Текст книги "I'll Never Let You Go"

Автор книги: Mary Burton

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

He opened the refrigerator and found it undisturbed. Stocked with three bottles of white wine and one red, cheese, eggs, and a loaf of bread. Its clean, nearly unused surfaces glistened. A check of the cabinets revealed standard inexpensive dishes that might be stocked in a rental. Made sense.

“Georgia, when do you estimate the time of death?”

“About ten last night.”

Alex looked out the back door and noticed it backed up to the woods. A killer could easily have come through the brush undetected. Deidre’s town house was an end unit, and there was a clear path from the back door, around the unit, and up to the parking lot. Easily accessible.

He moved out the back door and walked down the stairs.

“Footprints?”

“It was blistering cold last night and the ground was rock solid.”

“So no footprints?”

“Blood smudges by the back door. I think the killer went toward the woods and stripped off whatever protective gear he was wearing. We’ve got a scent dog coming.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Lots, but I don’t know who they belong to. I’ve checked all around the outside of the door as well as the countertops, the cabinet handles, and the refrigerator door handle. I pulled a few good thumbprints from the counter. But if my suit theory holds true, he’d have been wearing gloves.”

“You’re going to want to see this,” Deke called out from outside the kitchen.

Alex turned and moved into the living room, where a uniformed officer knelt by a coffee table. He watched as the officer, with gloved hands, removed what appeared to be a listening device mounted to the underside of the table.

All the personnel in the room grew quiet as the officer rose and held it out for Georgia to inspect.

She took the small device in her hands and studied it closely. “Someone has been listening to Deidre. This device is wireless and has a range of about a mile. I’ve heard recordings made by such gadgets, and they emit a crystal-clear sound. Whoever was listening would have clearly heard Deidre in this room.”

“Keep your voices down while we need to search the rest of the house,” Deke said, lowering his voice. “My first choice would be the bedroom, another favorite spot for creeps who like to listen.”

Alex pulled on a fresh set of gloves before crossing to Georgia. He held out his open palm, “May I?”

Raising a brow, she handed it to him, whispering. “So polite.”

Alex ignored the comment and inspecting the listening device, said quietly, “This isn’t cheap. And it’s sophisticated. Can also be purchased on countless Internet sites.”

“Stalking made easy,” Georgia quipped.

“Soon-to-be ex-husband?”

“Top of my list.”

Georgia glanced back at the kitchen as emotion flashed in her eyes. We’ve got to figure this out. We’ve got to.

Alex laid his hand on her shoulder. “He’s already caught. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Chapter Seven

Monday, January 16, 11:45 A.M.

Leah’s hands trembled as she tried to insert her key in the front door. She fumbled with her keys and then dropped them. Muttering an oath, she picked them up and finally got the key in the lock. She undid the dead bolt and hurried inside. Without hesitating, she locked the door behind her. Beyond tired, her nerves were shot.

A glance out the front window and she saw the cop car parked across the street. She drew in a steadying breath, trying to break the bands of tension in her chest. The cop would be Alex’s doing. She’d been as careful and controlled as she could be when she’d spoken to him, but he’d sensed more lingering in the silence between her careful sentences.

Slowly, she turned from the window and down the hallway. She was halfway to the bathroom when her legs gave out and she lowered herself to the floor and buried her face in her hands.

Sadness and fear. Dear God, Deidre was dead. Stabbed.

She groped at the scarf now constricting her neck and jerked it free. She unzipped her jogging jacket so that she could draw in a deep breath.

Leah traced the scar slashed across her palm. It had been a defensive wound, just as Alex had said.

She never remembered grabbing the knife. Even now, the attack only came to her in flashes. A knife slashing, whooshing through the air. The prick of a blade against her throat. The softness of Philip’s final words. I’m sorry.

What really lingered with her were the emotions of that night. Bone-crushing fear. Pain. Weakness.

She dug her fingers in her hair, limp and stringy from running, crying, and vomiting. She wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep.

Leah rose from the floor and with shaky legs made her way to the bedroom, where the rumpled comforter of her unmade bed waited. She crawled between the cool sheets and curled on her side, pulling the blankets over her head. Was she ever going to feel safe?

She closed her eyes, wanting only to sleep for a few hours to escape the horror of what she’d seen today. Breathe in. Breathe out. She reached for the bottle of sleeping pills she hadn’t used in months. Taking one now felt akin to failure. She shouldn’t need it. But she did. Cutting one in half, she popped it in her mouth. Eventually, her heartbeat slowed, and sleep grabbed hold of her.

