I’m Watching You (Richmond Novels #1)

Chapter Nine

Monday, July 7, 4:02 P.M.

The law offices of Turner and Barlow were located in a suburban office park twenty miles west of Richmond. The five-story building had a shiny, reflective exterior and was nestled next to a large lake surrounded by pristine park benches and tree-lined jog paths. Tall front doors led to a foyer capped with skylights that magnified sunlight down on polished black marble floors.

Zack and Warwick checked the business directory posted on the wall and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. The elevator door dinged opened to muffled shouts. It was impossible to make out what was being said, but the tone was unmistakably angry.

Wordlessly, the detectives bypassed the stunned receptionist and cut around the maze of cubicles toward the corner office on the building’s south side. The name on the office door read Quinton Barlow.

‘I want to see my damn attorney! Where is he?!’ the male voice thundered behind the wood paneled door.

Zack hesitated. ‘That sounds like Ronnie T.’

Warwick nodded. ‘He’s either one damn good liar or he doesn’t know what happened to Harold.’

‘My money’s on one damn good liar.’

Ronnie T. had built a drug empire that stretched up and down the I-95 corridor. He’d evaded arrest on drug-trafficking charges; however, thanks to Zack’s undercover work, the Feds had been able to make a case for income tax evasion.

Without announcing himself, Zack opened the door and strolled into the plush office. ‘I thought I heard a familiar voice.’

Warwick was a step behind him. ‘What’s got everyone so upset?’

Ronnie T. stood in front of Quinton Barlow’s desk, his right hand clenching an ornate walking stick that coordinated with his white jumpsuit and custom Nikes. He sported a ball cap cocked at a jaunty angle and wore a thick gold chain worth more than most cops made in a year.

Across the desk, a composed Quinton Barlow faced him. Short and pudgy, he wore a white monogrammed dress shirt, red silk tie, and dark suit pants. Barlow had been practicing criminal defense law for thirty-plus years. Dealing with men like Ronnie T. was standard.

Barlow met Zack’s gaze and smiled pleasantly. ‘Gentlemen, what can we do for you?’

Ronnie T.’s eyes narrowed before he smiled at Zack. ‘Five-O. Shit. Before you ask, I ain’t done nothing wrong. My hearing was canceled this morning, because my damn attorney didn’t show. I was just asking Quinton here where the hell Harold is hiding.’

Zack pulled a slim notebook and pen out of his pocket. ‘So where is Harold?’

Ronnie T. flashed a signature grin even as his grip tightened on his cane. ‘Quinton isn’t telling.’

‘Ronnie only just burst into my office,’ Barlow said.

Zack raised an eyebrow and looked at Barlow, unsure of what he really knew about his law partner. ‘Do you know where your partner is?’

Barlow didn’t flinch. ‘I’ve spoken to Jordan. She told me about your visit.’

‘She didn’t waste any time,’ Zack said.

‘She understands even the innocent need an attorney when dealing with the police,’ Quinton said.

Ronnie T. leaned on his cane. ‘Someone mind filling me in on what’s what?’

Zack studied Barlow’s guarded expression before he shifted his gaze back to the dealer. ‘Harold’s body was found this morning behind Sanctuary Women’s Shelter. He was shot point-blank in the chest.’

Ronnie T.’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. ‘Shit.’

Zack wasn’t fooled by Ronnie’s surprise. ‘When’s the last time you saw your counselor?’

Barlow cleared his throat. ‘Don’t answer any of their questions.’

Ronnie T. shrugged. ‘I don’t mind answering, Quinton. I ain’t got nothing to hide. I saw Harold yesterday after court.’

‘Word is you two fought,’ Zack said. ‘Fact, I hear it was nearly a knock-down, drag-out fight in the courthouse.’

‘Ronnie,’ Barlow warned, ‘keep your mouth shut.’

