Courting Death

By Carol Stephenson

After watching a murderer walk free on a technicality, Nicole Sterling left the state attorney’s office to start a criminal law practice. She lets her partners handle the assault and murder files while she specializes in white-collar crime. With her own mother’s life slowly slipping away before her eyes, Nicole has had about all she can take of death.

But when a client is accused of killing her own baby, Nicole is drawn in to the case. Also looking for answers is Detective Sam Bowie, a man as infuriating as he is sexy. Sparks fly between them, but the last thing Nicole has room in her life for is a romantic entanglement.

Their investigation reveals that Nicole’s client could be just one of many innocent victims of a horrific conspiracy. Now, she must put her own life on the line to uncover the truth—and risk her heart—if she’s to have a future with Sam.

55,000 words

May 2011

Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved May, because it heralds the beginning of one of my favorite seasons—beach season! I’m fortunate to live close to the Atlantic Ocean, so every year in May, I start dreaming about the sound of waves on the sand, dolphins swimming off the coast, and me, lying in a comfortable beach chair, with a frosty beverage in one hand and my eReader in the other. Part of the fun is, of course, planning what I’m going to load onto the eReader for my beach adventures.

This month of Carina Press releases has provided me with plenty of reading material for my upcoming beach days—not that I’ll be able to wait that long to read them (I do get sneak peek copies in advance, after all). So, with everything from fantasy, to mystery, to contemporary, historical and paranormal romance, it doesn’t matter what I’m in the mood for, Carina Press has something to help me while away the time until I can make my beach dreams a reality.

I’m especially happy to introduce new novelists Maureen Miller, and her romantic suspense, Endless Night, and Diane Dooley with Blue Galaxy, a science fiction romance that’s out of this world (sorry, I couldn’t resist going for the corny joke). Of course, we also have several return authors as well, with sequels you want to be sure not to miss, including Tangled Past by Leah Braemel, South of Salem from Janni Nell, Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty, Maria Zannini’s Apocalypse Rising and Three Wishes from Jenny Schwartz.

These books are only a sampling of the tremendous lineup we have for May, so I hope you’ll be sure to take a look at all of the releases, as well as taking advantage of the weekly sales offered on the Carina Press website. And whatever you choose to read, may it help take you one step closer to your own summer getaway!

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press

www.carinapress.com

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Dedication

To Linda Conrad for all your words of wisdom about this business and support over the years. You rock.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

Chapter One

“That’s my final offer.” State prosecutor Connie Sanchez slapped shut the cover of her case file. “One year and a five thousand dollar fine.”

“Come on, Connie,” I protested. I knew better than to use my opponent’s full name, Conchetta, which she hated. At the moment I needed her cooperation.

“My client may be a screwed-up teenager, but you haven’t proven any malicious intent. A thousand dollar fine and no jail time.”

“Sorry, Nicole. No can do.” Connie shrugged. “Your client chose the wrong gravestone to deface. The family members want his ass fried or they’ll go straight to the media. I can see the headlines.” She held up her hands, fingers splayed. “White kid gets away with spray-painting a black girl’s grave.”

“Chalk, not paint.” I gritted my teeth. Although we’d been friendly during my years as a state prosecutor, the friendship hadn’t survived my conversion to the “dark side,” as she loved to say. If she only knew… Switching to defense wasn’t all that difficult with conscience’s fangs snapping at your heels.

“Trust me.” Connie dropped her hands. “It will be paint by the time the reporters get through with the story.”

True enough, I reflected as I collected my briefcase and purse. If a story had enough sympathy play, the dry facts could easily get lost in the hue and cry. I glanced at my watch.

Damn. Without a deal, I wouldn’t be out of here until late. That meant I couldn’t stop by the house before my evening appointment, and this was the day the caretaker had to leave early. The all too familiar sensation of tension filled my chest like a balloon, pressing against my lungs until I could hardly breathe.

Stop it, I told myself, fighting to take a normal breath. Now’s not the time to hyperventilate. It wasn’t as if Mom had started wandering off and getting lost like the doctor warned about. She’d be fine by herself for a few hours. Still, a burning sensation flared in my lower chest. I thumbed a tablet from the antacid roll I kept in my jacket pocket.

The door of the small conference room opened and Bailiff Doug Scott poked his head in. “Ms. Sterling, Ms. Sanchez. The judge is ready to resume the proceedings.”

“Oh, thank you, Doug.” Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Connie’s eyes flashed with sudden fire. She practically tripped over herself to follow the bailiff out.

Not that I blamed her. The buff deputy was easy on the eyes and a spark to any woman’s libido. His being single didn’t hurt the fantasy factor either. There was always a moment of reverential silence whenever he strolled by a group of female lawyers in the courthouse hallways.

As I allowed the bailiff and enamored prosecutor to get ahead, I pulled out my cell phone and called my law firm partner Kate Rochelle.

“Kate? It’s Nicole. I need a favor.”

“Of course,” she responded in a cultured tone instilled by her Palm Beach upbringing. “The hearing not going well?”

“The state’s presented its case, but the prosecutor won’t offer any deal that doesn’t include jail time.”

“Tough break. Your client may have to testify after all.”

