Person of Interest. Debby Giusti

      “That’s exactly what I think.”

      “Do you have proof?”

      Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t have anything except a gut feeling, which won’t get me very far with law enforcement.”

      What had this woman been through that caused her to be so distrustful? Had Mason hurt her? If so, Everett would make sure he paid for his indiscretion or abuse.

      Two women dying in the same way—if what Natalie said was true—raised more than a red flag. Everett didn’t put much stock in hunches. Every person in law enforcement knew cases were solved with evidence, not subjective reactions or feelings, but something about Natalie Frazier tugged at his heart. She was nervous and afraid and appeared ready to collapse from the stress of what had happened.

      “It’s okay, Natalie.” He wanted to reassure her. “I’m here to help you.”

      She nodded ever so slightly, then lowered the gun to the floor and settled into a chair across from him.

      His cell rang. Natalie tensed as he pulled it from his pocket. “Don’t tell anyone where you are or that I’m with you,” she warned.

      He nodded. Seeing Frank’s name, he swiped the call screen to establish a connection and then raised the cell to his ear. “This is Special Agent Kohl.”

      “Thanks for the tip about the apartment in Freemont. It’s leased to Denise Lang, the nanny’s roommate.”

      “You checked it out?”

      Everett tried to appear nonchalant as Frank continued.

      “Denise works the evening shift at a local restaurant and didn’t show up tonight. The manager was worried and called the police.”

      “Okay.”

      “Almost simultaneously, we contacted them with questions about the nanny.”

      Everett glanced at Natalie. “And?”

      “And once we arrived at the apartment, we realized we’ve got even bigger problems.”

      “Oh?”

      “The local police found Denise Lang. She was murdered in her apartment.”

      Everett groaned. “How?”

      “Cause of death was a bullet to the gut.”

      Everett listened as Frank told him who they suspected of committing the crime.

      Disconnecting, he raised Sofia to his shoulder and leaned forward. “Tell me about Denise Lang.”

      “My roommate?”

      “When did you last see her?”

      “Yesterday before she went to work. She waitresses at a restaurant in Freemont.”

      “What about this morning?”

      “She sleeps late. Her door was closed, and I didn’t want to wake her. Why?”

      “You stopped at your apartment tonight.”

      Natalie nodded. “She works nights and doesn’t want anyone to call her while she’s on the job. I left a note to tell her I would be out of touch for at least a day or so.”

      “The police checked your apartment to determine if you had anything to do with Tammy Yates’s death.”

      Natalie slumped back in the chair. Color drained from her face. “They had no right.”

      “They had every right. Your roommate, Denise Lang, was found by the police.”

      She grimaced. “What?”

      “Denise Lang was found dead. Two women died today, Tammy Yates and your roommate.”

      Natalie gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her face twisted with grief.

      “The police are searching for the killer.” Everett pursed his lips, hoping she understood the seriousness of what he was about to say.

      “The police are searching for you, Natalie. You’re a person of interest.”

      Her blue eyes widened. “What’s that mean?”

      “It means they think you may have killed both women.”

       FOUR

      A roar filled Natalie’s ears. She grabbed the edge of the chair as the room shifted out of control, then hung her head to fend off the swell of nausea and light-headedness.

      What she’d just heard couldn’t be true.

      “Are you okay?”

      Everett’s voice sounded garbled and distant, as if she were swimming underwater and couldn’t make her way to the surface.

      Denise? Gone?

      His hand gripped her shoulder. “Take deep breaths. Keep your head down.”

      She gasped for air.

      “You’re pale as death, Natalie.”

      Bad choice of words. Her heart pounded even more. How could Denise be dead?

      “Hold on.” He left her side and hurried to the kitchen, where he ran water from the faucet and returned with a damp cloth that he placed on the back of her neck.

      She fought to bring the world back into perspective and drew in a lungful of fresh air. Rubbing a hand over her still-queasy stomach, Natalie tried to make sense of what had happened, but nothing made sense. Not the fact that Mason Yates lived next to Wanda Davis or that his wife had been pushed to her death as Natalie listened to her scream for help.

      She shivered, unable to wipe the horrific scene from her mind. The vision shifted, and, instead of Tammy lying dead at the foot of the stairs, she saw Denise.

      “No,” she moaned, and rubbed her forehead. “I... I can’t believe—”

      “Shh.” His hand stroked her shoulder. “Relax for a few minutes. There’ll be time to talk later.”

      Time to talk when he hauled her back to Fort Rickman. Tears burned her eyes and a huge lump filled her throat. Even drawing a shallow breath took effort.

      The swirl of confusion played havoc with her emotions. She should have moved back to Detroit. The inner-city blight would have been easier to handle than what was happening in Georgia.

      All she wanted was to get a job in education and earn enough to live life without drawing attention to herself or her past. The warmth of a small town, Freemont, with its strong sense of community and welcoming arms, had seemed an ideal location in which to sink roots and perhaps, someday, find someone special and raise a family.

      That dream for her future was out of the question now. The way things looked, she didn’t even have a future.

      A person of interest in the deaths of two women?

      She groaned.

      “It’s okay, Natalie.”

      Special Agent Kohl was either terribly confused or too much of an optimist. Nothing was okay. All she saw was darkness and heartache.

      Somehow she had to clear her name, but so much was stacked against her. Everett was a special agent on the hunt for a killer. A bull’s-eye was painted on her back, and in spite of his seeming concern for her present well-being, he couldn’t change the mind-set of the powers that be at Fort Rickman.

      With Mason spouting lies about what had happened in Germany, the CID would come to the wrong conclusion. She didn’t have a chance, unless she could uncover evidence that proved Mason’s guilt and convince Everett of her innocence. Would the special agent be a help or a hindrance?

      * * *

      Everett