Название | The Detective's Dilemma |
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Автор произведения | Karen McCullough |
Жанр | Короткие любовные романы |
Серия | |
Издательство | Короткие любовные романы |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 9781616506513 |
Mindful of her promise, she called Christianson. “I think I’ve found a place,” she said.
He didn’t recognize the address and asked for directions to get there.
He arrived fifteen minutes later, wearing jeans and a polo shirt topped by a battered leather jacket. The rough clothes looked good on his tall, lean frame. Little butterflies fluttering in her stomach couldn’t be attraction. Couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.
“Are you off duty?” she asked, walking out to the hall to meet him. “I didn’t mean to disturb your off time.”
“I told you to call.” He still wore the reserved expression that gave no clue to his thoughts or emotions.
She’d assumed it was his ‘cop-face,’ but it might be something more basic to the man.
“I was out running errands anyway.” He looked around slowly. “Neighborhood’s not great, but not terrible either. Okay for a woman alone as long as you’re careful. Can I take a look at the apartment?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
He nodded and walked with her down the short hall to the flat. The leasing agent eyed Christianson warily as he went to a window and looked out.
“I thought it was just you alone,” the woman said.
“It is. I’m just checking the place out as a friend,” the detective said. “The windows need locks. They’re too close to the ground. You need a deadbolt on the door, too. And a peephole.” He went off to check out the small kitchen and returned a moment later. “Wiring looks okay. Got a smoke detector. Overall, not bad.”
“I’ll go ahead with it,” Sarah told the leasing agent.
“Let me go get the papers. I’ll be right back.”
When she’d left Christianson looked at her. “It’s not what you’re used to.”
“Actually, it’s not that different from before I met Vince. I can get used to it again.”
She followed his gaze as he scanned the room. Dingy off-white paint on walls and trim, dirty windows, and scuffed, stained hardwood floor gave it a run-down air, but a bit of work would brighten it up.
He didn’t comment on any of those things. “You don’t have any furniture.”
“I know. I figured I could get one of those blow-up beds for now. I’ll check some used furniture places for a table and chairs. After that I’ll take my time and see what I can come up with from yard sales and such.”
“You’re serious about this.”
“Of course I’m serious about it. What else am I going to do? I’ve got to have a place to live.”
He smiled, the first time she’d seen him do that, and those fluttering butterflies in her stomach began to dance. Not good. So not good.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I’m betting most murder suspects don’t get this much help from the cops.”
The smile faded. She hated to see it go, but at least it lessened the danger to her.
He stiffened and retreated a step. “This isn’t exactly a normal investigation.”
“I figured.”
“And if you’re not the guilty party, you’re another victim of the crime.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. I try not to see myself that way. Too easy to slide into…places I don’t want to go.” Places she sometimes went anyway, often late at night, when she desperately missed the family she’d lost and wondered why fate had singled her out for so much cruelty.
He gave her a harder look, but it wasn’t so much condemning as searching. “How do you stay away from those places?”
“Sometimes it isn’t easy. I try to stay busy. Exercise so I’m tired enough to sleep at night. Keep my mind occupied with other things. Now I have a life to rebuild. I hope that will keep me distracted.”
His eyebrows rose for a moment and he turned to stare out the window. Since nothing was out there but a row of trees, she suspected he saw something else entirely. It gave her a minute to study him from the side. The lines of tension in his face and the shadows in eyes more gray than blue at the moment proclaimed he had places he didn’t want to go, also. Maybe all cops did, or all homicide detectives anyway. So why did she think it might be something more personal that haunted him?
“It’s a good strategy,” he said, dragging his attention back to the present. “I’d better get going. Call me if you need to. I expect I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you for the help.”
He nodded. “Don’t forget to get those locks.”
The leasing agent returned shortly after Christianson left. Sarah completed and signed several forms, turned over her credit card information, and got a key to the place in exchange. She went back to the hotel to gather her things and load them in the trunk of her car. On the return trip to the apartment, she stopped at a big box superstore and got an air mattress, pots, pans, dishes, and enough canned goods to get by for a day or two.
As the evening went on, she thought of more things she needed and began a list. A lamp for studying. The overhead lights had low-wattage bulbs that made reading difficult. A couple of glasses for drinks. A place to hang her towels in the bathroom. Towels to hang, for that matter. The list grew rapidly.
She spent an uncomfortable night on her own in the apartment. She’d bought only one thin blanket. Since it was nearly the middle of October, the nights were chilly and apparently the heat in the place wasn’t running very high. She’d have to call and find out if that could be fixed. Traffic noise into and out of the complex remained steady until the early hours. When she did sleep, she relived the shooting in her dreams.
The next day she ran into one of her neighbors as she got home from another shopping trip and wrestled several bags down the hall to her apartment. The door to the front apartment on the opposite side opened and a woman emerged. She wore skin-tight leopard-skin leggings with high-heeled boots and a leather duster. Hair dyed flame red fell in cascades of curls around her face, which bore a heavy layer of makeup.
The woman locked the door and turned to Sarah who was in the process of undoing hers. “Hey, you the new neighbor?” She sounded friendly, if a shade too loud.
Sarah turned to greet her. “Yes, Sarah Martin. I just moved in yesterday.” She grimaced at the bags weighing her down. “Had to go get a few things. I’m pretty much starting from scratch.”
“Oh, man. Did he get everything? Been there, done that. Doll, get yourself one of those high-flying lawyers next time and make him eat it.”
It took her a minute to figure out what the woman was talking about. “No, I’m not divorced. It’s more complicated than that, but the bottom line is I’m out on my own for the first time.”
“Oh, well. I’ve probably got some extra stuff. Got more junk than I know what to do with, in truth. I’m Pam, by the way. On my way to the health club and then to work, but I’ll catch you later.”
Sarah settled in for an evening of trying to catch up on her work for class the next day.
Monday started pretty normally except that she had to readjust her mental schedule since her new location was farther from campus. Things started to get weirder after lunch break. A nagging prickle kept telling her someone followed her. Several times she turned to see who