“Looks that way. I have that funeral service tonight at seven. I might not be able to swing home, could you—”

“Stop in and check on your mother? Not a problem.”

Relief swept through me. Sometimes I wondered at what quirk of fortune had blessed me with friends like my partners. “Thanks, Kate.”

“Go kick some butt.”

I laughed as I switched off the phone. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the courtroom door and walked to the table where my client, Trevor Jordan, sat guarded by the bailiff. I nodded to Doug, who withdrew only a slight distance.

After sitting down, I leaned over and said in a low voice, “Sorry, Trevor. The state wants jail time. The best deal they’ll offer is a year and a five thousand dollar fine. I might be able to reduce the fine in exchange for an agreement to do the time.”

God help me. Deep inside, that cowardly part of me wanted him to take the deal. I glanced at the podium stationed in front of the bench and swiped my cold, sweaty palms along my thighs.

Trevor’s lower lip quivered before he swallowed. Five-ten with a stocky build, he wore his blond hair one-quarter inch longer than military. Given his father, Tommy, sat glowering at the rear of the room, his own short hair bristling with indignation, I knew Trevor’s quarter-inch represented a visible mark of rebellion.

“If I put you on the stand, the whole truth may come out. Once I open up the issue of motive, the prosecutor will jump all over herself to cross-examine you.”

The boy studied his clasped hands on top of the table. “I understand.”

“Do you?” I placed my hand over his.

His troubled blue eyes met mine. “Screwed if I do. Screwed if I don’t.”

My lips twitched. “That sounds about right.”

“Then call me as a witness.”

“All rise,” the bailiff called out as Judge Kay Fanning entered. Once seated, the judge glanced at me. “Is the defense ready?”

As this was a preliminary hearing, there was no jury. I was playing my cards for the judge only. “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Trevor Jordan.”

My breathing quickened as I approached the podium. This isn’t the Archer case. There’s no tainted evidence to screw things up. My hand trembled when I placed my notepad on the stand. Best not to risk my former routine of standing beside the podium in a show of confidence. I gripped the sides of the lectern.

After my client had been sworn in, I began my direct. “Please tell the court your name.”

He turned toward the judge. “I’m Trevor Jordan.”

Nice move. Exactly like I’d told him. “Where were you on the afternoon of October 20th?”

“I was at the Powell Memorial Gardens.”

“Why were you there?” Careful.

“I wanted to make a rubbing of Felicia’s gravestone.”

“Felicia Williams?”

His gaze darted toward his father. “Yes.”

“Was anyone else in the area?”

“No. I looked but didn’t find any caretaker.”

“Why did you need to find a caretaker?”

“An internet article about rubbings recommended that you get permission first.”

“What happened after you didn’t find a caretaker?”

“I placed tracing paper over the stone and began to rub chalk over it.”

“Did you intend to deface the grave?” Intent was critical in a charge of malicious defacement of a grave.

Trevor’s face flushed with indignation. “No. The tracing paper wasn’t supposed to leave a mark. I only wanted a keepsake. I…” He snapped his mouth shut.

Out of nowhere I developed lightheadedness and a smothering sensation as if there were no oxygen in the room. I couldn’t hear for the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. I tried to speak but couldn’t. It was as if my body had a foot on both the gas and brake pedals.

“Ms. Sterling. Are you all right?” The sharp edge of the judge’s voice pierced my paralysis. “Is there a question?”

I glanced down but couldn’t bring my notes into focus. Where was I? Something about why Trevor had done the etching.

Desperate to regain control, I blurted, “Mr. Jordan, why of all the thousand of gravestones in Powell Memorial Gardens did you want a rubbing of Felicia Williams’s marker?”

Confusion flashed across Trevor’s face and he cast a nervous glance at his father.

“No, wait.” Why had I asked that question? I’d opened the motivation gate. “I withdraw—”

“Because I loved her.”

His admission was like a bombshell in the courtroom. Stunned silence was followed by screaming and shouting from both Felicia’s parents and Trevor’s father.

“Order.” Judge Fanning hammered her gavel. “Order in the court.”

Trevor’s father surged off his seat and stormed down the aisle toward the bench. “Tell them that’s a lie.” He shook his fist. “Take it back now before I beat the truth out of you.”

Even as I moved to place myself between Trevor and his father, Bailiff Scott charged the man. With ease he grabbed and twisted Tommy Jordan’s arm behind his back. Red-faced, Jordan turned his attention toward me. “You bitch. You warped my son. I’ll kill you for this.”

“Bailiff, remove him from the room,” Judge Fanning ordered.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Although the father bucked and dragged his heels, the bailiff quickly removed him. If the shouting in the hall was any indication, Jordan wasn’t quieting down.

I rather hoped the father would continue to resist so the bailiff would arrest him.

Judge Fanning rapped her gavel again to get everyone’s attention. “Ms. Sterling. I assume you’re done wreaking havoc.”

My face burned. “I’ve finished my direct.” I grabbed the notepad but kept my head high as I returned to the defense table. I would not break again. I could get through this mess.

“Does the state wish to cross examine?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Connie rushed to podium. “Mr. Jordan, you want this court to believe you were in love with Felicia Williams?”