She wasn’t sure how long she drifted just above the waves of deep sleep. It felt good to drift. Weightless. Light. Not afraid, if only just for a moment.

The whispered song tugged on her and brought her deeper to a sleeping no-man’s-land where she couldn’t separate reality from the past and the unreal.

The gentlest touch of a finger skimmed across her brow. So soft most would have ignored it. But not her.

Even with her system on overload, alarm bells sounded a warning in her head. The only person who had ever sung to her had been Philip.

A rush of adrenaline surged through her body. Her eyes popped open, and for a moment her eyes couldn’t focus. Groggy, she blinked against the day’s dimming light and focused her gaze. Silence. Her eyes adjusted as her heart pounded against her ribs and she restrained her panic. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 5:21.

“Damn.” She moved to the bathroom, where she stripped off her clothes. She turned on the shower and brushed her teeth as she waited for the spray to heat up before she stepped in and allowed the warmth to wash over her very chilled bones.

Tipping her head back, she allowed the water to slush over her naked breasts, which still bore the scars of the attack. She traced the thin pinkish scar that slid across the top of her left breast. The doctors had said the scars on her chest would be the worst. Thin tissue had been the reason.

“Philip is dead,” she muttered. “He can’t hurt you.”

Shutting off the water, she grabbed a towel. She dried her hair, arms, legs. She swiped the fogged mirror clean and did what she rarely did anymore . . . she stared at the scars, tracking each of the twenty-three with her fingertip. No longer pink and raised, they had whitened over time and faded. Just like her memories should have done, but would not.

Finally, she slipped on a robe before padding into her room. The blinds were closed, just as she always left them. Some sunny days tempted her to let in the bright sunshine, but she never dared, remembering how Philip used to sit outside her apartment and watch her.

Hair dripping, she moved to the small desk in the corner of her room and pulled out a calendar. The days had all been marked off except for today, so she took her red pen and put an X through it. They signified all the days since Philip had died: 1,430 days.

Leah dressed and carefully applied a silicone-based concealer that filled in the indented slash across her cheek. It was a five-minute process that had been a part of her regimen for almost four years. Once the filler had set, she applied a base makeup. As she stared into the mirror, she traced her finger along her cheek, wishing memories could be erased as easily.

According to the emergency room doctors, she’d been lucky. After the surgeon had operated and she was stabilized, a very talented plastic surgeon had been on-site, and he’d carefully stitched up her face. He’d minimized the damage, which could have been disfiguring.

For a long time, she hated the scars. Resented them. But now in an odd sort of way she saw them as a gift. Deidre would never have to worry about scars, fillers or makeup. These scars were now a reminder of how lucky she was to be alive.

God, Deidre, who would do this to you?

If anyone could find the truth, it was Alex Morgan. He had the eyes of a predator, a hunter. The way he’d stared at her had reminded her a little of Philip. Cold, direct, and assessing.

Though Philip’s gaze had never been so steady. There’d always been an edge, a fear he was missing out, when he looked at the world. They’d met in a bar on Broadway just as she was finishing up college. He’d been with a group of friends and they’d been laughing. Her father had just died and she’d been feeling lost. She’d needed to feel connected to life and strength.

The instant he’d seen her, he’d picked up his drink and moved toward her. He’d told her she was beautiful, and if she wanted to dance, he’d be waiting for her at the bar.

Her friends had called him cheesy, but she’d been charmed. He appeared to be a man who knew what he wanted. And so a half hour later, she’d gathered the courage and asked him to dance. To this day, she’d remembered the song: “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. How many times had she looked back on that moment and wondered if the universe had been sending her a warning.

Their courtship had been a whirlwind, giving her no time to think or take a step back to see the warning signs.

Leah filled her cup with coffee. Deidre would never have taken that kind of guff from Philip. She’d have tossed away a guy like that in seconds. Philip never would have gotten close enough to Deidre to undermine her as he had Leah.

She sipped slowly. She wanted to keep her past locked away. No good came of anyone knowing, though she feared Alex sensed it. Today, in the squad car, his gaze had been peeling back the layers of her defenses. He knew there was more to her. He sensed a problem. A past. Odds were that he would get to the bottom of it.

What happened to her four years ago had nothing to do with Deidre. Nothing. Philip was dead.

Philip. So smart. So clever. So able to win over anyone.