Ronnie T. waved Barlow off. ‘Yeah, we mixed it up. He wanted me to take a plea agreement. I told him I was paying him the big bucks to keep me out of jail. The deal was no time spent behind bars.’

‘What time was that?’ Warwick said.

‘About three.’

‘Do you know where Turner was headed?’ Zack said.

‘Said something about dinner with his old lady.’

‘And where were you last night, Ronnie T.?’ Zack said.

Ronnie T.’s full lips split into a wide grin. ‘I was at a swim meet. My kid was swimming the butterfly for the first time at the community pool. He’s on the Mite team. And he won his heat.’

‘I’m assuming you have witnesses,’ Warwick said.

‘I do.’ Ronnie T. sounded amused. ‘They are some of Richmond’s finest – all white folks. I can give you a list of names.’

Zack flipped to a clean page in his notebook. ‘Let’s have them.’

Ronnie T. rattled off a half dozen names. He looked pleased with himself. Whatever had gone down last night, Ronnie T. had made certain that he was in a very public place.

Barlow picked up a letter printed on the firm’s stationery. ‘I too have an alibi. In this letter is the name and phone number of the manager of my country club. He can verify my alibi for last night. You’ll also find Mrs Turner’s alibi contacts on that sheet.’

‘Can those witnesses vouch for where she might have been at four or five this morning?’ Warwick asked.

‘As a matter of fact one can vouch for her at that time. Her sister and she were talking on the phone between three A.M. and six A.M. Her sister lives in Australia. There is also a maid who lives in the house who says she heard the women talking until almost five.’

Zack took the paper but didn’t bother to read it. He’d call all the names on both lists but already knew each contact would verify the stories he’d been given.

Warwick picked up an engraved crystal paperweight off of Barlow’s desk. He tossed it between his hands. ‘How was the Turner marriage overall? Happy? Tense?’

‘I wasn’t privy to their personal life until just minutes ago,’ Barlow said, frowning at the paperweight in Warwick’s hand. ‘However, Jordan did tell me that she confided the details of her troubled marriage to Lindsay O’Neil two weeks ago. Jordan said Ms O’Neil was quite angry and upset when Jordan refused to leave her husband.’

Zack bit back an oath. Lindsay had been holding out on him. ‘Why would Mrs Turner share that bit of information?’

‘She said Harold’s body was found behind Sanctuary, which, if I’m not mistaken, is the shelter your wife oversees.’

What kind of angle was Jordan Turner working?

‘Did O’Neil and Jordan Turner have any other contact after that meeting?’ Warwick said.

The question was necessary but nevertheless annoyed Zack.

Barlow shook his head. ‘Mrs Turner said that Ms O’Neil called her this afternoon.’

Zack swallowed another oath. ‘And they talked about?’

‘Mrs Turner was concerned that Ms O’Neil had killed Harold,’ Barlow said.

‘Did she have proof?’ Zack asked.

‘No.’

Amused, Ronnie T. raised a finger. ‘What a minute. Lindsay O’Neil was your wife, wasn’t she, Detective Kier?’

Zack’s jaw tightened. ‘She still is.’

Ronnie T. cackled. ‘I thought she divorced your sorry ass a year ago.’

Warwick set the paperweight down, stepping between the two men. ‘We’ll want to interview Mrs Turner again.’

Barlow moved the paperweight out of Warwick’s reach. ‘We’ll be happy to help in the investigation in any way.’

‘I’d be happy to ask my associates if anyone hated ole Harold enough to kill him,’ Ronnie T. offered.

‘The last thing I want is your help,’ Zack said. The dealer’s favors always had strings attached.

Ronnie T.’s smile didn’t fade but his eyes hardened. ‘Is my help too good for you now that you’re sober, Detective Kier?’

Zack got right in Ronnie T.’s face. ‘Stay out of the investigation.’

Ronnie T. laughed. ‘But I want to help.’

Warwick nudged Zack. Zack reined in his temper and backed up. ‘Neither of you leave town.’

