Her Sworn Protector. Marie Ferrarella

eyes widened and she drew herself up. “Are you saying—”

      He shook his head. “I’m not, but someone else might. You were the last person to see him alive. Having your brother-in-law here isn’t the wisest move.”

      “Right.”

      She wasn’t thinking straight, Kady acknowledged. She just wanted someone to make it right. She wanted someone to catch the killer and avenge Milos and Ari. She wanted the man she’d seen put in prison. Now, before he could do any more harm.

      With a sigh Kady dragged a hand through her hair. “You’re right,” she repeated.

      She stiffened as she heard a sound in the hall, then realized it was too loud to be the killer. It was the sound of approaching feet. The people Byron had just summoned were here. Right outside the threshold to Milos’s bedroom. Exclamations of distress, of horror, were heard as the scene was suddenly viewed by them. One of the maids fainted. The chauffeur pushed through the doorway as questions flew right and left.

      Byron stopped everyone at the threshold, physically blocking their access into the room. Quickly his eyes swept over the group. Kady had a feeling he was trolling for a killer.

      Was it one of the staff? A chill passed over her as she looked from face to face. But he wasn’t there. The man who’d been in the room only a few minutes ago wasn’t here.

      “It’s a crime scene,” he told the staff in a voice devoid of emotion. “I called you up here because I wanted you to know that someone just killed Mr. Plageanos.” And because, he added silently, he wanted to see their reactions.

      “How?”

      “Who?”

      Surprise and shock mingled with half sentences; expressions of outrage and curses blended into one another. Byron gave it a few minutes, letting grief and disbelief run their initial course before he held up his hand for silence.

      “That’s what we’re going to find out,” he promised without fanfare. “Right now I’d say that someone inside let the killer in.” He looked over the sea of faces slowly, seeming to focus on each individually. He was looking for an accomplice. Again, there was no emotion as he said, “Whoever it is will be made to pay so they’d better get their affairs in order.”

      Like a second tidal wave, more questions and protests arose, drowning each other out. It was all just dissonance to her.

      Kady moved back toward the bathroom, unaware that she was being watched. Once inside, at the sink, she struggled to keep the tears back. The control she was trying to grasp continued to elude her.

      She looked down at her hands covered in Milos’s blood. Very slowly, she turned on the faucets and began to wash her hands. Rivulets of pink snaked their way to the drain and beyond. She tried to make her mind a blank until she could deal with it all.

      But thoughts insisted on crowding in.

      Had she not withdrawn into the bathroom just when she had, she could very well be lying in a pool of blood beside Ari and Milos.

      Sensing she wasn’t alone, Kady looked up into the mirror and saw Byron standing behind her in the doorway. Their eyes met.

      “I called the police,” he told her quietly. “You’re going to have to give a statement.”

      Gripping the faucets, she turned them off simultaneously. She continued holding them for a moment, as if they were all that was keeping her from sinking to the floor. “I know.”

      “After that,” he said, sounding as if he was reciting some preauthorized schedule, “I’ll have someone drive you home.”

      She turned around to face Byron. “How can you be so calm?” she demanded.

      His face was completely unreadable. “Practice.”

      Chapter 3

      Detective Larry Wilkins of the New York Police Department, Homicide Division, was born worn around the edges, rumpled and suspicious. He operated each of his investigations from the standpoint that everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. At least ten pounds overweight and wearing clothes that hadn’t seen a hanger in over a decade, he had a habit of invading people’s personal space when he spoke to them. He thought of it as a useful technique during an investigation.

      Right now, as he questioned her, Kady could all but taste the pizza he’d had for dinner last night. It was apparent to her that the detective was immersed in a love affair with extra garlic. It took all her strength not to turn her head away.

      Detective Wilkins looked at her as if he’d already made up his mind that she had either killed Milos Plageanos herself, or masterminded the murder.

      Holding on to a much-used notebook, Wilkins looked at her with small brown eyes that could have cut holes through a steel plate.

      “And you were in the bathroom the entire time the murders went down?”

      She’d already told him that. Twice. Wilkins made it sound as if she’d spent an eternity in the room when it had merely felt that way. In total, she’d been there maybe five minutes, maybe less.

      It didn’t take long to end a man’s life, Kady thought.

      Wilkins had her isolated in one corner of Milos’s bedroom. She tried desperately to block out the sounds of the forensic team as they went about their business, gathering evidence that attested to the last moments of the billionaire’s life.

      “Yes,” she answered again, then couldn’t help adding, “But I don’t think it took too long to shoot two people.”

      A smirk raised the corners of Wilkins’s mouth. It reminded her of a hyena waiting for lunch. “Timed it, did you?” He took a step in, cutting the space between them. “During the actual occurrence or the dry run?”

      “Dry run?” she echoed, stunned. He actually thought she had something to do with it. How dare he? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      The smirk deepened. “Sure you do. You and your accomplice probably did a dry run to see how long it would actually take to walk in and shoot the old guy and his bodyguard.”

      She stared at him. The man was insane. Completely, utterly insane. “What possible reason would I have to kill Mr. Plageanos?”

      Heavyset shoulders rose and fell beneath a houndstooth jacket that looked slept in. “Dunno yet. But I’ll find out.”

      Anger came streaking in on a lightning bolt, fueled by exhaustion and powered by exasperation. Her eyes blazed as she looked at this would-be Colombo. He was forgetting one very salient point. “And did I plan his anxiety attack, too?”

      It was evident that Wilkins had expected her to be intimidated, cowed, not furious. He glared at his notes. “Thought the old guy had a heart attack.”

      He would have gotten that information from someone else, she thought. Kady took offense at the cavalier way he dismissed the late shipping magnate.

      “Mr. Plageanos had an anxiety attack, not a heart attack,” she corrected tersely. “And the reason he had the attack was because he was a micromanager who took everything to heart.” She drew herself up to her full five-four stature, wishing it wasn’t against the law to punch out a police detective. “I had no way of knowing that I was even going to be here today. How the hell could I have planned this?” she demanded.

      “You planned for the eventuality,” Wilkins countered, but it was obvious that he was losing steam. Some part of him was being won over by the idea that her only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, he wasn’t about to give up all at once. “Maybe disarmed the security system so that your man could come in.”

      “And maybe I smuggled ‘my man’ in my medicine bag,” she retorted sarcastically. Struggling, she regained control of her temper. “Look, Detective, I’m a cardiologist, not an electronics technician. The only thing I was doing here