The Quiet Storm. RaeAnne Thayne

habit of pausing before she spoke, as if weighing the wisdom of every word. Beau caught himself leaning forward so he didn’t miss anything.

      “I’m here to ask you to reopen a case that has been closed.”

      “We don’t close murder cases until a suspect is convicted.”

      “This case was closed because the death was ruled a suicide. But it’s not. I know it wasn’t. You people have it wrong, no matter how damning the evidence might seem. Tina never would have killed herself. Never. She might have been depressed and…and in trouble but she would never have done anything that drastic.”

      Whoa. Where did all this intensity come from? The ice princess had suddenly vanished, leaving behind a passionate woman with snapping blue eyes and flaming color.

      He wouldn’t have expected that such emotion lurked inside the brittle shell of Elizabeth Quinn. He had to wonder what other heat might be hidden there.

      “I’m sorry. You’re going to have to give me a little more than a first name to go on here. Tina who?”

      It was fascinating to watch her control click back into place. One minute she radiated fire, the next she sat before him composed and cool. She waited just a heartbeat more, then she spoke softly. “Tina Hidalgo. My friend. Three weeks ago she was found dead in her apartment. Shot.”

      Her mouth with its elegant pink tint gave a tiny quiver and straightened again. “There was no sign of forced entry, no fingerprints but her own on the gun, and she left a note.”

      “Sounds pretty cut-and-dried.”

      “Yes, that’s what the other detectives—Speth and Walker—concluded. But they’re wrong.”

      He had seen this reaction before. Suicides were often the toughest cases a cop had to work. In their grief and denial, the people left behind often struggled to face the fact that their loved one would ever take such a final step. They often preferred to focus their anger not on the deceased but on the cops with the nerve to put such a stark label on their loss.

      He didn’t want to add to her grief, but it would be cruel to give her any hope that he could help her. “Ms. Quinn, I’m sorry about your friend. But Marc Walker and Dennis Speth are both fine detectives. They wouldn’t have closed the case unless they had ruled out any possibility of homicide and unless the medical examiner signed off on their findings. I’m not sure what you would like me to do.”

      “Grace seemed to think you might consider taking another look at the facts in the case.”

      No fair dragging Gracie into it again. He was definitely going to have to have a talk with her.

      “Are you party to any facts in the case that Detectives Speth and Watson don’t know?”

      She was quiet for several beats. “I don’t think so. But I’m not sure they gave proper…proper consideration to some of those facts.”

      “Such as?”

      Again that little pause, then she drew a deep breath. “Tina has a son. A beautiful little boy, Alex. For reasons I won’t go into, he lives with…with his grandmother and with me, but Tina loves him.”

      Raw grief swam in her eyes for just a moment, then she composed herself. “She loved him,” she corrected. “Tina was a good mother who loved her son. She never would have left him like that. I know she wouldn’t. She was trying to get her life straightened out so Alex could live with her again. We just talked about it the evening before she…before she died.”

      “Ms. Quinn—”

      “Please. Will you at least look at the facts of the case and see if you can find anything the other detectives might have missed? Grace said she would do it herself if she could access the files.”

      Beau ground his back teeth. If he didn’t agree to help Miss Priss, he could just picture Grace storming the precinct to comb through the report herself, dragging her newborn and her stepdaughter, Emma, along with her. Gracie wouldn’t let the fact that she was supposed to be on extended maternity leave for at least another six months stop her.

      Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to have to help Elizabeth Quinn. Damn. For anyone else in the world, he wouldn’t mind agreeing to take a look at the file—what could it hurt?—but it stuck in his craw like a bad piece of haddock that he had to humor someone like her.

      He pictured her the last time he’d seen her, at the event Grace had conned him into attending by using a potent combination of guilt and blackmail.

      Society benefits weren’t his thing. He would never have agreed to go to that one if it hadn’t been a fund-raiser for Grace’s pet project, an after-school program for troubled inner-city kids—and if she hadn’t thrown in the reminder that she was eight months pregnant and needed all the moral support she could find.

      He had been standing by one of the food tables on Jack Dugan’s vast, pine-shaded deck overlooking the Sound, munching on some kind of lobster thingy that barely made a mouthful and wondering when the hell he could finally leave, when he spotted her. The Grace Kelly look-alike in an ice-blue sweater, matching slacks, designer shoes and one row of discreetly elegant pearls that made her look as if she’d just walked out of some exclusive photo shoot for Town & Country.

      Just another bubbleheaded, self-involved socialite, he figured. Still, something about her intrigued him. Rear Window had always been one of his favorite movies.

      He watched her from the other side of the huge deck for a long time: the furrow of her forehead as she concentrated on what the elderly matron in the garish purple suit was saying; the way she tucked her smooth blond hair behind her ear with slender fingers; the soft smile that captured her mouth at something the older woman said.

      After a moment he watched her excuse herself and wander to an empty spot on the deck facing the water. She stood there for a long time, gazing out at the Sound. She looked lonely. Isolated, removed from the crowd, just as he felt. Unable to help himself, he finally began to move purposefully through the milling people toward her.

      When he reached her side, he had murmured something inane about the sunset, just as an opener. He didn’t even remember what, but he knew she had to have heard him. She froze but didn’t respond at all and an instant later she turned abruptly and walked away from him, leaving him astonished and uncomfortably aware that his face was burning.

      He’d never considered himself a particularly vain man but he sure as hell wasn’t used to women completely ignoring him. As brush-offs went, this one had been particularly brutal.

      It still stung, he had to admit. Two months later.

      He didn’t want to help her. He wanted to tell her to take a dive right into the Sound. But she had Grace on her side. What the hell else was he supposed to do? After a moment, Beau blew out a breath. The only way he was going to get rid of her was to humor her.

      “Look, Ms. Quinn, I’ll check out the file. I don’t think I’ll see anything there that Speth and Watson missed, but I’ll take a look. That’s all I can do.”

      As Elizabeth registered his words, she felt as if a weight the size of the Cascades had just been hefted from her shoulder.

      He was going to help her find who killed Tina! She wasn’t going to have to do this alone.

      Ohthankyouthankyouthankyou. The words jumbled up in her head, in her throat, shoving together like boxcars on a derailed train. She froze for an instant, painfully aware he was watching her, expecting some response. Slow down. Think. With fierce concentration, she managed to sort the words out, after what she hoped wasn’t too awkward a pause.

      Thank. You. Thank you.

      She murmured the words, then rose. She had to get out of here. Soon. She could feel her composure begin to crack apart like fragile antique glass. If she wanted to get through this meeting without it completely shattering, she was going to have to wrap things up quickly.

      Coming