by Mia Dymond
“Run the tag on the white Lexus SUV,” he told his partner as his stomach rolled. He already knew the owner’s name. Question was, would he find her dead or alive?
Pushing panic from his mind, he stepped from his department-issued puke green sedan, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and shoe covers, and prepared to enter the structure.
At the sound of a car engine, Mace turned to see Coroner Ed Lancaster pull up and stop next to him, window down, a nub of a cigarette poked between his fingers. “Somebody report a stiff?”
“I got the same call.”
“You been inside?”
“Not yet.”
The coroner parked the car in the middle of the lot’s driveway and unfolded himself from the driver’s seat as he exited his vehicle. Mace flinched when Lancaster pounded him on the back with his bear’s paw of a hand. The gentle giant had no idea the force of his strength. “Still can’t stomach the raw meat, can you?”
He winced. He’d like to claim compassion – rather than a weak stomach – was the reason, but both Stewart and Lancaster knew the truth.
“CSI got here first,” he answered, purposely ignoring the coroner’s jab. “They’re waiting on us to search the body.”
Mace led the way into the townhouse and cautiously maneuvered down a short hallway until the stench of fresh blood closed his throat. He stopped abruptly and glanced down at the body that rested at his feet while his stomach jumped and beads of sweat penetrated the surface of his forehead. The pulse of his cell phone at his hip was the only thing that stopped him from puking.
He swallowed hard as he unclipped the phone and brought it to his ear. “Turner.”
“Tell me it’s not Dara.”
He swallowed again, this time around the softball positioned in his esophagus. Although Jake Rawlings demanded an answer, he wasn’t entirely sure he could oblige until he heard the long sigh that broke the silence.
Ignoring the other detective’s demand, he moved his gaze in the direction of the soft noise and onto two women perched on the sofa, namely the shapely brunette with a body put together better than most jigsaw puzzles. His knees nearly buckled while immense relief choked him.
Dara.
Although she sat hunched over, obviously distressed, the smooth creamy skin of her legs exposed by her short, black dress flashed like a red light. And her shoes, damn, her shoes. The black high heels that wrapped her tiny feet made his cock sing. Her long hair fell in waves around her shoulders, the ends resting on the plump swell of each breast. His hands itched.
“I need an answer, Turner!” Rawlings’ voice vibrated his eardrum. “Bri’s with me.”
“It’s not Dara,” he answered finally.
“We’ll wait here.”
Damn. Until silence crossed the line and he realized Rawlings had disconnected, he held out hope that the other detective might actually take his place. With his attention still centered on Dara, he returned his phone to the holder on his hip.
“Turner.” Lancaster shoved his shoulder. “Body’s down here.”
Mace reluctantly glanced down at the victim. Face down, the rounded hips and backside suggested a female. The light beige carpet beneath appeared soaked in red wine. His stomach tilted at his wishful thinking; the only thing wine had in common with the substance was color.
He moved his gaze from the blood beneath the body and along a trail that led to the kitchen. The smear pattern indicated the victim had either crawled or had been dragged to its current location.
He squatted and looked closer at the victim who pinned a common, household kitchen butcher’s knife beneath the right hand. The weapon, he assumed. Flashbulbs bathed the atmosphere in bright light as technicians continued to process the scene. Mace eased forward to get a closer look. No visible wounds from this angle. Clothing intact – skirt, pantyhose, low-heeled shoes – his earlier observation confirmed. Most likely female.
“All yours, Detective.”
Mace nodded at a crime technician dressed much like a beekeeper and then at Lancaster, who signaled with a twirl of his index finger for the body to be rolled.
Half a second into the body’s roll, a gasp from the sofa directed his gaze back there. Dara raised her head, her emerald gaze focused on the corpse. Mace swallowed hard. Even with black smudges under her eyes she was absolutely stunning.
He looked back at the body, purposely avoiding the victim’s eyes. She now lay on her back, her throat slit from ear to ear, her skin dyed red.
“Rule out suicide,” Jackson said from behind him.
Mace agreed with his partner’s conclusion. The likelihood of the woman slitting her own throat was slim to none. This crime represented a homicide, pure and simple.
“Nice, clean cut,” Lancaster squatted beside him. “Fast and easy.”
As his stomach took another severe dip, Mace stood and stepped back to allow CSI access to the body. Gladly, he left Jackson to deal with the specifics and moved next to the sofa. He laid a hand on Dara’s shoulder. “You didn’t call me this time.”
Bright, glassy eyes met his, fear evident in the depths. Ice-cold fingers almost burnt him when she placed her hand atop his. “Sorry.”
The woman beside her cleared her throat, the gesture almost one of authority. Yet, neither he nor Dara looked away.
“Detective,” the woman prompted, “do you need us to take a peek?”
“I’m afraid so,” he answered, finally diverting his gaze.
With her hand tucked in his, he helped Dara from the sofa and his heart skipped a beat. The woman didn’t just have tiny feet, she was tiny all over and full of curves. In fact, even though her shoes boosted her several inches, her forehead would only touch his chin.