“We did love each other,” Trevor protested. “We were going to get married as soon as we graduated.”

“Mr. Jordan, Ms. Williams was…” The prosecutor’s voice trailed off as she looked at the judge and her café au lait skin.

Fascinated, I leaned back and folded my arms. Thank God the state had assumed the hot seat. If Connie asked about the interracial aspect of the relationship, would she be playing to or against the judge’s sympathy?

Connie apparently decided not to go down that rocky road for what was amounting to, at most, a misdemeanor case. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Oh really?” Amusement glinted in Judge Fanning’s dark brown eyes. “Well, I have some questions for Mr. Jordan.” The judge turned toward the witness box.

“Mr. Jordan, what the state—in its infinite wisdom—decided not to point out is that you’re white and Ms. Williams was African-American.”

“Yes.” Trevor swallowed.

“I take it the parents on both sides wouldn’t have approved of your dating.”

“My dad would have tarred me within an inch of my life,” he admitted.

Understanding flickered across the judge’s face. “Yes, I imagine he would. And what about Felicia’s parents?”

My client shot a guilty look toward where the Williamses sat frozen in disbelief.

“Felicia didn’t want them to know.” A muscle flexed along Trevor’s jaw. Then it was as if an emotional dam burst free inside him. “After she was killed in that car accident, I couldn’t go to her funeral even though it broke my heart. I couldn’t talk to no one.”

He lifted a hand and wiped away the tears now running down his face. “But I wanted, no, needed to say good-bye to her. It didn’t seem right that I couldn’t even mourn her in public.”

Bitterness grew in his voice. “I knew I could never visit her grave on a regular basis, so I went online and figured out how to make a tracing. After I got the materials, I waited until I knew my dad would be out of the house. I bought a rose and took a bus to the cemetery. After placing the rose on her grave and saying a few words, I made the tracing.”

Suddenly, the storm spent itself and he dropped his head. “Now I don’t have the tracing. The police took even that away from me.”

The judge picked up a photograph the state had placed into evidence. For the first time during the proceeding, my tension eased. In glorious color the photo showed one red bud rose lying atop the marker, a poignant symbol of young love. For a long moment the judge studied the image before setting it aside.

“Ms. Sanchez. Doesn’t the state have better things to do than prosecuting this case?”

Connie started to rise.

“Don’t bother answering that question. I’m dismissing the charge on the basis the state has failed to make a showing of malicious intent. Mr. Jordan’s tracing is to be returned to him.”

I approached Trevor, who remained seated, looking down with his shoulders slumped. “Are you okay?”

He lifted his tear-stained face. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

“You’re free to go. The charges are dismissed.” No thanks to me.

The courtroom door opened and Bailiff Scott walked back in. I extended my arms as if my wrists were handcuffed and he nodded. I bit my lip. When I’d been a prosecutor, my role concluded with the verdict. Facing me was a scared teenager whose only parent was now under arrest. Should I do something? Or simply shake hands and escape? I cleared my throat.

“Do you have any family members who can help you?”

Trevor shrugged. “My uncle…but he’s like Dad. You don’t need to worry. I’ll call my grandmother on my mother’s side. She said I could come live with her until graduation. I’ve already signed up with a recruiter to join the Army. Thought it was the best chance I had to get some education and training.”

I looked at the half teenager, half man and smiled. “Then all I can do now is to wish you the best of luck.”

I shook his hand, wished him well and watched him walk away, a solitary figure. The way I figured it, he’d been alone a good portion of his life. Maybe now he could catch a break.

I’d certainly caught one. And if I were lucky the memory of today’s panic attack would fade. After all, I already lived every day of my life with the nightmares of a case gone wrong.

Chapter Two

I tapped the procrastinator’s rap on the steering wheel and stared at the discreet entrance to the Depp Funeral Home. Two meager lights in the front parking lot barely cast a yellow glow against the winter night. Glumly, I studied my pale reflection in the driver’s side window.

What on earth was I doing at this place of death on a dark November evening when I should be home?

Because you’re becoming a sap for hard luck stories. As a prosecutor, I had viewed defendants in the abstract. My focus had been to prove their guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

No regrets, I warned myself as I grabbed my purse off the passenger seat. Think about the positive. Like the lifeline offered by my two closest law school friends: starting our own criminal defense firm. Because of Kate Rochelle and Carling Dent, I had a fresh beginning and a different side of criminal law to practice. The dark side.

Wrong. You’re defending the rights of the innocent.

I rolled my shoulders. Best to get on with my latest folly. I popped an antacid into my mouth. After locking the door, I crossed the packed parking lot to the front entrance.

Mercifully, the tiny foyer was empty. I took a deep breath and released it slowly to ease the growing pressure in my chest. I so did not want to do this. I wrinkled my nose at the cloying room freshener. Lily of the valley, of course. From the scent wafting from the air conditioning vent, it smelled like the funeral home had a gallon jug hooked up to the circulation system.

I wandered down the hall to the viewing room and leaned against the doorjamb. My latest sad luck client stood at the front of the subtly lit room with her husband, accepting condolences as the receiving line shuffled by the tiny closed coffin containing her baby girl’s body. On the overhead screen pictures of a smiling cherub with blond curls and blue eyes faded in and out accompanied by soft music. Countless flower arrangements circled the coffin and lined the walls while groups of people talking in low tones huddled throughout the room.

