Her Cop Protector. Sharon Hartley

gave him a slight nod of recognition.

      He spoke to the two uniformed cops with him. They nodded.

      “Ladies and gentlemen.” Hammer made his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. She hadn’t realized how quiet the room had become until he spoke.

      “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Please be patient, but you’ll need to wait here until interviewed by an investigator. More officers are on their way to speed up that process.”

      Then he turned back to her and motioned with his head slightly. She took that as a sign that he wanted to speak to her. With an apologetic murmur she knew didn’t register with Paul, she moved toward the detective. The murmur of voices resumed in the room.

      “Ms. Latham,” he said in a professional, neutral voice that belied the feral expression in his eyes.

      She nodded and swallowed, needing to moisten a dry mouth.

      He frowned. “Are you okay?”

      “Could I sit down?” she asked. She’d been standing next to Paul since Sandy...since the shooting. June closed her eyes against the memory of Sandy’s shocked expression.

      “Of course.” Hammer pulled out a chair. “I’d like to ask a few questions.”

      “Thanks.” June sat, positioning herself so she couldn’t see the cloth-covered body.

      She suspected her friend had been dead before she hit the carpet. And then Paul had totally lost it. And not just Paul. The entire room had filled with terrified screams. She’d gone to Sandy—to Paul, to pull him away from his wife, the sound of crunching glass beneath her feet ugly and loud.

      It seemed foolish now, but she realized she’d remained next to Paul in an effort to somehow protect him, shield him from the evil that had entered this ballroom. Donna and Carole had done the same.

      “Did you know the victim?” Hammer asked.

      “Yes. She is—was—one of my best friends.”

      “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

      June wondered how many times he’d uttered those exact words in his career. “Thanks. We came to the party together tonight.”

      Detective Hammer pulled out his notebook. “She didn’t come with her husband?”

      “No.”

      Hammer scribbled a note. Wait. Had she just incriminated Paul?

      “We were having sort of a girls’ night out with two other friends,” June explained.

      Hammer looked up. “Why? Any trouble in the marriage?”

      June opened her mouth to deny that idea, but hesitated. The knot in her stomach tightened as she processed where Hammer was going with that question. Paul was a suspect.

      “Maybe,” she admitted. “I’m not sure.”

      Hammer jotted another note.

      “But Paul had nothing to do with the shooting,” she said. “They’ve been in love since high school.”

      “You went to high school with the victim and her husband?”

      “For a while, yes. Believe me, Paul would never hurt Sandy.” As she said the words, June wondered if they were true. Never kill her, no. What a ridiculous notion that Paul would pay someone to shoot Sandy. How best to convince the detective of that fact?

      But Sandy’s feelings had been hurt by her husband’s recent distance. Indeed, that had been the point of their sexy costumes.

      “I’m sure you’re right,” Hammer said smoothly. “Can you tell me what you saw tonight?”

      “It was so fast,” June murmured and related the surreal nightmare of how the window exploded, her friend collapsed and the room went crazy.

      “Anything else?” he asked when she’d finished. He’d listened without interrupting, his face a complete blank.

      “That’s all I can think of.”

      “Did Ms. Taylor have any enemies?”

      “Everyone loved Sandy.”

      He nodded, but the thought flashing through his brain was almost audible. Apparently not everyone.

      “Did she work?”

      “No.”

      “Kids?”

      “No.” June closed her eyes, worried Sandy sounded like a spoiled slacker. But she had wanted kids. She and Paul were waiting a few more years to start their family. “She volunteered a lot of hours at the Lowe Art Museum.”

      “It’s good there’s no kids,” Hammer said softly. “Murder is hardest on children.”

      June opened her eyes at the sympathy in his voice.

      “I guess so,” she murmured.

      “So you and the victim were close?”

      Again June hesitated. The truth was she and Sandy had drifted apart since she left Pinecrest. Had she lied when she told Hammer Sandy had been one of her best friends? Months often went by without them speaking.

       And now I’ll never speak to Sandy again. Never hear her soft laugh. Oh, Sandy. I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. How did we let that happen?

      She took a deep breath, wishing she could cry. Sandy’s death was certainly a good reason for tears, but she hadn’t cried since the fire. Not even at her parents’ funeral.

      “In high school we used to pretend we were sisters,” June told Hammer, looking down at the table. “We even dressed alike sometimes.”

      “You’re dressed alike tonight.”

      His tone had changed, and June glanced up. Hammer was staring at her feather again. Self-conscious, she removed the headband and placed it on the table.

      “I know it’s silly,” she murmured. “Sandy had the costumes made.”

      “Anything else you can tell me? Can you think of any reason someone would want to murder your friend?”

      June remained silent for a moment. What did she really know about Sandy’s life lately? God, but that thought made her sad.

      “To be honest,” she said, “we weren’t as close as we once were. I might not be the best person to ask.”

      “Is there any reason why someone would want to kill you?”

      A jolt went through June at Hammer’s question. “Me? Why would you ask that?”

      “You seem to be a lightning rod for trouble,” Hammer said.

      “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me.”

      “I’ve been assigned three new cases in the last forty-eight hours. You have a connection to all of them.”

      She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it without speaking. He had a point.

      “You and the victim here look a lot alike. You even had the same feather sticking out of your hair.”

      June’s gaze fell to the headband on the table. Horror washed over her as she reasoned out Hammer’s implication. “You think someone was gunning for me and shot Sandy by mistake because we were dressed alike?”

      “So I really want an answer to my question,” Hammer said, his blue gaze boring into hers. “Is there any reason someone would want to kill you?”

      “That’s crazy,” June said.

      “Maybe,” Hammer said. “But when I saw your friend’s face, for a second I thought it was you. Through a scope from a distance...” Hammer turned his head to look out over the dark golf course. “I don’t know. Could happen.”