The muscle at the base of her skull tightened as Leah set down her coffee and moved to the dining table, where she kept her purse. She fished out her wallet and from a deep pocket pulled out an old business card she’d carried with her for years. The edges were dog-eared, the card stock thinned with wear.

The name in the center of the card read ROSEANNE JEFFERS, DETECTIVE, SOUTH CAROLINA STATE POLICE. She flicked the edges of the card. In the early days after Philip’s disappearance, she’d called Roseanne often. She’d been too afraid to sleep or eat for fear that Philip might return to kill her. Roseanne had been kind, understanding, at first, but after Leah had made a half-dozen calls to her, her answers had grown more terse. Their last contact had been Leah talking apologetically to Roseanne’s voice mail. Leah knew she had to get on with her life. Otherwise, Philip won.

“Philip is dead,” she muttered.

She hadn’t called Roseanne in three years.

Leah closed her eyes, trying to push an old worry back into the shadows. When the threats had been real, she’d had to beg the police to intervene. But when the threat had been destroyed, she couldn’t break the cycle of fear.

She reached for her cell phone and dialed Roseanne’s number. Her thumb hovered over the Send button for a second or two and, pulling in a deep breath, pressed it. She put the phone to her ear, her heart thrumming in her chest so hard it was a wonder she didn’t hear it.

The phone rang three times and on the fourth ring voice mail picked up. Leah hesitated. “Roseanne, this is Leah Carson. Leah Latimer. We haven’t spoken in a few years, but we talked several times about my husband, Philip Latimer. You notified me the day his body was found. Logically, I know I shouldn’t have doubts about your findings, but I do. Can you call me back so we can discuss the circumstances surrounding his death again? I know this is odd, but a phone call would help. Thanks.” She recited her number and then hung up the phone. Carefully, she replaced the card in her wallet and tucked her phone in the side pocket of her purse.

Leah tipped her head back, trying to ease the tension in her chest. She took several deep breaths, but nothing softened the anxiety.

I’m being foolish. I’m being foolish. Philip is dead.

He stood in the woods, staring up at Leah’s town house. Frigid air wafted around him, chilling his skin even as the idea of the chase warmed his blood. The cop watching her house had left, leaving the two of them alone.

Though the drapes were closed, he could tell the lights were on in the bedroom and living room. He saw a woman’s shadow pass in front of the bedroom drape and then appear in the living room. A smile curled the edges of his lips.

He switched on a small device that connected wirelessly to the listening device in Leah’s town house. He raised it to his ear and listened to the soft hum of the television and her steady pacing. She might look all pulled together and competent, but when she was alone, the demons came out to play. Kept her awake. Made her pace. Good. He wanted, liked her afraid. Rattled and scared.

Leah had found Deidre today. He’d seen her bolt out the door, panicked and afraid. Her hands had been trembling badly when she’d dialed the cops. She’d paced alone in front of Deidre’s place, unmindful of the cold. Three squad cars had rolled up within minutes and she’d immediately waved her arms to flag them down.

The cops had talked to her at length. The TBI had been there, sitting alone with her in the backseat of the car.

He hadn’t followed her directly home but had taken an alternate route. He didn’t need to get on any cop’s radar. Stay in the shadows. Be patient. Too soon to reveal himself. Too soon to strike.

Their final meeting would come on the anniversary of the day she’d nearly died. Perfect symmetry, in his mind.

The ultimate goal was in reach and would soon be his.

Chapter Eight

Monday, January 16, 3 P.M.

Alex and Deke arrived at the sheriff’s office in the center of the small town twenty miles north of Nashville. Tyler Radcliff, Deidre’s estranged husband, had been sheriff of the bedroom community for nearly five years and had earned himself a solid reputation as a good lawman. Not much in the way of high crimes happened in affluent New Market, but if anything did, Radcliff was on hand to deal with it.

Alex studied the one-story brick building that housed the sheriff’s office. A quick check as they’d driven out revealed this boxy, practical building housed only the sheriff’s office, which employed five people, including the sheriff, a few deputies, and a secretary.

Tyler faced a reelection this fall. With a few well-placed questions, Alex had discovered that Tyler expected to easily win reelection. There’d been some talk of another business leader running, but none in the Radcliff camp was concerned.

Alex adjusted his sunglasses as he studied the building. “So how did Deidre, a Nashville detective, and a local sheriff hook up?”

“Couldn’t tell you. I never asked and she never offered,” Deke said.

