“Unless her fingerprints landed on that weapon as a result of the assault on her. Maybe the same person who killed the Globe reporters attacked Mia.”
“I think she knows her attacker. She just doesn’t want to admit that possibility.”
Mitchell’s lips set into a thin line as he watched the interrogation proceed. “I don’t like being embarrassed, Bartlett. Whatever happened to her, if you value your position with this department, you’ll make damn sure that her involvement in your case doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass. Am I being clear?”
Gray gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want to hear about how we invited a murderer—or even someone who likes to buy stolen guns for self-protection—onto our crime scenes. If I were you, I’d stay the hell away from her.”
“She’s not officially involved any longer.”
“I don’t give a damn about official and unofficial, and neither does the media. We’re talking about two dead Globe reporters. Don’t you think those journalists would love to make a spectacle if they learned that a person of interest was riding shotgun with the lieutenant on the case? All it takes is for someone to leak information—”
“Sir, she’s only here tonight because she received a threatening email. I’m concerned for her safety, that’s all.”
Mitchell drew a steely gaze across Gray’s face. “Lieutenant, I’ve always trusted you to exercise sound judgment. That’s how you got to this position at your age. But if you put this department in a compromising position, your career is finished. Got it?”
He set his jaw, staring straight ahead into the interrogation room, where Mia was calmly answering questions. “Got it.”
“Good.” Mitchell gave Gray a firm clap on the shoulder before rising to his feet. “I’m going home.”
The door closed behind him and Gray fumed, wondering who the rat on his team was. It didn’t matter. Once upon a time Mitchell’s words might have disturbed him enough to back down, but Gray needed to follow his instincts. His job was to serve and protect, and Mia Perez needed his protection right now. Even if no one else understood it that way.
* * *
The more Mia saw of Officer Morrison, the less she liked him. He was talking quickly, bursting with adrenaline at nearly five in the morning. Fidgeting. Every now and then, he would get up out of his seat and sit on the table, right beside her. Once, he’d started pacing behind her while she was giving her professional credentials. Whereas Lieutenant Gomez was measured and deliberate, Officer Morrison came across hotheaded and a little uncontrollable. He liked playing the bad cop. He liked it a lot.
“Do you remember how, back at your sister’s place, you said that you handle murder weapons? What’d you mean by that?”
Mia sighed inwardly. That had been an ill-advised comment, and of course it was going to be used against her. She had worked with officers in the Boston P.D. for years, and to see them eyeing her with suspicion and talking about her as if she were a criminal had been more than she could handle. The way Joe D’Augostino had spoken to Gray... She hadn’t done anything wrong, and suddenly someone she’d been friendly with regarded her as a murder suspect. But none of that mattered. She’d lost her cool, and now she was going to pay for it.
“I was voicing my frustration, that’s all. I didn’t mean it literally.”
“You were voicing your frustration?” Morrison pretended to be confused. “What were you frustrated about?”
“I was—and I am—frustrated that my fingerprints were found on that gun and that I can’t explain it. I’m not a murderer, and I didn’t break into my sister’s apartment to send a threatening email to myself from her computer. I’m frustrated that I’m being labeled as a suspect.”
“You don’t remember how your fingerprints got on that gun?” Morrison was back in his seat, but he was leaning across the table. “Why is that? Is it because you handle so many guns that you can’t be sure which ones you’ve touched?”
Mia bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying anything ugly in response. “It’s because, to my knowledge, I’ve never even held a handgun, or any kind of gun. Last summer I was mugged, attacked and left for dead. As a result I’ve lost many of my memories surrounding that time. If I handled a gun then, I have no memory of it.”
It was a little bit of a lie, because Mia had a vague memory of the gun. Until she was more certain about what happened, however, she wasn’t going to bring it up. To talk about it now, like this, could only lead to self-incrimination.
“You don’t have any memory of it? Gee, how convenient.” Morrison said it loudly and with a quick glance to check whether his superior was watching. He wasn’t.
“It’s the truth.” Mia tried to keep her voice calm, but a touch of defensiveness entered nonetheless.
Gomez had been quiet during much of the interrogation, but now he was studying her with interest. “You say you’ve never handled a gun before, but you can’t be sure you didn’t handle one last summer. Why is that?”
She was momentarily thrown by the calm intensity in his gaze. “I just... It’s just that I can’t remember a lot of the events surrounding my attack, that’s all.”
“But you think it’s possible that you may have encountered during that period a situation in which you handled a gun?”
Mia’s throat closed, and her heart pounded so insistently that she felt light-headed. You know it’s possible. You know that you were filled with an ugly, murderous rage at the thought that someone had hurt your sister. You know that you fantasized about what you would do when you finally got ahold of Valentine. You just don’t remember whether you took any steps to make that fantasy a reality.
She brought her focus to her hands, folded so neatly in front of her and resting on the table. “My sister was missing and presumed dead,” she began carefully. “I may have been feeling insecure. No, unsafe.” She looked Gomez in the eye. “I think it would be understandable, under the circumstances, if I’d looked into acquiring a weapon.”
