Dead Wrong. Susan Sleeman

routing that call.”

      “I checked into that, too. Trust me, I checked everything I could about that phone. It all points to someone possessing Nathan’s phone. But not for regular use. So why keep it? Why answer only on that one day?”

      “Good questions, I suppose.”

      “That’s why I took her case and agreed to find out who had it.” She shook her head. The truth of her failure was about to come to light, and she waited until she’d stemmed off another round of tears. “I didn’t think she was right about the murder, but after tonight—” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish her thought, but simply stared down at the mossy sidewalk in front of her. The sidewalk she’d run up not an hour ago and found Nancy’s lifeless body.

      She felt as if she might lose it. Really lose it like she did the night her birth father killed her mother right in front of her. She was only eleven. A child. Watching the man who’d beat her mother time after time, finally going too far. Her mother, after years of letting a man control her every move, lying there. Lifeless.

      The pain swamped her as another wave of grief rose up over her adopted parents who were gunned down in a robbery just a few years ago. Another senseless loss and a reminder of all the horrible things that had happened in her life before they’d rescued her.

      “You’re certain tonight is related to the brother’s death?” Mitch asked, his gentle tone pulling her head back up. His eyes were soft and warm. He understood the pain of what he was asking her to do and he was urging her to go on.

      She let his warmth chase away the horrible sights and smells of violence and focused straight ahead. “The killer said Nancy shouldn’t have involved a private investigator in this and that it was her fault he had to kill me. He knew my name and it sounded almost like he had Nancy lure me here to kill me, too.”

      “Back up.” His voice turned sharp. “You didn’t say anything about luring you.”

      “Like I said in my message, Nancy called and said a guy followed her home. She thought it had to do with Nathan’s death. When I got here, she was already dead and the creep was waiting for me. He told me it was good that he could clean up both of Nancy’s messes at one time.”

      He winced as if the memory of finding her didn’t sit well with him. “So you think our suspect forced her to call you so you’d come over?”

      “Maybe... It sounds farfetched when you say it, but after what happened here, I honestly don’t know.” She drew in a deep breath before going on. “Also Nancy was supposed to call 911. So why didn’t she?”

      “Maybe he overpowered her before she could dial.”

      “Or she didn’t make the call because he was standing next to her forcing her to call me.”

      “At this stage in the investigation, anything’s possible,” he answered just like a good cop would. They were taught to look beyond the obvious. Not form an opinion early on or it might cloud their judgment. And never, never rush to a conclusion.

      “So how about the suspect?” he asked. “I got a good look at his build and saw he wore a mask. Is there anything you can add to help ID him?”

      She thought about it. About him. About anything that could help, but even though it seemed to go on forever as he’d held her on the floor his angry eyes seething at her, now it flashed by in a blurred memory, and she couldn’t come up with much.

      “Nothing, other than he was strong,” she said. “Crazy strong. He tried to inject me, and it took everything I had to fight him off until you got here.” She looked at her wrists, red and irritated from the tape, and could still feel the creep binding her hands and pressing her face into the cold floor. “He thinks I know something about Nathan’s death. Except I don’t have a clue why Nathan or Nancy were killed.” She forced nonchalance into her tone that she didn’t feel even as a swift shiver confirmed her fear.

      Mitch leaned over and tugged the jacket closed but didn’t let go and looked deep into her eyes. “We need to get you out of here.”

      “I want to stay to make sure Nancy’s treated right.” She took a deep breath and forced away more tears.

      “We’re all professionals here, Kat. She’ll be handled with dignity.” He let go of the jacket and stood, offering a hand on the way up.

      He was right. Nancy didn’t need her now. She’d needed her earlier. Before a man murdered her and Kat failed her.

      She took Mitch’s hand and swayed again. He put his other hand under her elbow. She wanted to shake it off and be strong—be like the police officer she used to be where nothing made her feel so lost and dead inside. But she couldn’t find the resolve to do so and wasn’t sure she ever would again.

      * * *

      Mitch pushed open the front door to Kat’s town house and stood back to let her enter. She slipped past him, went to the kitchen adjoining a two-story family room with soaring windows and dropped her keys on the laminate counter.

      He shouldn’t be here. Not in her home with her personal things all around, making him think of her as a person and not a victim in one of his cases. His first instinct had been to have a patrol officer take her home, but he’d told Tommy he’d try to help her cope. Plus he wanted to check out her house to make sure their suspect hadn’t decided to come here to finish what he’d started.

      And maybe, if he stopped to admit it, something in his gut said she needed him. Not some unknown officer, but him. Mitch Elliot.

      He hadn’t felt needed in years. Avoided it, actually, ever since his partner, Lori, was gunned down in front of him. Sure, he took a bullet himself that day, but he’d lived. She hadn’t.

      He felt the scar on his neck, the raised reminder of how fast someone he loved could be taken from him and why he was better off going it alone in life. No matter how good it felt to discover he could connect again with a woman like Kat, he’d never risk another loss.

      She turned and big, haunted eyes stared at him. His gut squeezed like a vise, but his fingers still resting on the scar kept his mind on business.

      “Thanks for bringing me home,” she said. “And I haven’t thanked you for your help at Nancy’s house. If you hadn’t come along—” Another violent shudder wracked her body.

      “You’re welcome.” He felt as if he should say more but opted not to dwell on what could’ve been.

      He closed the door and took in the apartment’s white walls and dull beige carpet. Moving boxes lined the far wall and minimal furniture filled the small living space. Fire had destroyed her house last year when a drug dealer tried to burn out the woman she was protecting. This place was so not Kat. Her walls would radiate color. Bright, bold color.

      “So when will your house be done?” he asked, wiping his feet on the small mat by the door.

      “How do you know about my house?” She bit her lip, but her gaze never waivered.

      “Tommy’s my partner, remember?”

      “Right.” She frowned and tugged the jacket tighter.

      But a tug of a jacket wouldn’t keep him out of her business. Partners shared a lot—were like old married couples in so many ways—and he knew all about Kat’s life. More than she’d likely want the man who’d once rejected her to know.

      The sooner he did his check and got out of there, the better for both of them. “I’ll do a quick walk-through of the house then take off so you can rest.”

      “You think he came here?” Her voice rose in alarm.

      “Nah,” he said, to calm the renewed fear sparking in her eyes. “But it’d be a good idea to make sure. You stay here.”

      He didn’t wait for her agreement but went down the hall. He checked each room, each window, to be sure the locks were secured and the blinds closed.