Alex pulled off his sunglasses. “You ever have any kind of conversation with her?”

“I knew her only in passing.”

“You don’t talk to many people,” Alex said.

“We Morgans come by it honestly. And you’re one to talk. How many years does it take you to warm up to people?”

“A lot.” Outside of his family, he kept his relationships on the surface. It wasn’t a matter of what he wanted but out of necessity. He investigated other officers, so any kind of friendly relationship with anyone on the job could lead to a conflict of interest.

Alex shook his head. “We’re quite the family.”

“We’re a hardheaded lot. And some would say not the easiest group of individuals.”

Deke spoke plainly, and Alex found the raw honesty refreshing. It had been so long since he’d let his guard down, he wondered now if it were possible. “So I’ve heard.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“I didn’t join the TBI to make friends. And if you joined the Nashville Police Department to make friends, well, you’d better find another job.”

“I’m not worried about the job. Shit, I worry about it with Rachel. She says I’m sometimes distant.”

“Are you?”

“Most likely, yes. That’s the same crap that ended my marriages.”

“So talk. She’s a defense attorney. She’s seen enough not to be put off by the job. And she can keep a secret if you need it kept confidential.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like many people, Deke. But she’s okay. Don’t ruin it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is.” Alex glanced at Deke, the barest hint of a smile softening his features.

They pushed through the glass front doors and, within steps, stood at the desk of an older woman with graying, short, curly hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a ruddy complexion. She glanced up and, before Alex or Deke could reach for an ID, asked, “What jurisdiction?”

“TBI,” Alex said.

“Nashville Police.” Neither mentioned that they were investigating a homicide. Once people knew there’d been a murder, defenses slammed into place.

“What’re you boys doing here?” An edge sharpened the words. In an office this small, word of Tyler and Deidre’s divorce must have leaked.

“Like to visit with Sheriff Radcliff. Saw his car out front when we arrived,” Alex said.

“He’s busy.”

Local law enforcement didn’t always appreciate a visit from a TBI agent, and they sure didn’t like seeing Alex Morgan. It was one thing for an agent to show, but Alex’s appearance made people nervous or angry.

“He needs to make time. We need to see him now.” Alex’s voice was steady and controlled, and his gaze didn’t waver until the older woman looked away and pushed herself to her feet. She’d been around cops long enough to know that when TBI showed up and said it was important, she needed to be flexible, whether she liked it or not.

The woman knocked on the door behind her and, after a gruff “Enter,” disappeared behind it. Seconds later, the door snapped open. The secretary retreated to her desk and Tyler Radcliff appeared at the office door. He had broad shoulders and a tall frame that all but filled the doorway, giving him a menacing air that made weaker men acquiesce and alpha males bristle at the implied challenge. He’d shaved his head bald and sported a thick mustache and a scowl.

Alex wouldn’t concede because he had too many questions to ask, but he never challenged unless he thought it would be useful.

Tyler stepped aside so Alex and Deke could enter his office. He extended a large beefy hand to Alex, which he accepted easily. Tyler’s grip was strong in an overt and dominating kind of way. Alex understood the pressure points in the palm and where to squeeze so that Tyler released his grip.

“Agent Alex Morgan, TBI. Thanks for seeing us.”

Deke extended his hand. “Detective Deke Morgan.”

Tyler accepted Deke’s hand but found himself matched in strength. Alex found the test amusing.

Tyler stepped back, hands folding over his wide chest. “Did Deidre send you here?”

“Why do you say that?” Alex asked.

Tyler stood in front of his desk, his feet slightly braced, as if he were ready for a fight. “You go after cops. And Deidre works for Nashville Vice. She sent you.”

In no rush to answer, Alex let his gaze roam the room, taking in the dozens of framed citations and diplomas. No one questioned Tyler’s dedication to the job. But cops who excelled professionally often paid a personal toll. “What makes you say that?”

A bitter smile twisted his lips. He shook his head, as if he were in no mood to play games. “Oh, come on. She’s been complaining about me, hasn’t she? She’s been doing her best to stick it to me since I canceled our joint credit cards. She’d like nothing better than to screw up my reelection campaign this year.”

“Why’d you cancel the credit cards?” Alex asked.

Dark eyes, like the ends of a double-barreled shotgun, shifted to Deke. “Don’t play stupid. You know we’re getting a divorce. You’re here because Deidre’s pissed.”

