Submission. Tori Carrington

my sister, was a living, breathing human being, not just a crime victim.”

      He tried to hand the picture back.

      “No, you keep it. Put it on top of the countless ones you probably have of her postmortem.” She crossed her arms. “The sooner you accept that I’m not going anywhere, Detective, the sooner we can push aside all the BS and get down to the business of catching this killer before he takes the life of someone else’s sister.” She swallowed hard. “And before you have someone else like me to deal with.”

      He seemed unfazed by her words, looking at her much the way he had when he’d first sat down at the table.

      Molly searched for more arguments with which she might convince him. “I’m a lawyer, Detective. Familiar with the law. Use me. I can do legwork you might not have time for. Investigate far-fetched angles you’ve already ruled out that might still be viable. Make sure you’re not without a cup of coffee at all times.”

      “You’re personally attached to the case,” he said.

      “Which means I’m doubly committed to seeing the job gets done.”

      He leaned back in his chair. “Coffee, huh?”

      His lopsided smile made her retract a few claws. But just a few. Because she had the feeling that if he did take her on, he’d send her out for coffee…permanently.

      Still, her options were few. “If that’s what it takes to be included in the investigation…yes.”

      “Well, then,” he said quietly, “while department policy prevents anything official, it looks like you’ve got yourself a job.”

      Her pulse leaped.

      “But let’s get a few things straight. I define the job as we go along. I’m the boss and you’re the subordinate. And you cannot tell anyone else about this, ever. Do anything I tell you not to and our little arrangement ends. Do I make myself clear?”

      She nodded, incapable of words.

      “Good, then.” He grinned, although his eyes remained watchful. “My first order is that we enjoy this meal before we get down to the gritty details….”

      3

      I STOOD ON THE CURB outside Tujague’s and watched Molly Laraway walk toward the nearest intersection, her jacket folded over her arm as she hailed a cab. The woman was a stunner, that was for sure. She had a swing to her walk that caught not only my attention but the eye of every breathing male within a two-block radius.

      I stared at the guy next to me watching Molly in the same way I was, then grimaced and patted my front shirt pocket, even though what I was looking for wasn’t there and hadn’t been there for years: cigarettes.

      Truth was, I wasn’t sold on the idea of having a loose cannon like Molly running around doing Lord only knew what. But I admired her spirit. And I had the feeling that no matter what I said or did or threatened her with, she would go ahead with her own investigation into her sister’s death. Might as well try to channel some of that energy to my own advantage…and keep her safe at the same time.

      I patted my coat pockets and took out my cell phone. By directing her actions, I could keep her away from anything remotely dangerous. Not that I thought she was in danger, but at this point I wasn’t taking any chances.

      And if working with her also kept her in close physical proximity, where I could continue to admire those great legs and possibly charm my way between them…well, I wasn’t complaining.

      I pressed the auto dial for Steven Chan.

      “Tell me you’re not calling about this morning’s body,” he said by way of hello.

      “It was worth a try.”

      “I haven’t even unpacked the samples yet.”

      “Yeah, well, do it. I need the results yesterday.”

      I closed the phone and walked in the opposite direction from where Molly had gone.

      MOLLY CHECKED THE address on her notepad. A modified pickup truck sat in front of the place in question, and a guy was carrying a box out and putting it in the truck bed.

      “Excuse me,” she said, approaching him as she tucked the pad back into her bag. “I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find Joann Bennett?”

      The guy stared at her. “What’s it to you?”

      “I’m Molly Laraway, Claire Laraway’s sister.”

      Since he didn’t seem to recognize her, she suspected that he’d never met her twin.

      “Oh, yeah. Joann’s ex-roommate. You’ll find her inside.”

      Molly looked over the items already crammed into the back of the truck. “Thanks.”

      She stepped over the curb and nearer to the door, knocking on the jamb when she found the door was open.

      “Miss Bennett?” she called out.

      A woman carrying another box came out of what looked like a bedroom, the small living room before her empty of furniture. She looked at Molly, then put the box on top of another one, flushed from her activities. “Are you here to see the apartment?” she asked, pushing her hair back. Then she seemed to get a closer look at Molly and her face went white.

      “I’m Claire’s twin,” Molly said quickly. “I was hoping you might have a couple of minutes.”

      “Jesus, for a minute I thought you were her.”

      “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” She moved out of the way of the guy, who was coming back inside. “I won’t keep you long, I promise. I just wanted to ask a couple of questions.”

      Joann looked at the man, who shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” She sighed. “I’d offer you something to drink, but I’ve already cleared out the kitchen.”

      “Moving?” Molly stated the obvious.

      “Yes. I was having a hard time finding another roommate and, well—” she lifted her left hand “—my boyfriend proposed.”

      Molly smiled. “Congratulations.”

      “Thanks.”

      She moved aside again as the guy—apparently the fiancé—hefted another box and made his way back outside. “I’m sure Claire would have been happy for you.”

      “I don’t know about that. Claire never met Nick.”

      “So you two didn’t spend a lot of time here?”

      “More like Claire didn’t spend a lot of time here. Do you mind if I work while we talk?”

      “No. Go ahead.” Molly moved nearer to the door she’d disappeared into. “So you and my sister weren’t close?”

      “No, unfortunately, we weren’t.” Joann wrapped a ceramic knickknack and placed it in an open box. “Truth is, we never got much of a chance to get to know each other well. She only moved in two months before she…died.”

      Molly remembered her mother giving her the change of address, although she’d never had cause to use it herself.

      “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked. “Living with someone you don’t know well?”

      Joann shrugged as she wrapped another item. “I’ve had at least seven roommates throughout college up until now. I’ve never run into any problems. Well, not many, anyway, you know, beyond loud nighttime activities and a piece of jewelry or designer clothing going missing. But even that didn’t happen often.” She began closing the box. “It’s hard to make the rent as a single nowadays, as you may know.”

      Actually, Molly didn’t know. Straight out of high school she’d interned at a law office that had hired