I turned my attention back to my client, Claire Whitman, a paramedic who had caved under the stress of the job and began drinking. Three days ago she’d awakened hung over, only to find her unconscious infant daughter lying face down in a tangle of blankets. After being rushed to the hospital, little Rebecca had been declared dead.

Yesterday a mutual friend had given me an urgent call when the distraught woman was taken down to the station for questioning. I arrived in the nick of time—the investigating officer had allegedly secured her waiver of Miranda rights.

Immediately, I had unwaived those rights and hauled Claire out of the station. Had her baby been the victim of sudden infant death syndrome or something worse? The police were at least investigating the possibility of foul play, if only to rule it out and close the case. Surprisingly, despite the questioning, the medical examiner’s office hadn’t intervened. The hospital had released the child’s body directly to the funeral home, enabling the services to be held tonight. I hadn’t been able to say no to the resigned despair in my client’s eyes when she asked me to attend the viewing.

“Sad when someone so young is taken from us.”

I started and spun around. A tall, dark-haired man stood behind me, his hands clasped in front of his body. Along with an appropriate charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, subdued maroon tie and a white carnation in his lapel, he wore a somber expression. However, his brown eyes sharply assessed me as if measuring for a coffin.

“I’m Colin Depp.” He extended a manicured hand, his cuff sliding to reveal the glint of a Rolex watch.

Compelled by professionalism, I shook hands but the skin of his palm was so smooth and soft that I had to resist an impulse to recoil from his touch. Instead, after an abbreviated firm squeeze, I released his hand. “Nicole Sterling. You’re the owner of the funeral home?”

He smiled, his bleached teeth flashing vivid white against his salon tan. “Guilty. I’m third-generation owner and director.”

A family that buries together stays together. I swallowed hard, fighting to stay focused.

“Really? I hadn’t realized this building had been here that long.” This business district boasted mainly late 1990s construction.

“Oh, this wasn’t our original location.” He laughed with practiced lightness. “We started out in a two-story house on Dixie. In fact, I grew up living on the second floor over the funeral parlor.”

“How…nice.” I had an image of his family eating dinner at the embalming table.

“It had its moments.” He shrugged. “I once got into trouble for selling tickets to view the body of a baseball star killed in a car accident.”

Yuck. I took a step back and motioned. “Um—”

“The little girls’ room is at the end of the hall to the left.” Depp winked.

“Thank you.”

“When you get back, perhaps I could show you the casket room. We have some lovely new models. I have a nice bottle of wine in the mini-fridge in my office.”

He wanted to show me his caskets? Nice. “Later, perhaps. I need to pay my respects to the family.”

“Pardon me.” A blonde in a skin-tight black dress shimmied past us.

Depp did a double take, his gaze following every bump of the woman’s hips. “If you would excuse me.”

“Sure.”

I walked down the hall toward the entrance. I’d give the director a few minutes to catch up with the blonde and then I would go back, give my condolences to Claire and make good my escape. I glanced through an open door and paused. Although the one window in the room was faux stained glass, the muted light cast by the wall sconces made its colors glow. A simple altar and cushioned bench seats were the only other furnishings in the small chapel.

The quiet retreat beckoned but I snuffed the urge. I’d always preferred action to reflection and introspection. While the room might offer refuge for the bereaved, I didn’t particularly want to go down that path right now. Not when I couldn’t predict what memories might come crawling out.

Turning away, I spotted a small hall table with a display of brochures. Advertising even in a place of mourning. Idly, I picked several up and flipped through them. At least the flyers were appropriate for the business at hand. Cemeteries, bereavement counselors.

I folded and tucked into my jacket pocket a tasteful brochure about an organization dedicated to helping families prepare for death of a loved one. I picked up another high gloss flyer about the new research and development medical clinic that had opened in western Palm Beach County and slipped it also into my pocket. Keeping abreast of medical experts never hurt in my line of work.

A woman emerged in the hallway. “Ms. Sterling?” Claire Whitman walked toward me.

“Nicole, please.” I wasn’t in my professional environment so I didn’t know quite what to say or do for this woman. We’d only met a few days ago. Relying on those deep-seated instincts that come to us in times of sorrow, I gave her a quick embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Claire.”

“Thank you.” She drew back, self-contained behind a wall of grief. Her red-rimmed eyes held a vacant though haunted look as if she had been sedated. If she were lucky, all she would remember from this night would be a blur of faces and the heavy scent of flowers.

Dressed in a simple black dress, Claire wore no makeup and had barely bothered with her hair. Her hand trembled as she gripped a locket on a slender gold chain around her neck. I knew it contained a photograph of her holding the baby.

“Have you met my parents yet?” she asked.

“No, but I will,” I assured her. I did want to meet the family to help me assess Claire’s credibility. Although the police questioning might have been routine, something about her account of the interview nagged at the back of my mind. When I’d arrived, the detectives had already asked her several times about there being no baby monitor. I needed to speak with the relatives to learn what, if any, questions had been asked of them.