Tyler had been in law enforcement for twenty-plus years, and he knew how the system worked. He would choose his words carefully.

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Alex asked.

Tyler’s frown deepened. “Cut to the chase. What’s going on here?”

Alex needed Tyler to understand he wasn’t in charge of this conversation. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

Tyler shifted his stance. “Last week, at the attorney’s office.”

“She made a call to you last night at about nine.”

“I saw the missed call, but she didn’t leave a message. I didn’t bother to call her back. Why’s this important? Did she or her boyfriend have an issue with me?”

The boyfriend, Alex guessed, was David, the guy from the running group who’d held Deidre close at the track. “Why would they?”

“She was forced to sign an agreement giving me full ownership of the house. I also got the few stocks we had.”

Deidre, from what he’d learned, had been a fierce competitor who didn’t give up easily. Perhaps she had more to gain with David than to hang on to what she’d had with Tyler. Or maybe Tyler knew what buttons to press to make Deidre concede. “So you think this is about money and property?”

He shifted his stance and adjusted his belt buckle. “I told Deidre if she didn’t walk away from the house, I’d let everyone at the Nashville Police Department know that it was her cheating that ended the marriage.”

“Who was she having an affair with?”

“I don’t know the guy’s name. But I saw them together a couple of times. Kissing.” He balled up his fingers into a fist before relaxing them. “Blond. Slick. Pretty boy.”

“Are you the one who keyed her car?” Alex’s question was a guess, but he delivered it as if it were fact.

Tyler’s narrowed gaze confirmed he’d hit a nerve. “That what she told you?”

“Did you key her car?”

Emotion colored his cheeks. “No. Hell no.”

“You look pretty mad,” Deke added. “Mad can make anyone do stupid things.”

“I didn’t key her car and I wasn’t the one calling her in the middle of the night. She accused me of that as well. I’m pissed by her cheating, but I’m not that desperate.”

“She still with this boyfriend?” Deke asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How’d they meet?”

“That running group she started last fall. Started off as wanting to get in better shape, and I was all for that. Next thing I know, she’s packing her clothes and moving out. Needed time to think. That was six months ago.”

Tyler had yet to refer to his wife in the past tense. Could be savvy as easily as innocent. He was a cop and knew what to expect from another cop. “Deidre was found dead in her apartment this morning.”

Alex watched Tyler closely. Intense moments like this had a way of forcing down the guard. And when the guard was down, even the best lies unraveled.

Tyler shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as if he hadn’t heard. “What did you say?”

Alex enunciated each word carefully. “She was murdered.”

Suspicion darkened his eyes. “How?”

“Stabbed.” Deke spoke, hurtling the word toward Tyler like he was delivering a punch. “At least a dozen times.”

The color from Tyler’s face drained and he stumbled back a step, as if the brutal words came with a physical push. He lowered himself into a chair angled in front of his desk and cradled his head in callused, lined hands. His wedding ring, dulled by time, caught the washed-out light from the ceiling’s fluorescent fixture. “Your facts can’t be right. Deidre is one tough woman. She can kick ass with the best of them.”

“No argument here,” Alex said. “She was one hell of a fighter. But whoever got hold of her was tougher, or they caught her off guard.”

Tyler raised his watery gaze and locked it on Alex. His lips curled into a scowl that deepened the lines around his mouth. “I didn’t kill my wife.”

They weren’t divorced so my wife was technically correct. But Tyler’s emphasis on the words suggested possessiveness. “I didn’t say you did. You’re still her legal husband so I owed you a death notice.”

Tyler balled his fingers into tight fists, as if gripping onto his emotions. “Fuck. I can’t believe she’s dead. Have you told her sister Joy?”

“We put a call in to her. She arrives tonight.”

“Damn. She’s going to be devastated. She and Deidre were so close.” He rubbed his eyes as if they stung.

“You two were involved in a contentious divorce. Your tone and manner suggest you’re pretty angry with her.”

Tyler swallowed as if his throat had filled with sand. “I’d never have killed her. She didn’t deserve that.”

Deke rested his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. “Where were you yesterday and last night?”

Tyler glared at Deke, absently rubbing the underside of his wedding band. He clearly didn’t like being questioned, especially by a younger officer. “Out. On patrol.”

Unmindful or, likely, uncaring of the tension radiating from Tyler, Alex removed a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “By yourself?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re a small department, Agent. It was my turn to make the rounds last night and that’s what I did. What do you estimate the time of death?”