When Barlow and Ronnie T. both agreed, the two cops walked out of the office. Zack pushed the elevator button. His temper seethed. The doors opened. They got in. Neither spoke until they were outside by the car.

Warwick glared up at the building. ‘Ronnie T. really pisses you off.’

‘I crossed paths with him during several narcotics investigations. That million-dollar smile hides a ruthless heart.’ He’d tried several times to supply Zack with drugs. Once after Lindsay had moved out, he’d been tempted, but he’d refused, as always.

Zack’s cell vibrated. He checked the number. Ayden. He flipped open his phone. ‘Kier.’

‘Get over to Sanctuary.’ Ayden’s sharp voice jumped through the phone. ‘Someone delivered Harold Turner’s hand to Lindsay.’

The police had ordered Lindsay into the shelter’s family room across the hallway from her office. She’d been told to wait for the detectives. She sat on the couch, her arms folded and her stomach knotted. She tapped her foot, believing she was going to jump out of her skin.

A half dozen uniformed officers had taken over Sanctuary. One was posted outside Lindsay’s office, two on the front porch, and three in the kitchen. They spoke in hushed tones laced with nervous excitement.

With each flash of a camera bulb, she knew Sara, the forensic tech, was in her office shooting pictures, no doubt from every conceivable angle, of the hand and the boxed flowers. Lindsay lost count how many times the digital camera had flashed.

News vans now from all three local television stations were parked out front. She noticed that Kendall Shaw was talking with her cameraman. A frown furrowed the tall brunette’s brow as she jabbed her finger in the air. Kendall was angry that there was no film of Lindsay running hysterically out of the shelter toward the unmarked police car. Too bad for Kendall, Lindsay thought bitterly. That bit of film would have made great news.

This day was churning memories that she’d thought were long buried. Running out of the shelter today reminded her of a similar July day twelve years ago when she’d found her mother. She’d bolted from the house. Screaming, she’d run a half mile to the neighbor’s house and pounded on the door until a befuddled Mr Jenkins had answered. Words had rushed from her mouth. Most had been unintelligible. And she’d nearly hyperventilated. But her neighbor had pieced together enough, figured out what had happened, and called the sheriff. She never went back in her parents’ house again.

Lindsay shoved a trembling hand through her hair. Rising from the couch, she moved to the window. She’d been almost as rattled today.

Jesus. Someone had sent her a severed hand.

Ruby came around the corner from the kitchen with a cold soda. She pushed the can into Lindsay’s hand. ‘Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can make you something to eat? I’ve got turkey and bread.’

Food was the last thing on Lindsay’s mind. ‘No thanks, Ruby.’

‘Milk shakes don’t cut it, honey. You’re going to get sick. I should make you a turkey sandwich.’

Lindsay’s argument died on her lips when she saw concern in the older woman’s eyes. She knew Ruby wasn’t so worried about food, but the entire situation. She needed something to do. ‘You know what, turkey sounds great to me. Extra mustard?’

Ruby nodded. She was obviously relieved. ‘I’ll have it for you in two shakes. Now, come away from the window and sit down.’

‘We’re going to have to move the shelter,’ Lindsay said. ‘I thought this morning that maybe, just maybe, we could dig our way out of this, but not now. The press aren’t going to sit on our location much longer.’

Ruby planted meaty fists on her wide hips. ‘Don’t borrow trouble, Lindsay. Let’s just take it one step at a time.’

‘We don’t have the cash reserves for a move. And Dana is going to be furious.’ She closed her eyes and pictured her boss’s tight angular face. She sensed an invisible tide had turned against her.

Ruby laid a hand on Lindsay’s shoulder. ‘Honey, you’re good at what you do. The board knows that. You’ll find a way out of this.’

One way or another, she would fight for this shelter. But she’d been in enough uphill battles to recognize one. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but in the meantime, you’d better see if you can pick up extra hours at your other job. I know we’ve never been able to pay you much, but we may not have much to offer for the near future.’