“You know, that’s a real interesting theory, Dr. Perez,” Morrison said. “Thing is, the gun that was used to shoot those reporters had a filed-off serial number, and you don’t have any kind of permit. Which means that if you handled that gun, it was stolen.”
“Maybe I handled it in a store, and it was stolen later,” she said. “You can’t be seriously suggesting that I would purchase a handgun off the black market.”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Morrison replied. “I think you bought that weapon illegally because you knew you were going to use it to kill someone.”
“Who? Jake Smith?” Mia shook her head. “I don’t even know him. Didn’t know him. Why would I kill him?”
“You tell us,” said Gomez.
She didn’t like the way he was watching her. Mia looked over toward the two-way glass and wondered if Gray was there. Probably not. If he was smart, he’d be getting some sleep right now after having been up all night.
“I didn’t know Jake Smith,” Mia repeated. “I wouldn’t kill him.”
“You live in a pretty nice area,” Morrison mused, reading off her address. “Fancy digs.”
Mia laughed out loud at that one. “Yes, I live in a nice neighborhood. I assure you that my apartment is very modest.”
“How much do you pay a month in rent for that place?”
“Is that important?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?” She was growing irritated, though from lack of sleep or the line of questioning, she didn’t know.
“You do a lot of work for the Boston P.D.,” Morrison said. “Ever work on any matters related to drug cartels?”
Mia studied him, trying to understand where he was going. “Yes, I’ve done some work with the department, but I’ve already explained that work to you. I’ve never worked on any matter relating to a drug cartel.”
She was pleased to observe that Morrison appeared slightly deflated by that response, but
after a momentary pause, he said, “I think you’re lying.”
Mia’s jaw dropped at the bluntness of his statement. “Excuse me?”
“I think you’re lying,” Morrison repeated slowly, emphasizing each word as if he thought she was particularly stupid. “I think the homicide cases you’ve worked have allowed you access to information that would be beneficial to criminals, and that you’ve been selling this information to the highest bidder.”
This was lunacy. Mia choked on a laugh and then sat back in her seat in sheer amazement. “You’re joking, I hope.”
“That explains why you would kill two reporters,” Morrison continued. “They were onto you.”
“They were onto me?”
“It also explains how you’d be able to afford your fancy apartment.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “This is ridiculous. When you have evidence that I sold information to a cartel, I will refute it. But I can’t sit here and defend myself against asinine theories. I’m not under arrest, correct?”
Morrison and Gomez eyed each other, and then Gomez said, “Correct.”
Mia slid her chair back from the table and stood. “Then we’re finished.”
The door opened then and Gray entered the room, his face twisted in silent fury. He glared at Morrison, succeeding in getting the arrogant young officer to look away first. Then he crossed the room to escort Mia out of the station. “Come on. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said under her breath, but followed him out of the interrogation room just the same. “I’ll catch a cab home.”
“Like hell you will. You’re not going back to your apartment alone.”
“Get real.”
She sped up, but he had no trouble keeping up. “Get real? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mia pressed the door to the outside, and they both entered the early-morning sunshine. Monday morning, and the world was just coming alive. Despite her physical exhaustion, Mia was much too agitated to consider sleeping.
Gray continued to follow her down the steps. “Mia,” he said, grasping her elbow as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “What do you mean by telling me to get real?”
She spun on her heel to look at him for the first time since they left the interrogation room. His dark hair was tousled, and despite the still-burning energy in his eyes, the dark circles beneath them suggested he was as tired as she was. He’d loosened his collar, and the stubble on his cheeks had grown in a matter of hours. The whole effect was quite sexy, but there was no sense dwelling on that.
“Gray, I appreciate your concern. I do. But in case you haven’t realized it yet, I now have the Boston P.D. breathing down my neck. They think I’ve killed people.” Her voice cracked. “Forty-eight hours ago I was being honored for helping crime victims. Now Officer Morrison thinks I’ve been selling secrets to drug cartels to pay my rent.” Her heart ached with self-pity.
“Listen to me.” Gray positioned himself directly in front of her and placed his hands on her arms, pinning them gently to her side. “Morrison is an ass with an overactive imagination.”
“And a badge. And a gun.” She squirmed out of his grasp. “You may not believe his theory, but he’s going to hound me trying to prove it, and then he’s going to try to convince someone.” She laughed humorlessly. “I’m a big trophy, Gray. Can you see the headlines? Seaver Award Recipient Arrested for Murder. I can’t believe this is my life. I mean, how did I get to this place?”
“You didn’t kill anyone.” His voice was insistent. “This is frustrating. I get it. But there won’t be an arrest, because you didn’t do anything wrong.”
She stood beside him with clenched fists, wanting to believe what he told her. “I wanted him dead,” she whispered. “When he took my sister, I remember very clearly that I wanted Valentine dead.”
“That’s an understandable feeling.”