Two men dressed in a dark suits exited from the viewing room and hurried down the hall. One was the husband, Brian. I’d met him at my office. Nice guy, a podiatrist.

“Ms. Sterling, I’m so glad you could come. It means the world to Claire.” He motioned to the man standing beside him. Brian’s voice held a brittle edge of forced joviality. “I’d like you to meet an old college buddy, Damian Quint.”

I extended my hand. “A fellow podiatrist?”

With wavy blond hair, blue eyes and refined, patrician bone structure, Quint was what my partner Carling would call a “hubba.” When he smiled, a dimple flashed. “Well, a grade up. I’m board certified in reconstructive surgery.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brian’s mouth tighten.

Rather than shaking my hand, Quint grasped it in both of his. Uncomfortable at the contact, I managed not to jerk in response. “I’m so grateful that you’re helping Claire in this difficult time. If there is anything you need, I’ll be happy to help.”

Behind me the front door opened and a draft of night air chilled me to the bone. Brian wrapped a protective arm around his wife’s shoulders and stared at the newest arrival with a hostile expression. “What are you doing here?”

I tugged my hand free, spun around and squinted in the dim light to make out the identity of the tall, rangy man sauntering toward us. His swagger was so familiar…

I bit back an oath.

My past year and a half of the Sam Bowie starvation diet disappeared and desire thudded with unexpected force in the pit of my stomach. True, I had been the one to walk—make that run—for the pancake-flat hills of Florida, away from our blazing affair. Apparently my deprived hormones hadn’t forgiven me yet.

Not that I blamed them for caterwauling over the loss.

After all, getting over Detective Sam Bowie was a tall order. His lean but well-toned body still had the power to make my mouth go dry. His ruthlessly hewn face showcased sharp features. Silky black hair that never managed to stay combed back begged to be mussed by a woman’s fingers. Those sinful chocolate brown eyes made one long for endless summer nights.

“Well, hey, Red. What are you doing on this side of the tracks in West Palm? Trolling for a stiff to date?”

Then again, his sexy, gravelly voice said the most obnoxious, teeth-grinding things.

I plastered on my you’re-an-idiot-but-I’m-too-professional-to-let-it-bother-me smile. “Detective. Charming as always, and it’s Nicole.”

Sam’s chiseled jaw jutted at a dangerous angle. “Sure thing, Red.” He nodded at the tight-lipped Whitmans and gave Quint a narrow-eyed stare. “Evening, folks.”

Quint stirred. “Claire, Brian, I wish I could stay but I have an early morning surgery.” He lowered his head to kiss Claire on the cheek, but she seemed almost too frightened to look at him. Her gaze remained locked on Sam.

Quint straightened. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, bud.” Brian managed only a formal nod. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Sterling.”

I internally winced at the way he emphasized the word pleasure. But seeing Sam’s stony expression, I amped up my own smile. “Nicole, please.”

“Nicole. I’ll look forward to seeing you again.” Quint turned and, with a deliberate move, bumped his shoulder against Sam’s as he walked down the hall.

Sam cocked an eyebrow at me and, without missing a beat, zeroed in again on the Whitmans. “Do you have a moment?”

I wasn’t about to let this transplanted Texan circle around me to hone in on his target. “I represent the Whitmans, Detective, as I’m sure you’re aware. Did you need me to call you tomorrow?”

“No need to get a burr up your beautiful ass, Counselor. I’m just paying my respects to little Rebecca. After all, I missed the funeral for the Whitmans’ first child.”

A roar of hurricane-driven ocean waves filled my ears. Claire had had another baby who’d died? They’d never mentioned it during our first interview. I had asked about other children, hadn’t I?

I hadn’t had time to recover from that afternoon’s court fiasco. A fresh onslaught of the self-doubt no one knew haunted me, not even my friends Carling and Kate, swept over me.

Sam’s lips twisted as his sharp glance took in my reaction. “What? Your clients forget that little detail?”

Moaning, Claire swayed. Brian tightened his grip even as he cursed at Sam. “You bastard. You don’t know what my wife’s been through.”

Rocking back on his heels, Sam narrowed his eyes. “I know that having two babies die in the first year of life smacks of infanticide, not SIDS.”

Claire thrust out a trembling hand as if to stop the onslaught of accusations. “Please. Don’t. The paramedics told me Rebecca was still alive when she arrived at the hospital. I didn’t, couldn’t kill my babies.”

“So you claim, Mrs. Whitman.” Sarcasm laced Sam’s tone. “We’ll just wait to see what the medical examiner has to say…as well as the ME in Chicago.”

Brian paled. “Wh—what?” he stammered.

“We got a court order allowing us to exhume Sarah’s body in Illinois. We’re going to see if both babies struggled for breath before they—”

Claire’s low wail was heart wrenching. I understood all too well the breaking point a person could reach.

“Bastard.” Brian threw a punch and struck Sam’s jaw.

Sam rubbed his chin. “I figure you have a right to that one.”

“Enough.” I stepped between the grieving couple and Sam. “I’m reporting your actions to your captain. My client hasn’t been charged with any crime and hounding her at her child’s funeral is inhumane.”

