one who triggered their downfall. We both know Ray has one bad temper. But the other two could be just as guilty. Killing a cop sends one hell of a message.”
Anger strained under his even tone. “Have you dug into their alibis for Sunday night/early Monday morning?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” More papers shuffled. “Tyrone was in jail. Picked up in a prostitution sting. Sammy can prove he was in Memphis. And Ray is wearing an ankle bracelet. All have good alibis, but all could have hired someone.”
Alex considered the answer and rejected it. “This killing wasn’t done by a hired third party.”
“There’s very little evidence. This killer knew what he was doing. He was a pro.”
“Agreed. But if this was a hit, why not just shoot her and leave?”
“Violence sends a message.”
“It does. But this killing feels personal. The killer would have been looking into Deidre’s eyes as he’d stabbed.”
“Locking a guy away can feel really personal.”
He couldn’t dismiss the logic. “Which of the three has the biggest ego?”
“Ray Murphy. Guy thinks he’s invincible. Has never worried about jail time. Always has a smug look on his face, like he can beat the rap.”
“But you said if he killed Deidre the case would continue.”
“Provided her death didn’t intimidate the other witnesses. If he can kill a top cop, he can kill anyone.”
Alex conjured up the last minutes of Deidre’s life. “Deidre opens the back door; before she can react, the killer plunges a knife in her and she hits the floor. Rolls onto her back. He keeps stabbing as she watches.”
“But he keeps stabbing.”
“Because he’s pissed or trying to send a message.”
“I think this killer wasn’t angry as much as sending a message.”
“To the other witnesses?”
He came to a stop at a stop sign, looked both ways, and turned left. “I don’t know.”
Another voice hummed over the line, as if someone had entered Deke’s office. After a hesitation, a door closed.
“Why not take the listening device after he killed her?”
“He had to be covered in blood even if he were wearing a Tyvek suit. It takes time to strip off the suit and cross into the living room. And if she screamed, he’d have been worried that someone called the cops. Leave the untraceable listening device and get out of there.”
“It still could be Ray. He’s lying low and armed to the teeth with lawyers. Getting through to him isn’t going to be easy.”
“Keep working on it. I want to find out if there were any glitches in Ray’s monitoring device. I’m on my way to David’s office. Time he and I had a chat.”
“You think he has the stones to kill Deidre?”
“Everyone has the potential. Just depends on whether you dial up the right combination.”
“Right.”
Alex pulled into the parking lot of a tall glass building. He got out, showed his badge to reception, and, within minutes, was in David Westbrook’s office. He worked for a law firm service that specialized in corporate matters such as insurance fraud and corporate espionage.
Dressed in his suit, David looked quite different from when he ran in the morning. On the track, each runner was judged by athletic skill. But elsewhere, the pecking order shifted to money. David rose and came around the side of his desk. “Agent Morgan, correct?”
Alex extended his hand. “That’s right. I’m here to talk to you about Deidre Jones.”
The handsome, smooth features lost their luster. “We’re all still stunned.”
“Was there anyone bothering her?” Alex asked.
“I never saw anyone creepy hanging around the track. I know her ex wasn’t thrilled with her. I think he keyed her car. I asked her about it, but she wouldn’t say. I think she was kind of embarrassed.”
Alex didn’t like David. The guy was a salesman; he sold whatever bill of goods suited him. Deidre was an adult and made her own choices, but David was the kind of guy who would have smelled her weakness and played on it. “You two were dating.”
“For about a month. Nothing serious. We were just having fun. But I liked her. I liked her a lot.”
“You two spend much time together?”
“We hooked up a few times a week. Her job kept her busy. Not unusual for her to cancel on me.” He shook his head. “Was this related to her job?”
Alex purposefully softened his expression with what he assumed looked like a sad smile. An icy stare didn’
t foster trust in a witness. “That’s one of the theories.”
David leaned in. “Who found her?”
“A woman from your running group,” he said. “Leah Carson.”
“Leah? What was she doing at Deidre’s?”
“Trying to find out why she missed the morning run.”
David ran long fingers through his hair. “God.”