“You’re missing my point.” She looked into his gray eyes. “I wanted Valentine dead. I remember that. And now I find out that my fingerprints were found on a gun.” Her chin trembled as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “I remember what you said when we first met, about never knowing someone. At the time I thought you were being cynical, but now I see how right you were, because I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“I’m going to fix this. I know that you didn’t do anything wrong.”
They barely knew each other, and yet the intensity of the past thirty-six hours made her feel as though she and Gray were old friends. Mia stared at him, wondering where his drive to protect her had come from. The realization hit her.
“I’m not your dead sister,” she whispered. “You can’t save her by saving me.”
He narrowed his eyes as if her words had struck something painful. “That’s not what this is.”
“What is it, then?”
Gray’s cell phone chimed, but he didn’t move. Mia looked at the phone, which lit up on the carrier on his waist. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“Stay here.” He lifted the phone from his waist. “Hello? Yes, hi, Mindy.”
Mia turned away and watched the traffic barreling down the road. The thought of going home filled her with dread. Home was too quiet. She needed to be closer to people right now, to feel some protection from the herd from whoever had threatened her. She supposed she could stay at a hotel for a while or call a friend and ask to stay there. She didn’t want to be alone right now.
Gray’s voice came from behind her. “That was CSU,” he said. “They processed that leather glove they found at Katherine Haley’s apartment.”
“I remember. Did they find anything interesting?”
“Well, they found pollen. Better than that, they found orchid pollen. Lots of different kinds of orchids.”
Mia shrugged. “So? Are you looking for someone who grows orchids? A murderous orchid farmer?”
“No, I think we’re looking for a murderous scientist.” He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Come on. Let’s go look for Valentine.”
Chapter 10
“The science museum?” Mia stared out the car window in confusion as they pulled into the parking garage. “You think Valentine’s here?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
He shut his door and walked around the car to assist Mia. She opened her own door but accepted his hand as she stepped out onto the asphalt. He led her into the front door and flashed his badge at a middle-aged woman collecting tickets. “I need to see the Rare Flowers Exhibit. It’s official business.”
“Of course, Officer. Go right ahead. Down the hall and up the stairs.” She stepped aside and allowed them access.
When they were halfway down the hall, Gray turned to Mia and whispered, “See? Flowers. I know how to show a girl a good time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Most women like it when men bring them flowers, not when men bring them to flowers.”
“But you’re not most women.”
He detected the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “Lucky for you.”
They took the stairs as directed and came to a bright banner proclaiming the name of the exhibit in front of the hall. A young man stood at the entrance, collecting tickets. He held up his hand when Gray and Mia began to enter. “Uh, folks? You’re going to need exhibit tickets.”
Gray flashed his badge. “I need to speak with the person in charge of the exhibit.”
The man looked right to left, confused. “Okay, but...I don’t...” He stopped and pointed toward the exhibit hall. “There’s a docent over there. He could show you around.”
“I was thinking more like the curator.” The man just blinked, so Gray continued. “How about this?” He pointed to the two-way radio on the ticket collector’s waistband. “Take that and call your superior. Tell him or her that the cops are here and that we need to speak to the person in charge of this exhibit. We’ll wait.”
The man’s eyes darted still. “Uh, okay.
” He lifted the two-way and spoke into it. “There’s a police officer here who wants to speak to Ms. McAlister?”
Gray turned, but Mia was no longer beside him. He scanned the hall and saw her picking a discarded exhibit program from a table. She didn’t notice him watching her, and he didn’t want to look away. After he’d offered her a ride, Mia had hastily combed her fingers through her thick, wavy auburn hair and then secured it in a clip she’d found in her handbag. She’d then lifted her toiletries bag from Gray’s car and retreated into the police department bathroom to freshen up. Five minutes later she’d emerged, clean faced and smelling like powder and mint. She looked tired but still beautiful. He could get used to that face.
An image of her in the interrogation room floated back into his head, and Gray’s chest tightened. When he looked at Mia, all he saw was a strong, intelligent woman who was feeling vulnerable, and all he wanted to do was protect her. As if she could read his mind, she glanced up, but she didn’t smile. Instead she waved the brochure in her hand and said, “The orchid display should be in room B.”
The two-way beeped and someone said, “She’s on her way.”
The ticket collector looked at Gray. “He just said—”
“She’s on her way. Thanks.”
Mia pulled up to his side, her nose still buried in the brochure. “This actually looks interesting. They brought in rare flowers from all over the world. Look at that.” She pointed to a picture of a crimson water-lily dahlia. “Gorgeous. You can see why Valentine might be drawn to something like this.”
“He’s been more than a casual spectator. He’s been handling these flowers.”
“The flowers are more than a message or a ploy to gain access to a victim’s home,” Mia whispered. “They’re a real interest of his.”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
They turned to see a woman dressed in gray plaid pants and a pink sweater set approaching them. She held out her hand and looked him straight in the eye. “Jane McAlister. I’m the curator of this exhibit.”
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