Ruby had a teenage daughter to support. ‘I hate leaving you.’

She didn’t want Ruby to worry. ‘I’m going to be fine.’

Frown lines formed around her mouth. ‘I’ll be back as soon as you can have me.’

Lindsay squeezed her hand. ‘I know.’

Tears in her eyes, Ruby disappeared into the kitchen as the front door opened.

Zack strode in the foyer, his stern expression sweeping clockwise until it landed on Lindsay. Behind him stood a tall, grim-faced man dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Even if he’d not been wearing his badge on a chain around his neck, she’d have guessed by his demeanor he was also a cop.

Zack made no move toward Lindsay but stared at her long and hard before he released a deep breath. ‘Are you all right?’

Unexpected relief flooded Lindsay’s body. She wanted to rush to him, let him take her in his arms and assure her everything would be okay. But she didn’t run to Zack. She stood her ground, her back stiffer than wood.

‘I’m great. Never a dull moment, is there?’ She tried to sound glib but instead sounded brittle. So be it.

Zack was deadly serious. ‘You look pale.’

‘I’m fine.’ She put steel behind the words, knowing if he showed her any pity she’d break. ‘Just figure out who sent me that little present in there and I’ll be even better.’

His expression reflected his disbelief. He knew stress made her bitchy. Knew this shelter meant everything to her. Knew about her mother’s death. Knew her.

Tension knotted her lower back. She folded her arms over her chest. This was not the time to have unwanted feelings rolling to the surface.

Zack cleared his throat. ‘This is my partner, Detective Jacob Warwick. This is Lindsay O’Neil. She’s the director of the shelter.’

Warwick nodded. ‘Ma’am.’

Lindsay prided herself on reading people, on being able to size up anyone in a nanosecond. But this guy was a blank slate. Tight, controlled, he reminded her of Zack during his undercover days when life and death depended on cloaking emotions.

‘I’ll bet you worked undercover at one point,’ Lindsay said.

Warwick didn’t seem to appreciate her hard tone. ‘That’s right. That a problem?’

Shrugging, she feigned disinterest. ‘Nope. I can just spot you guys a mile off.’

‘Tell us what happened,’ Zack interjected.

Lindsay drew in a deep breath. ‘I had just returned from taking the last of my residents to the Riverside shelter and was headed into my office. Ruby told me someone had sent me flowers. I opened the box and saw the irises.’

If Zack had remembered that he’d once sent her irises he gave no indication. ‘And?’

‘And I picked up the flowers. That’s when I saw the second package. I opened it and saw the hand. I dropped the package. I ran straight to the police car outside.’ No need to mention her scream could have shattered glass.

‘Do you know who might have sent the flowers to you?’ Warwick said.

‘If I had an idea I would have shared it with the other six officers who asked me the same question in the last fifteen minutes.’

Warwick let his doubt show. ‘Would you have told the police?’

The challenge caught her off guard and irritated her. She stepped forward. ‘Yes, I would have. Do you think that this is fun or that I want this kind of drama in my life?’

‘That’s a good question,’ Warwick said.

‘What about Jordan Turner?’ Zack countered.

Her defenses rose. ‘What about her?’

‘Harold Turner was smacking her around. Not only did she run into you at that charity fund-raiser, but apparently you two had a long conversation about Harold’s abuse at the party. And you called her today.’

‘I’m not about to apologize for doing my job. I consider her a client. Our conversations were – are – privileged.’

‘Not legally,’ Zack said.

She raised her chin. ‘Morally.’

‘Do you think she could have done this?’ Warwick asked.

She shifted her gaze from Zack to Warwick. ‘No.’

‘But you thought she could have killed her husband,’ Zack said. ‘That’s why you didn’t share the details about your conversation with her two weeks ago. It’s why you called her this morning.’

No sense denying what Zack already knew. ‘I wasn’t sure what she’d done at first.’ She sighed. ‘When I realized it was Harold, I was afraid she’d snapped. But after seeing the hand, I know she didn’t do it.’