Glancing over my shoulder at the husband, I snapped an order, “Get her out of here.” Already fragile, Claire’s expression was wild-eyed. Whatever deep, dark secrets she hid, now was not the time to reveal them.

“What’s all the commotion?” Colin Depp rushed down the hall. He flapped his hands in an agitated manner. “You’re disturbing the guests.”

Then he saw the Whitmans and made a tsking noise in his throat. “Oh, my dear.” He grabbed up a box of tissues from the table. “I know this has been a terrible ordeal for you. Come into my office for a moment to compose yourself.”

Relieved, I watched him whisk the couple away into a room next to the parlor. Then I turned my sights on Sam. I placed a hand on his chest and shoved him—hard—into the chapel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I planted my fists on my hips. “I know you’ve never let anything stop you in pursuit of a case, but this really transcends the bounds of all decency.”

Sam leaned against the bench seat. “They didn’t tell you about the first baby, did they, Red? I could have bowled you over with a feather you were so stunned.”

No, and I was going to have a little chat with them tomorrow about my continued representation. Defending someone accused of a crime was hard enough, but when that person lied or omitted certain facts, it made the job even more difficult, sometimes impossible. To believe in what I did, I needed to trust my clients.

It was the only way I could transition from prosecuting hard-core felons to representing the accused.

Having already lost a child was an important fact that I was certain hadn’t slipped my client’s mind. If she didn’t trust me with the truth our relationship was going to be over in a heartbeat.

But I wasn’t about to clue Sam in on how upset I was.

“Don’t try to sidetrack me.” I folded my arms.

“Still running scared, Red?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at you. Just because you lost the Archer conviction on a technicality, you turned tail and ran from being a prosecutor.”

Hanging in the air were the unspoken words and me, and I could see the glint of resentment in his eyes.

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw muscles hurt. I was not going to rehash the past. I had neither the willpower nor the control to endure opening old wounds at this point in my life. I could only focus on the here and now.

On taking one day at a time.

I lifted my chin. “What part of ‘I’m burnt out’ don’t you understand? I’d had enough as a prosecutor. It was time to move on.”

My days as a public servant had meant living day and night with graphic crime scenes of the endless array of death. Images that had become constant nightmares. I’d believed I could power my way through the stress. My solution to job pressure had been to work harder.

It had only taken the blow of my mother’s illness to split me wide open and cost me that one horrible mistake. A mistake that might take me the rest of my life to atone for.

Sam snorted. “You call representing a baby killer moving on? Seems to me you’ve gone Dumpster diving.”

“Claire Whitman didn’t kill her baby.”

A person should never underestimate Sam Bowie and his lazy Texan drawl. He struck faster than a rattler. Before I could evade him, he closed the short distance between us and gripped my upper arms. A shiver of awareness that had nothing to do with fear raced along my spine.

Through the layers of the wool gabardine suit and silk blouse I wore, I could feel every nuance of Sam’s hands—the breadth of their span, the blunt cut of his nails, even the rasp of calluses. The heat of his touch still excited me. Damn, even my nipples hardened in reaction. However, the sense of protection I’d once experienced when he held me was gone. He gave me a slight shake.

“Use that famous prosecutorial intellect and think for a minute. Two SIDS deaths in less than five years?”

“So?” I shot back. “That’s not an automatic indictment.”

I’d been boning up on the internet about sudden infant death syndrome. In England it was called “cot death.” No matter the name, the unexplained death of a healthy infant almost always cast a pall of suspicion upon the parents.

Suddenly, I became aware our bodies had drifted closer together until all I had to do was put my arms around him… We had always been such a good fit.

You’re adversaries now, remember? He wants to put your client away for life.

“Let go.” I gave a sideways twist to my shoulders.

Dark satisfaction glinted in his eyes. He released me but not before letting his hands glide down my arms, leaving a trail of tingling flesh in their path.

Needing the distance, I took a step back before once again meeting his intense gaze. “There was a study in Great Britain and at least one British family a year suffers a double cot death.”

“Statistics aren’t going to cover the fact that the Whitmans have had a troubled marriage from the get-go.”

No… If true, those circumstances sure wouldn’t help.

In the criminal cases I’d studied, the most common reasons why a father committed filicide boiled down to an act of revenge or jealously against the mother, while a mother who killed her children often suffered from postpartum depression. After a series of famous cases, a medical specialty called reproductive psychiatry had sprung up. I’d already jotted down the names of possible experts to call.

Several countries had enacted legislation to allow mental disturbance due to birth as a possible defense against a charge of infanticide. However, no such law was on the books in Florida. I would have to deal with the old insanity defense if things started to look bad for Claire.

“You’ve got nothing until the medical examiner’s report is in, so back off. When you’ve got something other than gossip, call me.”

“Two healthy children, both dead within a year of birth. A troubled marriage. Even if the examiner’s results are inconclusive, I’ve got enough to bring your client in.”

I counted to ten for patience. One reason why Sam was such a good cop was his bull-headed determination. “Even if your theory is true, then what my client needs is treatment, not jail.”

“That’s between you and the prosecutor. My job is to investigate and charge her if she deliberately suffocated that baby.”