Alex studied him closely. “Did Deidre ever mention anything that made you think there was trouble in her life? Was she worried? Did she ever think anyone was following her?”
“No. No. She never wanted to talk about much when we were together. She liked a good laugh. And she liked the bedroom. Beyond that, we rarely had much to say.” He paused a moment. “That ex of hers might have been trouble.”
“You said she wasn’t worried about him.”
“She said she could handle him.” He slid his hand into his pocket. “Do you think it was him?”
Alex glanced past David to a credenza covered with photographs. One stood out. David standing with a pretty blonde. “Who’s that?”
David drew in a breath. “My wife.”
“Your wife? She know about Deidre?”
David shifted in his chair, tugged on the cuffs of his hand-tailored shirt. “We’re separated right now, but we’re trying to work things out.”
“What’s her name?”
“Alicia.” David glanced at Alex and very quickly added, “But she wouldn’t hurt anyone. She’s sweet. Maybe too sweet. But I love her. And besides, she’s been in New York the last month, visiting family. There’s no need to talk to her.”
“Not now.” Alex held his ground. “What do you know about Leah Carson?”
“Leah? She’s about the worst runner there is. I was shocked when Deidre invited her to the group. Why ask about her?”
“She and Deidre were friends.”
“Not exactly. I think Deidre kind of felt sorry for her. Leah is an odd duck. Keeps to herself. Beyond me why Deidre kept trying to take Leah under her wing. And it figures she’d check on Deidre. She’s a worrier.”
“Why’s that unusual?”
“Deidre doesn’t have . . . didn’t have a lot of patience for weakness. It’s why she left her husband. His drinking got to be too much. It’s why she’d have dumped me sooner than later. Leah had that wounded-bird kind of vibe. She told me Leah’s neighbors called the cops right after she moved in. Seems Leah was screaming. Told cops it was a nightmare.”
Nightmares. Defensive stab wounds. “She say anything else about Leah?”
“I asked her once what gives with Leah, but she said something about the sins of the past.”
“Sins of the past?”
“I know, it makes no sense. They only just met. But that’s what she said.”
“You didn’t press.”
“No. She had a way of distracting my thoughts.” He grinned.
Alex’s face turned to stone. “She strike you as the type that would bend the law?”
“Deidre? I don’t think she’d like it, but if push came to shove, sure, I think she’d do it.”
“She ever talk about doing anything shady?”
His spine stiffened, raising him up an inch or two. “No. She never talked to me about work or anything illegal. Shit, the last thing I need is to be an accessory after the fact.”
“All right.” Made sense that Deidre wouldn’t tell David about her work, or any off-the-books work. Made sense he wouldn’t push, unless he thought the information would be of use.
Alex handed David his card. “Let me know if you think of anything.”
“Sure.”
Outside, Alex pulled Ray-Ban sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on. Deidre had alluded to sins of the past when Leah’s name was mentioned. What the hell did that mean?
Chapter Twelve
Wednesday, January 18, 4 P.M.
There had been no surgeries today and no afternoon appointments so Dr. Nelson told Leah to go home early. “No sense in both of us sitting around here,” he’d said.
She’d volunteered to stay, but he’d insisted she leave, promising her there’d be times in the future when she’d wish for the time off.
And so she gathered her purse and slid on her coat. Keys in hand, she headed toward her car. She’d just reached the car door when she heard the crunch of footsteps. Leah reached in her pocket for the Mace she always kept close as she whirled around. Alex Morgan didn’t flinch, but his gaze dropped to her hand, as if assessing the threat. She eased her thumb away from the Mace’s trigger.
“So how’re you holding up?” He waited for her gaze to meet his.
“Alex. What’re you doing here? You know Rick picked up Tracker today.”
Alex was silent for a moment. “I know. He texted. You always this jumpy?”
She scrambled through her basket of ready lies. “I’m the nervous sort.”
He moved slowly toward her, as if approaching a skittish animal. “You’re relaxed around the animals.”
“I understand them. It’s always black and white with animals.”
“But not with people.”
She arched a brow. “And you think people are black and white?”
He shook his head. “I know they’re not.”