Alex, unwilling to be pinned, shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

“The medical examiner is having a look at her late today or tomorrow. Do you know a woman by the name of Leah Carson?”

“No. Who is she?”

Alex had been willing to tag team with Deke on this interview until Deke had mentioned Leah’s name. “She’s in Deidre’s running group. They were friends.”

“I don’t know any of her new friends. Did she meet her in that damn running group as well?”

“I couldn’t tell you how they met.” Alex doled out the truth as easily as a lie if it suited an investigation.

“I’ve never met her.” He tipped back his head. “There was a time when I knew every detail about Dee’s life. But in the last year, she’s become a complete stranger to me.”

“How’d that make you feel?” Deke asked. “Losing control like that can make a guy angry.”

“What’re you, my shrink now?” Tyler growled at the younger agent.

Deke’s easy humor appeared untarnished. “Answer the question.”

“Angry enough to cut Deidre off from our joint assets and angry enough to see that she lost ownership in our house.”

“And to key her car?”

“I never said I did that. But I can tell you I wasn’t angry enough to stab her. Jesus, she was my wife. I loved her.”

“I don’t doubt you loved her. But a razor’s edge separates love and hate.” Forensics suggested this murder had been planned carefully, but Tyler didn’t need to know that. “Maybe you went to reason with her one last time and the visit turned into an argument that escalated. How many times in your job have you seen domestic disturbances that got out of control?”

“This wasn’t a domestic disturbance, Morgan. My wife was murdered.” Pain and seething anger covered the final words.

“I’ve no doubt you love . . . loved her.” He’d seen genuine regret and sadness in a murderer’s eyes before.

Tyler ran a callused hand over his head. “Fuck you.”

He leaned forward, as if he had more to say and then caught himself. “This is the last thing I expected today.”

“I’m sure Deidre would agree,” Alex said.

“I didn’t kill her!” He shouted the words, stopped himself, and then, in a lower voice said, “I might have been pissed, but I’d been pissed at her before. This isn’t the first bad patch we’ve had and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.”

“Love and hate,” Deke said, raising two crossed fingers, “are both powerful emotions.”

Tyler stood. “I’m not talking anymore. I’m calling my lawyer.”

Alex studied him. “We haven’t made any accusations.”

Tyler shook his head. “I’m the estranged spouse. That puts me at the top of the list. I know how it works. Throw me under the bus and tell everyone you’ve closed the case.”

Alex took a deliberate step into Tyler’s space. His voice was low, but his words were as cutting as broken glass. “Sheriff Radcliff, I go by the evidence and only the evidence. I don’t care about statistics or the easy way out. If you’re innocent, then we’re square and you won’t see me again.” His tone dripped with ice. “But if you’re lying to me, Radcliff, I’m going to nail you to the wall.”

“I was in law before you got out of high school. Take your best shot.”

Alex’s even white teeth flashed into a very unfriendly smile. “I will.”

Alex thought back to the numbers in Deidre’s personal phone, found in her purse. Leah. Sister. Husband. Work. And the name Tracy Donovan.

He pulled up in front of a brick office building located north of the city. Straight lines, neatly trimmed hedges, and a parking lot with sharp right angles; it wasn’t a surprise when he glanced at the sign out front, which read Hall Engineering.

He parked and moved inside the building, straight toward the desk of a receptionist. She had frosted blond hair, pale skin, and dark brows that made her round face look a little off balance. She glanced up at Alex, her expression clicking from bored to interested in a blink.

“Can I help you?” She tugged a phone headset from her ears and rose.

“I’m here to see Tracy Donovan. I understand she’s an engineer.”

“Can I tell her who’s here?”

Alex pulled his badge from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Alex Morgan, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”

Her eyes widened. “Sure. Be right back.”

She vanished around a corner, leaving him a moment to pace the carpeted lobby. Within seconds, whispered conversations buzzed as the receptionist wove her way through the maze of cubicles.

A tall woman with short, dark hair appeared in the reception area. She wore no makeup, a black pantsuit with a white shirt, and very sensible flat black shoes.

“Agent Morgan?” Her voice was crisp and sharp, like the lines of the building.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What’s this about?”

“Deidre Jones. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

A frown wrinkled an already stoic face. “There’s a conference room right here.” Her strides were efficient, no wasted movement, and she twisted the door handle with a sharp flick of the wrist. She flipped on the lights in the room and held the door open for him until he entered, then quietly closed the door behind him.