I winced at his blunt assessment. Through the chapel door, I heard yelling. We both made for the door, but I reached it first. In the hallway I determined the direction of the disturbance and raced, Sam on my heels, into the viewing room.

With horror I saw the lid on the tiny casket had been opened. With the strength of the crazed, Claire reached for the body, fighting off the people grabbing at her. For a moment she rested her hand on the child’s chest. I thought she meant to pick up the baby, but instead she appeared taken aback, shaking her head and perhaps coming to her senses. I pushed through the crowd, trying to reach Claire before Sam did.

“Sweetheart, please. No.” Brian tried to draw his wife back, but she pushed him away. She reached out again, this time ripping the front of the pink frilly dress. Her primal scream of horror and rage filled the room.

“Where’s my baby’s heart?”

Chapter Three

My frustration vented itself through the loud click of my high heels against the hospital’s linoleum floor as I marched toward the nursing station on the first floor.

At nine that morning, armed with a medical release signed by both Whitmans for good measure, I had presented myself at the records department. The pinnacle of hospital bureaucracy. After letting me simmer for over an hour, the clerk had informed me that baby Rebecca’s chart wasn’t there.

The only other logical location was the neonatal nursing station. Strange, as it had been several days since Rebecca had been rushed to the hospital, but nothing would surprise me about the marvels of hospital records keeping.

I didn’t know if anything would ever shock me again, not after seeing that Y-shaped surgical scar across the baby’s torso last night. I’d thought I’d seen it all, but nothing had prepared me for the sight of that tragic Frankenstein corpse.

Brian Whitman had finally caught his hysterical wife up in his arms and carried her out. I pushed the lid shut as Sam called for a patrol unit. A white-faced Colin Depp had ushered out all the mourners. Then standing in the viewing room, almost wringing his hands, he swore up and down the baby had come to the home in that condition. He’d assumed the baby’s surgical scar was why the Whitmans elected a closed casket service.

I didn’t get home until almost midnight and, after apologizing profusely to Kate who had stayed with my mother, spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, the image of Rebecca’s mutilated body haunting me. Up at dawn, by seven I had paid a visit to the fire rescue team who had transported her to the hospital and confirmed that they had resuscitated the infant but her vital signs had been extremely weak when she arrived at Oceanview Medical Center. I was in no mood for a bureaucratic two-step.

A pinched-face, middle-aged woman dressed in a floral nurse’s uniform stood behind the counter, flipping through charts.

“Excuse me.”

“Be with you in a sec, honey.” The woman didn’t even bother to look up.

I sighed and slapped the medical release on the counter. I wasn’t about to spend one more minute in this chilled antiseptic-laden atmosphere than I had to.

“I’m Nicole Sterling. I have a signed parental release for the records of Rebecca Whitman, a five-month-old girl brought in several days ago.”

“Records department is on four.”

“I’ve already been there. They didn’t have the records. They said to check here.”

The nurse rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about clerical screw-ups. “What was the name?”

“Rebecca Whitman. Parents, Claire and Brian.”

She moved to another section and shuffled through the folders.

“Well, well, well. Aren’t you the early bird?”

Bracing myself, I slowly turned. Sam flashed a smile as he approached. Dressed in black slacks and tan sports jacket, he earned an appreciative glance from a nurse scurrying by.

“Looks like I’ve already caught a worm.” I mimicked his drawl, earning a snort from the nurse inside the station.

“Love to spar with you, Red, but I’m here on official police business.”

Sam stepped up to the counter. Even though his hip pressed against me, I stood my ground. I had been here first, he could wait.

“I’m here on business as well.”

His brow raised a fraction. “Ambulance chasing, Counselor?”

I clasped my hands primly on the countertop. It was either that or throttle him. “Sticks and stones, Detective? How juvenile. Next you’ll be flashing your badge to show what a big man you are.”

“Why, thank you for the suggestion.” He opened his jacket to reveal the badge clipped to his belt. He peered at the nametag on the nurse who sat, her precious charts forgotten, watching us with a bemused expression.

“Nurse Craddock?” She grunted and resumed thumbing through the files. “I’m Detective Bowie. I have a few questions.”

“You’ll have to wait, Detective. I’m looking for a chart for this woman here.”

I gave him a smug smile.

Sam lounged against the counter and eyed her. “Judges handing out search warrants to attorneys nowadays?”

“No, I have written authorization from the parents.”

His eyes narrowed. He straightened, all business, all cop. “Why are you here for the records? Are your clients afraid of what they may contain?”

My attorney instincts reared up and my neck muscles tensed. “What evidence do you have about Rebecca’s death that you’re not telling me?”

“I asked first, and I’m the cop.”

The best defense could be an offensive strike. “I represent Mrs. Whitman and have a right to know what your department is doing to follow up on the mutilation of her baby.”

“Oh, so you’re the one.”

“I’m the one what?”

“The hysterical woman who called the captain this morning before he even had his second cup of coffee.”

“I was not hysterical.” My head began to throb. “I simply questioned him.”

“Sounded to me more like you told the captain exactly what he could do with certain body parts. I’m glad I’m not the only male to be on the receiving end of one of your lectures.”

“Would you two take your argument home?” The nurse interrupted us. “You’re disturbing the patients.”