Zack’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because cutting off Harold’s hand was some kind of public declaration. The killer is making some kind of statement.’

‘And Jordan wouldn’t do that?’ Warwick said.

‘She wouldn’t. Above all else, Jordan Turner is a very private woman. Appearances are important and this kind of drama is not her style. She’d find it tacky, for lack of a better word.’

Neither cop looked convinced.

‘Unless she thinks we’ll never catch her,’ Zack said.

Zack knew Lindsay put her heart and soul into her work. It didn’t make sense that she’d trash it all. But he’d come across crimes before that made little or no sense.

He and Warwick walked into Lindsay’s cramped office, made more claustrophobic by Sara as she snapped pictures of the scene with her digital camera.

Sara glanced up at them and smiled at Zack. ‘So we meet again.’

Stoic, Zack pulled out his notebook. ‘Yeah.’

She raised the camera to hide her frown.

‘What do you have?’ Zack asked.

‘I’ve rolled prints from the flower box but have yet to run them through AFIS.’ AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, would compare crime scene fingerprints with millions of others across the country in hours. If the murderer was in the system, they’d find him.

‘Anything else?’ Warwick said.

‘No hair fibers so far, but I’ve yet to take the hand out of the bag. I’ll do that when I get back to the lab.’

Zack glanced at the note, now sealed in a plastic evidence bag. He picked it up, holding the bag by the corner. The bold script was large and covered most of the white card with embossed edges.

‘ “Lindsay, you are not alone anymore,”

’ he read. Zack handed the note to Warwick.

Warwick glanced at the note and then at Zack. ‘Who the hell is the Guardian?’

‘I have no idea. Lindsay comes in contact with hundreds of different people in a week. Some are pretty rough characters.’ Zack had never liked the idea of her dealing with thugs. In his mind, she took too many chances. ‘And then there was that damn newspaper article in May. How many thousands read it?’

‘I’m going to need Lindsay’s fingerprints,’ Sara said.

As a husband, Zack wanted to defend his wife and tell everyone she was no killer. As a cop he couldn’t rule anyone out as a suspect at this stage of the investigation. ‘She had a police background check when she applied for this job. Her prints are on file.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll pull them.’

Warwick studied the hand positioned neatly in the box. ‘He wrapped the hand in a plastic bag. That explains why we didn’t have a trail of blood leading from the crime scene.’

‘He’s meticulous,’ Zack said. ‘The crime scene this morning suggested he’s an organized killer.’

Warwick stared at the hand’s bloated fingers with blackening nail beds. ‘Why the left hand?’

Zack didn’t like the scenario forming in his head. ‘Turner’s wedding band is still on his ring finger. Mrs Turner was abused. The left hand is supposedly the one that leads to your heart. I’d bet it’s symbolic in some way.’

‘The killer doesn’t like abusive husbands,’ Warwick said.

‘Maybe. Or maybe Ronnie T. killed his attorney and set all this up to throw us off the trail. Ronnie T. also knows Lindsay is my wife.’

Warwick nodded. ‘Why go after you?’

‘Payback. When I worked narcotics, I put one hell of a dent in his operation.’

‘Ronnie T. is smart and dangerous, but I don’t see him going to this kind of trouble. Like I said, a drive-by is more his style.’

‘Maybe. But for now it’s a theory we’ve got to consider.’

Zack left Warwick and returned to Lindsay, who stood in the family room by the French doors that faced out back. Yellow crime scene tape, pelted by the rain, drooped in mud puddles.

‘Who is the Guardian?’ Zack said. He watched closely for any reaction.

She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Why would he write you a note?’

She hugged her arms around her. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Have you received any unusual phone calls lately, notes, contributions, anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Nothing that jumps to mind. That May article generated several donations.’

