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was just doing his job, she reminded herself. Protecting people was what he did for a living. She was just one of those people.
    She took her camera to the back half of the apartment, which had been converted to a photography studio. She’d had walls removed, the floor redone with hardwood and had lighting equipment mounted in strategic places. The remodel had used her entire savings, but the space worked well. And she loved her life here.
    In one corner was her processing station. Gabe may not think there was anything more they could do tonight, but Kris knew otherwise. She hooked up the camera to the desktop computer and downloaded the pictures she’d taken.
    Within a few minutes she was viewing the shots of Frank and the mysterious man in the alley. She had a clear shot of Frank handing an envelope to the man. Another of the man sliding the contents into his hand. She zoomed the picture in.
    â€œGotcha!” she stated to the photo. With satisfaction and anticipation, she grabbed the phone and called BPD and asked for Gabe, figuring he’d be back at his desk by now.
    She was told he was off duty. So he’d been investigating on his own time. She liked that. She insisted thedesk sergeant get a message to him as soon as possible. He couldn’t promise her anything.
    Deciding she’d have to wait until morning to further the investigation, she readied herself for bed. Her sleeping area was cordoned off by a sliding divider. A four-poster bed, brought from her parent’s home, sat in the center of the room. A small vanity and chair sat beside the window that overlooked the courtyard behind the building. A flowered love seat with a fat tabby cat curled on a cushion took up the rest of the wall space. Just as Kris was crawling beneath the down comforter, the phone rang.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œKristina, it’s Gabe. I got a message you called. What’s wrong?”
    Kris smiled at the concern in his voice. “Nothing’s wrong. But I have something to show you. Can I e-mail some pictures?”
    â€œCan it wait until morning?”
    Anxious to show him her find, she hesitated. “I suppose. It’s just you said we needed proof that Frank was doing something illegal before you would question him, right?”
    â€œRight,” he replied cautiously.
    â€œWell, I think I have the proof you need.”
    â€œKristina, listen to me. Don’t do anything or say anything about this until I get there in the morning.”
    Her eyebrows rose. “You want to come here?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOkay.” A thrill of anticipation skipped over her skin. “First thing?”
    â€œFirst thing. And, Kristina?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMake sure you lock your doors.”
    â€œI always do,” she answered before hanging up. But just to be sure, she double-checked. Sure enough, locked.
    Back at her bed, she snuggled beneath the covers, convinced that tomorrow she’d be able to put Gram’s mind to rest.
    Hopefully, with Gabe’s help.

THREE
    T he next morning, Gabe pulled his wool sport coat shut against the brisk air as he left his car and walked to Kristina’s apartment building. He still couldn’t believe she lived here.
    He pushed the buzzer next to K. Worth. A moment later the door unlocked and he went inside. The large entryway was sparkling clean. The tiled floor shone with polish and the silver row of mailboxes looked brand-new. So much for slumming.
    An elevator took him to the second floor. Kristina’s apartment was at the far end. A large wreath sporting a red bow hung around the peep hole. He knocked on the steel door.
    The door slid open. She stood there with a smile on her face. “Hi.”
    â€œGood morning,” he managed to say past the tightness in his throat.
    He shouldn’t feel this pleased to see her. This was police business, not a social call. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He really should have