She spoke metaphorically, universally, the way he was talking about her. He saw the grays and shadows that swirled around her like a second skin.
“I get the impression there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”
“I can promise you, I’m very boring.”
“You’re not boring.” He moved within inches of her, standing so close she could smell the scent of his aftershave mingling with cold fresh air.
She curled her fingers into fists tight enough to hide her scars. “What’re you doing here?”
A hand slid in his pocket, enough to push his jacket back and reveal the badge and gun behind it. “I did a little digging on you.”
She tightened her hold on her purse strap. “That so?”
“Your neighbors called the cops last month. They said you were screaming.”
She shook her head, remembering the cops pounding on her door. There’d been an officer to the right of the door, a hand on his gun, and two at the bottom of the steps. Another had been in the parking lot. “I have nightmares. They can be pretty bad.”
“Nightmares.”
“Nothing I talk about. I was in my kitchen eating ice cream when the cops arrived. It was embarrassing. I let them search the place because it was clear they were on edge when they arrived.”
“Nightmares.” He spoke the word again, as if he were dropping it into a file cabinet.
“Yeah.”
He waited a beat, but when she didn’t expand on the comment, he asked, “So what brought you back to Nashville? I don’t think we covered that on our . . . date.”
It hadn’t been a real date. She’d been on the verge of a panic attack when the text arrived. “I’m from Nashville. Went to vet school in Knoxville. Moved back for the job.”
“You always wanted to be a vet?”
“Yeah. I like animals. Trust them. Like you said, they relax me.”
“As opposed to people.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He folded his arms as he shook his head. “How’d you get the scars on your palms, Leah? You go out of your way to hide them.”
She resisted the urge to glance at her palms that were now in fists. “I told you. An accident.”
“What kind?”
“You like to push, don’t you?” The crack of temper was a surprise.
A flicker of amusement warmed his eyes for a brief second. “I do. I do indeed.”
Her temper simmered. “Sorry. I’m not worth worrying over.”
“You are. Even if you and Deidre weren’t friends I’d be interested in you.”
“Why?” She’d always wondered what Philip had seen in her. Was it a weakness? A vulnerability? Some men liked that sort of thing.
“You’ve got grit. You found Deidre’s body, but you held it together. That kind of thing would have forced some people to take a few days off. And yet you’re back at work.”
“What was I supposed to do? Stay at home? I’m better off working.”
A rattle of change in his pocket signaled a shift in mood from somewhat light to dark. His blue gaze catalogued everything about her: breathing, a shift of the shoulders, a moistening of her lips.
“Have you ever met or spoken to Deidre’s husband?”
“No. I know next to nothing about the man. And what I thought I knew, I told you.”
“But she did tell you she was getting a divorce.”
“We talked about it several times. I told you: she said he had a hard time letting go.” This all cut a little too close to home. What had her friends and neighbors said about her after the stabbing? “This feels like a violation of Deidre’s privacy. I know you need answers, but I feel as if I owe her that.”
“Deidre’s privacy is irrelevant. I’m trying to find out who killed her, Leah. Anything you can tell me would be of help.”
Her privacy had been irrelevant after her stabbing. All her mistakes and foolish choices had been laid bare. She didn’t want to do that to Deidre, who had been nothing but kind to her; she didn’t want to repay that by gossiping about her. “Did you talk to David?”
“I did.”
With the car pressed behind her and Alex directly in front of her, she felt boxed in, trapped. “Why did Deidre confide in you when she told no one else other than David?”
“I don’t know. That last day when she spoke about the divorce, I told her I’d been divorced. Maybe she sensed we were kindred souls.”
Divorce. Another word clanged into the file, like an old penny falling into a piggybank. “Nasty divorce?”
Not a path she wished to travel with anyone, especially him. “You could say that.”
“Where’s your ex-husband now?”
“He’s dead. Car accident near Greenville, South Carolina. Four years ago.”
She could tell Alex she’d dropped to her knees and thanked God when she’d learned her ex-husband was dead. But statements like that opened the door to more questions, and she couldn’t bear to have him look at her with piteous, distrustful eyes, as so many had after the stabbing.