Zack could have pressed Lindsay about sharing her case files, but he didn’t. He was going to wait for the warrant. The delivery of Harold’s hand had officially bumped this case to high priority. From here on out, each step of the investigation could have huge ramifications, so he’d do everything by the book.

Lindsay flexed her fingers as if trying to release the tension knotting her muscles. ‘I have a grant application due in three days. Can I at least grab that file so I can work at home?’

Stress always did send her running in to work. ‘Nothing leaves the office for now.’

She stabbed long fingers through her hair. ‘The grant has nothing to do with this. But it means everything to the shelter.’

Despite it all, she was still trying to hold on to this place. ‘It’s in the office so it stays.’

A helpless sigh shuddered from her. ‘What about my purse?’

‘Nothing leaves the office.’

‘I need my car keys.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ Zack said.

‘I’m supposed to speak to a local church group tonight.’

‘Cancel it.’

She took a step back. ‘No, thanks.’

‘Lindsay, there’s a guy running around town who’s left a dead body in your backyard and sent you a severed hand. It’s not safe for you.’

She stiffened. ‘Bullies don’t scare me.’

But he saw fear in her eyes. ‘This one should.’

‘Is it my safety that you’re so worried about or are you afraid I’ll skip town because I’m the killer?’

She was going for the jugular, trying to throw him off balance. Two could play that game. ‘Honestly, I can’t rule you out yet.’

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’m not. You have motive and no alibi.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘Prove it.’

She paled and turned away.

Satisfied he had the last word for now, Zack left and found Warwick talking to Ruby in the kitchen. The older woman was smiling and stared up at Warwick with a twinkle in her eye. Damn, what had he said to soften her up? When Zack entered the room, Ruby’s smile vanished.

Ruby’s simmering resentment suggested she knew about his and Lindsay’s separation.

‘I’m going to run Ms O’Neil home.’ Zack had made a statement, not a request.

Warwick’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll ride along.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘She doesn’t need you,’ Ruby said. ‘She can drive herself just fine.’

Zack dug his keys out of his pocket. ‘Not with her car keys sealed in a crime scene.’

‘I’ll take her,’ Ruby said. ‘She’s got enough stress right now without you adding to it.’

The older woman had painted him as the bad guy in the marriage. And truthfully, she wasn’t off base. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got it covered.’

Ruby frowned but wasn’t in a position to argue.

Zack found Lindsay by the front door. ‘Do you have spare keys to your house?’

‘Yes. Hidden under a pot by the front door.’

He’d lectured her enough about safety when they’d been married. He’d always feared his undercover work would spill into his personal life and put her in danger. ‘That’s not too safe.’

Her face colored as if she remembered what he’d said. ‘It’s handy.’

As soon as they emerged from the house, the reporters who’d been on the front lawn lunged toward them. Zack shielded her from the cameras and hustled her to his car while Warwick ran interference with the press. Zack opened the backseat side door. She was half inside the car when Kendall darted around Warwick and caught up to them.

The reporter shoved a microphone toward Lindsay’s face. ‘Lindsay, can you tell me why you were so upset earlier? Why did the police return? Has someone else been killed?’

Zack waited until Lindsay was fully inside before he closed the car door. ‘No statements now, Ms Shaw.’

Kendall looked annoyed. ‘I’m just trying to do my job, detective. Lindsay, tell me what happened.’

Warwick moved beside Kendall, using height and size to intimidate her. ‘Talk to the department’s public relations guy.’

Kendall didn’t look threatened, but annoyed. ‘When I’m interested in the party line, I will. Right now I’m looking for real answers.’

Warwick frowned. Clearly he didn’t like the woman. ‘No comment.’ He slid in the front passenger seat.

Cameras rolled as Zack got behind the wheel and started the car. In silence, they drove through the neighborhood to the main road.

Lindsay stared out the window. From the rearview mirror, Zack could see her jaw was tight and her body tense. She needed a friend right now.

