Key Witness. Christy Barritt

wasn’t too proud to admit her fears or weakness. That was a good sign. That vulnerability reminded him a bit of Wendi, though she hadn’t let very many people see that side of herself. It had been a privilege reserved for those closest to her and seeing it had always had a way of making Denton feel special.

      His heart panged as he remembered her bright smile, a smile that had been dimmed by too much chemo and radiation and pain. He missed that grin. No, there would never be anyone else like Wendi. That’s probably why he’d contented himself simply to casually date women who he saw no future with. It seemed safer that way.

      He stopped by the front doors and waited for Senator Philips to finish shaking hands with the principal. His slick-soled shoes clacked against the floor as he headed toward them.

      “Elle, don’t forget. You need to listen to Denton.”

      Elle’s lip pulled down in a frown. “He’s my bodyguard, not my babysitter, Dad.”

      “I know. But I know how stubborn you are. This is no time to try and prove yourself. Lay low.”

      She offered a curt nod. “I will.”

      Senator Philip’s gaze fell on Denton. “Keep an eye on her.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      He motioned to the three others with him to follow him outside. Denton saw the red on Elle’s cheeks, could tell she didn’t like being addressed like a child—probably ever, but definitely not in public. Her father probably had good intentions, just poor delivery. He took her arm. “You ready?”

      She nodded, and they stepped into the crisp outdoors. A chilly autumn wind swept against the stoop and ruffled their hair. His gaze surveyed the landscape. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Still, he kept a brisk pace as he led Elle to the SUV and secured her inside, then he joined her.

      The driver pulled away. “Where to?”

      “Back to your parents’?” Denton asked.

      Elle clicked her seat belt in place. “I really need to swing by my place and pick up a few things. Especially since everyone insists that I can’t stay there right now.”

      “Your parents’ house is safer,” Denton stated.

      Lines tightened at her eyes. “Of course.”

      “Just give me your address and we’ll go there.”

      She identified the street before looking out the window, a certain melancholy seeming to fall over her.

      “Elle?”

      She glanced at Denton, the sparkle gone from her gaze. “Yes?”

      “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

      Her eyelids fluttered down a moment, some of the hard shell she tried to put on disappearing when she looked back up. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean, my job is to protect you. But you’re a grown woman. I’ll respect your decisions—unless I see a bullet flying through the air.”

      She stared at him a moment before answering. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

      Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a modest condo located on a golf course in Virginia Beach.

      “Stay in the car while I check things out. Please.”

      Elle nodded, and he slipped out. He used Elle’s key to unlock the door and slip inside. He was surprised at her soft and feminine decorations. She always came across as so professional, but her home showed a different side of her. He’d pay attention to that later, though. Right now, he needed to check everything out and make sure it was safe.

      Once he’d swept the area, he went back to the car for Elle. She stepped inside and deposited her purse on the honey-colored dinette. Her eyes scanned the place with obvious unease.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Something feels different.” She stepped toward her living room, her brows furrowed.

      “What?”

      “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. You know, that instinct that something has been moved.” She whirled around to him. “Did you move anything?”

      He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

      “I’ll put my finger on it eventually.”

      “Let’s get your things and get out of here.” He nodded toward the door, not liking the implications of what Elle said. What if someone had been in her condo, not to harm her but to take something—or plant something? Why would someone do that?

      “I’m not going to argue with you there.” She disappeared into her bedroom.

      Denton lingered in the doorway, close enough to keep an eye on her, but distant enough for privacy. His gaze wandered the wall of pictures beside him. Elle with her parents. Elle with some girlfriends. An older picture of Elle with another girl when they were probably fourteen or fifteen years old. No pictures of Elle with any men, which seemed to confirm his initial impression that she was single. Not that it mattered to him. He wasn’t looking for a serious relationship—any relationship, for that matter. Despite that, his heart still lifted slightly at the realization.

      Elle charged from her room, walking toward the living room like a woman on a mission. “I think I know what’s different.”

      Denton followed at a close clip behind her. She stopped at an end table and picked up a picture frame holding a snapshot of her and the senator. With a shaky finger, she pointed at it. “This is my frame but that’s not my picture.” She scrambled to remove the backing.

      Denton put his hand over hers. “Let me.” He didn’t know what might wait beneath that picture. It could be an airborne disease, for all he knew. Or it could be nothing.

      Carefully, he slipped off the back of the frame. His heart raced as he waited to see what waited underneath. He blinked. Nothing. Except a picture of Elle hugging her father.

      “Where’d my picture go? Why would someone take it?”

      “What was the picture of?”

      “My sister.”

      “Your sister?”

      Elle wiped the corner of her eye, obviously trying to conceal the fact that she was crying. “She’s been dead for six years.”

      “I’m sorry, Elle.”

      “It was my favorite picture.”

      “Do you parents have another copy?”

      She wiped her eyes again before wrapping her arms over her chest. “Probably. I’ll ask them.”

      “Where did someone get this snapshot?”

      She shrugged. “Anywhere. It’s on my dad’s official campaign website.”

      “Of course,” he muttered. “You have a paper bag?”

      “Under the microwave.”

      He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a lunch-sized bag to slip the frame into. “I’m going to have this tested for fingerprints. I’m pretty sure they didn’t leave any, but I want to make sure.”

      She pulled in a deep breath, her face pale and her voice on the edge of fragile. “This feels like... I don’t understand why someone would do this.”

      He resisted the urge to touch her, to try and comfort her. It wasn’t his place. But he hated to see her struggling as she was. He stuffed his free hand into his pocket instead. “You witnessed a horrific crime. Sometimes people are just sick. They want someone to pay for what happened. They’re playing a game, basically.”

      She swallowed and nodded. “Let me finish getting my stuff and let’s get out of here.”

      He