question I have is why are you working so hard to cover up what you were doing tonight?â
Chapter Three
Landry stepped into the shower while Isabella slept. At least one of them was getting some shut-eye. His sleep had been fitful. But it had little to do with the too-small couch heâd slept on.
Isabella. Not only had she tumbled back into his life last night, heâd bet she was in a heap of trouble as well. It wasnât bad enough that her long-lost dad had gotten himself killed in her bedroom, but he knew sheâd been out chasing leads hoping to score some information on the Ramirez case.
Six months ago sheâd been confident she had found the hidey hole of a whole big stash of drugs. Sheâd told her sergeant and the lieutenant and theyâd called in the big guns only to find the warehouse empty except for a bunch of cardboard boxes filled with books. Most police officers would have taken that kind of thing in strideâstuff like that happens all the timeâinformers get scared and things go south before a cop can make the bust.
But not her. Obsessed with reworking the whole thing, retracing clues, talking again to informants on the street, canvassing the neighborhood, determined to figure out where she went wrong, sheâd driven herself like a madwoman, working sixteen-hour days, seven days a week.
When heâd called her on her irrational behavior sheâd broken things off with him, saying she needed some space. But he knew better. Bone weary, she didnât want to lean on him, nor get used to the security he could offer. Instead, she threw herself even more into the case. As far as he knew, sheâd made no progress.
Not that sheâd tell him about it if she had. The woman had trust issues up the wazoo and a chip on her shoulder the size of a Cadillac. Theyâd been together off and on for three years, but sheâd never been able to let him in. His only consolation was that more than anybody in her life, besides her grandfather, heâd come the closest.
Whatever happened last night, sheâd keep the secret. The idea that her father showed up at the same time couldnât be some kind of weird coincidence. Somewhere there had to be a connection.
Landry came out of the shower to find her sitting up in bed. With hair that tumbled like a lionâs mane around her petite face, she looked sexier than a woman had a right to look. âHey, beautiful. Itâs nine oâclock. Iâm sure theyâre waiting for us this morning. Ready to face the music?â
She tucked her hair behind her ears, although it did little good. Her hair, like her, could never be controlled. âI suppose theyâll interview us separately?â
âStandard procedure.â
She seemed more than a little preoccupied or she wouldnât have asked such an obvious question. He couldnât help but wonder what ideas raced through her mind. And, more importantly, would she ever get to the point where sheâd actually share her thoughts with him?
âDo you have any coffee?â She threw off the covers and slipped out of bed still wearing her CPD sweats. Certainly not the sexiest night-time wear on a woman, but somehow, with her, it worked.
âI made some while you were getting your beauty rest. Iâll get you a cup.â
She didnât say much while she changed into jeans and a sweater, but based on the way she worried that handkerchief in her fingers, he could tell she was nervous. Ten minutes later, they got into her car and silently made the fifteen-minute trip to the station.
* * *
âDue to the circumstances, Iâm handling this investigation, not your sergeant. Iâll keep him advised of whatâs going on.â Lieutenant Thomas held up his hands. âIâm not going to discuss right now what you were doing alone in that alley when Jonas and Landry picked you up. Iâm not even going to ask you if it had anything to do
Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
Hilary Storm, Kathy Coopmans