But Zack couldn’t be that for her. Not if he was going to figure out who killed Turner and who now harbored an obsession for her. He merged onto the interstate.

‘Tell me about that charity function and the Turners again,’ Zack said.

She fidgeted with the bracelets on her wrist. ‘Like I said, I didn’t kill Harold. And neither did Jordan.’

Warwick stared out the side window as if he were a million miles away, but he wasn’t missing a syllable.

Zack couldn’t let her off the hook. ‘There’s no need to protect Jordan. She’s got an attorney and an alibi for the time her husband was killed.’

Her lips flattened. ‘Like I said, I met them at a charity function two weeks ago. Jordan was on Harold’s arm, smiling radiantly. They looked like the perfect couple.’ She hesitated. ‘I should have known then that something was up.’

‘Why?’

‘No such thing as a perfect couple.’ She sighed and recapped the encounter with Jordan. ‘A half hour later, Harold approached me at the party. He told me to stay away from Jordan. I told him to stop hitting his wife. We got into a big fight. Then I left the party.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘No doubt. I noticed several people were staring, but I couldn’t tell you who.’

Zack tightened his hands on the wheel. ‘That’s it? You never saw Harold again? You never communicated with him?’

Disgust darkened her face. ‘Not Harold. But I did call Jordan several times. I hoped I could help her. And I did call her this morning after I saw you.’

‘To tell her about Harold?’

She hesitated. ‘To try to figure out if she’d crossed the line.’ She dug fingers through her hair. ‘The last time I talked to Jordan, she told me not to worry about Harold. She said she could take care of him.’

‘And you figured that meant murder.’

‘Not at the time. A lot of women believe they can handle their abusive husbands. They think that if they always smile, that if the house is immaculate and sex is always available, everything will be fine. But no matter what they do, it’s never enough. Sooner or later the guy snaps again and hits her.’

They’d only talked about her mother’s death once. As a husband he’d let his unanswered questions lie. As a cop he couldn’t. ‘Did your mother think she could handle your father?’

Lindsay flinched, glancing to Warwick. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. It was one thing for Zack to know about her past; quite another for Warwick. Humiliation washed over her.

‘My mother has nothing to do with Harold Turner’s murder.’

Zack didn’t enjoy opening a painful wound. He’d always avoided discussing the subject with her because he knew it bothered her. ‘Your family life was beyond rough, Lindsay. That changes a person.’

Warwick glanced in the rearview mirror at her, as if trying to peer into her mind.

Lindsay lifted her chin. ‘I went into social work and opened Sanctuary because of Mom. I didn’t become a murderer because of her.’

Zack shot her a glance in the rearview mirror. ‘The Commonwealth’s attorney could argue that because you couldn’t have it out with your old man, you picked the next best target – Harold.’

‘That’s crap. Remember the killer sent me Harold’s hand.’

‘You could have sent it to yourself,’ Warwick said.

She leaned forward, fingers gripping the seat. ‘And written myself a creepy note?’

Warwick turned toward her. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to try something like that.’

‘I can’t believe we are having this conversation.’ Her voice sounded loud, angry.

Warwick kept his tone even, calm, but the menace was unmistakable. ‘Whoever killed Harold did it in anger. He cut off Harold’s left hand. If that isn’t a statement about shattered vows, I don’t know what is.’

‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘You don’t have an alibi,’ Zack said.

‘I can’t help that. It’s not my fault the damn power went out.’ Arms folded, she dropped back in the seat and turned toward the window. She swiped away a tear.

The only time Zack had seen her cry had been that day in the attorney’s office. Tension twisted his gut.

Five minutes later, they reached her town house development. Well-manicured lawns jutted out from near identical row houses that looked as if they’d been stamped from cookie cutters. This kind of development was very un-Lindsay. She’d always leaned more toward the older, quirky homes that needed more attention than a full-time job. Why had she chosen such a place? Zack kept his question to himself as he parked in the numbered spot she directed him to. A sprinkler system whooshed in the background and a dog barked.