“I just need to know if you recognize her.”
She gave a nod and both women followed until they stood over the body.
As soon as she looked into the dull, lifeless, black eyes of the woman resting on the carpet, Dara’s breath caught. Her mouth fell open and her heart pounded.
Marnie,” she squeaked.
“Yep,” her best friend murmured beside her, “she looks just like her photo.”
Mace squeezed her hand and suddenly her skin warmed. “Did you know the victim?”
“Not personally.”
“Are you acquainted with her?”
She gave a short sigh of relief, thankful Mace was already familiar with the specifics of her occupation. At least he wouldn’t question her response. “She recently published a review of my book.”
“I take it the review was negative.”
Maybe it was nerves or maybe she was just severely pissed off, but Dara bristled at his conclusion. The man probably wouldn’t know romance if it bit him in the bulletproof vest. She extracted her hand from his hold. “Why would you believe that?”
“I read it myself.”
Of course. Everyone reads a negative review. However, that fact didn’t excuse his statement. “And that makes you a worthy critic?”
“I haven’t read the book,” he added with a grin.
She had approximately milliseconds to appreciate his change in demeanor – that and the dimple in his left cheek – before the strictly-business, gun-toting cop was back.
“Can you provide her name?”
“The only name I can relate to her is the Rogue Reviewer.”
“Where were you this evening, Dara?”
“At a DRAMA meeting.”
“Theatre group?”
“No, just a group of friends. The group is an acronym with each of our first names.”
“I’ll need names of everyone with you.”
“Me, ‘D’ for Dara
R – Reagan Armstrong,
A – Annie Green,
M – Marnie Carpenter, and
A – Alex Jennings.”
“What about Bri?”
“I suppose we need to add an S for Sabrina, but then we’d need an L for Liberty and that wouldn’t spell anything readable.” She paus
ed, just in case he wanted to comment on her snarky attempt to bait him. Instead, he simply shifted his weight from one hip to the other, obviously expecting her to continue – and although he already knew what she would say, she figured she might as well humor him. “You know she didn’t join the group tonight. Jake held her hostage. And before you ask, Liberty didn’t either because she and Shane are concentrating on his PTSD therapy.” She released a heavy breath. “Although, I may require both of their professional help after tonight.”
“Can anyone confirm you were all together?”
“Yes. We met at Hannigan’s on Fifth and Elm. The owner, Chad Hannigan, can vouch for us.” She swallowed hard as another man approached – a very tall man with striking brown eyes and a body built for appreciation. His short, neat, brown hair, though, gave him away. She inwardly moaned. Were all policemen this distracting?
“Detective Jackson Stewart.” He extended a hand to her and then to Marnie. “I’m sorry you ladies have had a rough evening.”
She resisted the urge to release a sarcastic retort as she shook his hand and released it, instead asking the one question to which she already knew the answer. She waved a shaky hand at the carpet. “I don’t mean to be crass, but that’s not going to come clean, is it?”
Detective Stewart cleared his throat. “No ma’am, I’m afraid it will have to be replaced.”
“Nobody’s replacing anything yet.” Mace tossed her an irritating stare. “CSI will need a couple days at least to process this butcher shop.”
“By all means, Detective,” she drawled, “don’t hold back on my account. After all, I do have to live here after the fact.”
“Geezus, Turner,” Detective Stewart mumbled before he ran a hand over the top of his head while he glanced at his partner and then back at her and Marnie. “You’ll have to excuse him, ladies, he’s not feeling all that great at the moment.”
Dara narrowed her eyes. “I think I have some peppermint candies in my purse.”
“Peppermint?”
She nodded. “To soothe your stomach. You look positively green.”
One corner of his lip twitched and for a moment she thought he might have actually released another of those dazzling smiles. Unfortunately, she realized she’d hallucinated when he spoke. “Do you recognize the knife?”
“It’s mine.”
“Where is it normally stored?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Drawer?”
“No, in the butcher block on the cabinet.”
“Any idea how it ended up in the victim’s possession?”
“Oh geez, I don’t know, Detective Turner. Maybe because she’s involved in a crime?”
In the following seconds of pained silence, she waited for him to scold her for her response. Instead, the corner of his lip twitched a second time before he spoke.
“Would you two be willing to come down to the station tonight and give your statements?”
Dara glanced at Marnie, almost irritated that her best friend’s smirk indicated she appeared to be entertained by the whole conversation. Then again, Mace’s uneasiness around the corpse did provide a sick sort of comic relief.
“Sure,” she said finally.
Marnie pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.
Both eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “Who’s she calling?”
Dara mentally poked her fingers in her ears and wiggled them while she stuck out her tongue. “Our attorney.”
“Maybe you misunderstood. Neither of you are under arrest.”
She let a smug smile split her lips. “I write murder for a living, Detective. I have an attorney on retainer.”
Detective Stewart coughed and lowered his head.