‘Thanks,’ she said ironically, opening her car door. She walked to the planter, tipped it back, and retrieved the front door key.

Following, Zack didn’t bother to hide the frustration in his voice. ‘From now on, don’t hide the key there.’

Lindsay shoved the key in the lock. ‘I can take care of myself.’

He flashed a smile that looked more like a snarl. ‘Humor me.’

A flicker of movement caught his eye. A man dressed in a green maintenance uniform moved toward them. Blond, pudgy, and short, he was smiling as he held hedge clippers in his hand.

Zack moved his right hand to his belt closer to the .22 holstered on his hip.

Warwick got out of the car and leaned against it. His demeanor stated he was ready to intervene if necessary.

‘Lindsay,’ the maintenance man said. ‘What are you doing home in the middle of the day?’

Zack and Warwick watched the man very closely.

Lindsay seemed to relax around him. ‘Hey, Steve. How’s it going?’

Steve glanced at Zack and Warwick. His eyes narrowed. ‘You friends of Lindsay’s?’

Ole Steve seemed a little territorial when it came to Lindsay. ‘Detective Zack Kier,’ Zack said as he flipped open his wallet and showed his police badge. ‘This is my partner, Detective Warwick.’

‘Steve Hess. I manage this property. Everything all right?’

Zack watched Lindsay smile at Steve. She had resented his interference about the key but seemed to appreciate Steve’s protective tone.

‘It’s fine, thanks,’ she said. ‘Did you want to tell me something?’

Steve was distracted by Zack and Warwick’s presence. ‘Oh, I was just headed into your place to check the AC unit. You said it wasn’t working well.’

‘Did I?’

‘You put in a maintenance request about three weeks ago.’

She smiled. ‘Right. Thanks. Do you mind if we do this another time?’

‘No problem. Oh, and the cable guy came by to check on your television. Your reception is all cleared up.’

‘Thanks,’ she said.

Steve’s gaze flickered between the cops. ‘Why the police escort home?’

Lindsay unlocked her front door. ‘There was a little trouble at work today. It’s nothing to be worried about. Detective Kier is just being extra careful.’

Steve’s smile turned brittle. He didn’t seem to like cops. ‘Tax dollars at work.’

‘Something like that,’ Zack said. ‘Can you tell me anything about the power outage this morning?’

Steve rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ‘It was a real mess. The whole east side of the development was out from about midnight last night to eight this morning.’

At least Lindsay hadn’t been lying about that. ‘What happened?’

‘Transformer blew late. It took Virginia Power until this morning to get it up and running.’

‘Does that happen often?’

‘Been fifteen years since the last transformer blew and that was in an electrical storm,’ Steve said. ‘Must have been some freak power surge.’

An outage caused Lindsay to be late to work. Across town Harold was murdered. The two incidents weren’t necessarily related, but that didn’t mean they weren’t.

Zack glanced back at Warwick, still positioned by the car. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

Warwick pushed away from the car. ‘No rush. I have a few more questions for Steve.’

Zack left the nervous maintenance man with Warwick and followed Lindsay inside her town house. She flipped the lights on. The ticktock of clocks jived with the hum of the AC unit.

He saw far enough into the town house to see a floral couch. The pillows on the couch were straight and neatly fluffed. If the outside was cookie cutter the inside was vintage Lindsay. The clocks, the restored secondhand furniture, and the stacks of books were all her. The place smelled of linseed oil, which, he remembered, she used to dust her furniture.

Standing this close, he caught the soft scent of her soap. He’d forgotten how good she smelled.

Lindsay lifted her gaze and for a moment a connection sparked between them. She sensed it as much as he did. He leaned forward, testing. She drew back.

‘Mind if I have a look around?’ he said.

She blocked his path. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want you here.’

His gaze narrowed. ‘What are you hiding?’

‘Nothing.’

He took a step back. ‘You’re hiding something. And I’ll figure out what it is.’