“Fine.” Mace sighed hard. “We’ll expect you downtown in thirty minutes.”
“Make it forty-five. My attorney’s probably already in bed. She’ll need the extra fifteen minutes to convince herself to be halfway civil.”
“Oh damn,” Detective Stewart mumbled.
Mace appeared to be appeased. “Done. Do you have somewhere else to stay? You can’t stay here.”
Dara studied his handsome chiseled jaw for a moment, tempted to rub her cheek against the five o’clock shadow there while she entertained the notion to argue. Wonder what he’d say if she refused to leave. Her mind suddenly flashed back to the last time she attempted to challenge him and she’d ended up thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She quickly nudged that notion right out of her head; this time he’d probably lock her up and besides, she now stood smack dab in the middle of a crime scene. Go figure.
“Dara?” he prompted.
“Of course. I’ll stay with Marnie.”
“I’ll need the address.”
“Why? You have my cell phone number.”
“Technicality. Address.”
Too rattled to argue, she spouted Marnie’s address.
“Thank you.” His mesmerizing blue eyes seemed to glow. “I’ll see you shortly.”
“The building super is out front,” Jackson said, gesturing at the door.
Satisfied that Dara would follow instructions, Mace nodded and followed Jackson out the door. Just around the corner, a short, balding man stood next to a uniformed officer.
Mace extended a hand. “Detective Mace Turner. This is my partner, Detective Jackson Stewart.”
“Griffin Owens,” the man answered as he accepted the handshake.
“As you probably know by now, there was some excitement in Miss Hamilton’s unit this evening.”
The super squinted behind his thick glasses. “Is Dara hurt?”
“No, fortunately she’s unharmed. A little shaken, but not injured.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Do you know her personally, Mr. Owens?”
“Dara’s been a tenant at Cascade Glen for some time. I simply know her in the capacity of my job.”
“Do you happen to know if the lock on her door is the original?”
“As far as I know, it’s the original. I haven’t been asked to change it.”
“Are all the locks the same in the community?”
“To my knowledge, yes. Even when we replace a lock, we use the same make and model as the first.”
“Do you have copies of keys to any of the units?”
“No. The Homeowner’s Association keeps the only other copy.”
“What is the protocol when a tenant locks himself out?”
“The Association takes care of that.”
“What type of maintenance do you provide for the complex?”
“Just about anything – plumbing, electrical work, just typical handyman work.”
“Do you have any locksmith skill or experience?”
“No sir, none at all. I don’t even install new locks when they need to be replaced.”
“Where were you tonight from around six o’clock p.m. until the sirens?”
“At the homeowners’ association party. Some of the owners and all the board members were there too.”
“Can you provide names of everyone there?” Jackson said, making more notes.
“Be glad to.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Owens.” Mace handed him a card. “Here are my numbers. If you think of anything that might help, give me a call.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mace watched him almost run from the area, avoiding contact with anyone else on the way. “Strange guy.”
“Affirmative.” Jackson pocketed his notebook. “See anybody else that catches your eye?”
“Nah. Just the normal curious neighbors – nobody suspicious.” He moved his gaze to the numerous white vans with large numbers painted on the side. “Media’s thick. We’ll look back at the footage tomorrow. Let’s head to the station.”
***
He hated to see her so distraught, but he knew her feelings would change once she realized the corpse symbolized his love for her. Dara was an incredibly intellig
ent woman; it wouldn’t take long for her to understand this murder was extremely necessary and long overdue.
He eased back into the shadows and balled his fists while he watched the detectives leave the scene. The arrogant asses had no reason to believe she had anything to do with this sacrifice. Dara was an innocent who desired nothing short of utmost respect.
***
As Dara led the way down the hallway of the Primrose Municipal Building and toward the suite that housed the police department, she could’ve sworn both her and Marnie’s high heels poked holes through the tiles of the probably extremely unsterile floors.
“Marnie, did you wake her?”
“No.”
“No? Alex always goes to sleep early the night before a court appearance. Maybe she was reading over her briefs.”
“Um, Dara, I don’t think it was her briefs she concentrated on. I’m — mmm umph!”
She stopped abruptly and wobbled when Marnie’s body barreled into hers. She spun around and reached to steady her friend. “Wait, what?”
Marnie rubbed her nose. “I said, I’m pretty sure she had company.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t recognize his voice.”
“A man answered Alex’s phone?”
“Swear. And she was pissed.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have called.”
“Not at us! Because he answered her phone.”
“Well, she better hurry. I need something to take my mind off this mess.”
Marnie raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
“Sorry.” She managed half a smile. “Next time I’ll tap my brakes first.”
Her friend nudged her to start walking. “I’m dying to hear her explanation.”
“Marnie,” she groaned, “find another word other than dying.”
Although she thought she heard Marnie release a giggle, she huffed with each step as they made their way past several benches and finally stood in front of a sliding glass window. She peered through the glass at an empty chair and then glanced back over her shoulder at her friend. “There’s no one inside.”