“We’re not together.”

“No way.”

Sam and I glared at each other and then swung to look at the nurse, who held up her hands. “Sorry. The way you two were squabbling, I thought you were married. Can you come back tomorrow? I need to look for the chart later.”

That didn’t sound right. “Is it missing?” I asked.

Irritation pinched Nurse Craddock’s face. “No, I just can’t locate it at the moment. We’re getting ready for the shift change, and I have other things to do. You might want to check back with records. They’re always misplacing things.”

“I’ll wait.” I was determined.

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes I can—”

Sam motioned me to be quiet. “Ma’am, I don’t think you realize the situation.”

“I understand I have patients to check.”

“I’m investigating the possible desecration of the body of a baby who died here.”

Nurse Craddock opened and closed her mouth several times. “Desecrated? Are you talking about little Becca?” Her face paled.

“I reckon I am. I’m investigating the mutilation of that baby’s body and Ms. Sterling here represents her parents.”

Alarm flashed in the nurse’s eyes. “You’ll have to speak to the hospital administrator. I can’t help you.”

“And where would I find him?”

“Her. Dr. Cruz’s office is on the fourth floor.”

“Fine. Thank you.” Sam turned, curled his hand around my elbow and tugged.

“Wait a minute. I’m not going anywhere until the chart’s located.”

His fingers tightened like a steel cuff. “Red, for once in your life, don’t argue. You’re coming with me.”

“But—”

“The chart will be found. Move.”

I took in the determined look on his face, snatched up the medical release, jammed it in my bag and moved.

My cooperation only lasted to the elevator bank. I dug in my heels, twisting my arm. “Back off.”

He let me go. “Go back to your office, Red, and cool down.” He punched the elevator button.

“Not so fast.” I slapped a palm against his chest. “What was that ‘yes, ma’am, no ma’am’ routine with the nurse? You’re never that polite.”

His nostrils flared. “Hmm. You still smell of gardenias on a warm night.”

My cheeks heated. If the aggravating man thought a careless compliment would make me melt…

He reached out and touched a tendril that had escaped my ruthlessly sleeked-back ponytail. The callused pads of his fingers brushed against my cheek. My stomach executed a slight flutter.

“Your hair always reminds me of copper silk.”

I jerked back. “Stop that.”

He let his hand drop only to take mine. The contact of bare skin against bare skin played havoc with my already tense system, but Sam merely lounged against the wall.

“Let go!”

An elevator door opened and he waved at the disgruntled passengers. The door closed.

I quit struggling. “Sam, please be serious. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Rebecca’s body was mutilated and her chart is missing.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find it if I have to tear the hospital apart.” He rubbed his thumb across the soft inner V of flesh between my thumb and forefinger, causing my breath to back up.

Damn, why was I still reacting to his touch? To mask my discomfort, I went on the attack. “Why are you here? I asked your captain to keep me apprised of every development in the case.”

“You were once in this line of business, you know the drill. However, if you’re that anxious, you could ride around in my back pocket.”

“Keep it up, Bowie, and I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“You always did like my cute butt.”

“Would you please be professional?” This time I gave a good yank and he released my hand. I punched both the Up and Down buttons. When Sam raised a brow, I shrugged. “Whichever one gets here first.”

I glanced at the floor directory. The listing for the chief pathologist gave me pause. As the department that last handled the body, perhaps its report never made it to the chart. I gave Sam a nonchalant look. “What’s your next step?”

“Back to the office for a search warrant.”

“Even though it’s probably a waste of time, I’ll go see the administrator and call you if I learn anything.” Not.

“Sure you will, Red.”

Two doors whooshed open, the cars going in opposite directions. “Here you go.” Sam gestured to the one going up. “See you around.” He disappeared into the down elevator.

The moment the doors shut, I pushed the button for the basement and grinned when the arrow light switched directions.

Seconds later, I stepped out on the lowest basement level into the bowels of the hospital and halted. There stood Sam, one hand braced on his hip.

“The administrator not in?”

“I thought you were heading back to the station.” I tapped my foot against the worn puke-green linoleum. His gaze dropped to the hem of my skirt and lower, and I ceased tapping.

He grinned. “It looks like we both figured out the hospital’s pathologist may still have his report, so why don’t we go together?”

A shop sign flipped to Closed hung on the bank of doors leading to the morgue. I paused. “Does that mean an examination’s in progress or does the doctor have a warped sense of humor?”

“As in ‘open’ stands for autopsy?” Sam considered the sign and then pushed on the door handle.

As we entered an abbreviated hallway, I noticed a board with slash marks on it. “He keeps a scoreboard.” I spotted an office door with a nameplate and opened it to a blast of music. Coldplay reverberated from a neon green media player nestled in its docking stand. Bright modern art posters covered the walls and—I took a second look through the window in the connecting door to the morgue—one on the ceiling above the gleaming autopsy table.

Doctor Hassenfeld sat pecking at a computer, his desk buried under piles of folders. He glanced up, his broad grin causing his walrus mustache to quiver. “Damn, you folks figured out the sign, huh?”

Sam flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Bowie and this is—”

“A vision of loveliness to grace this oasis of death,” Dr. Hassenfeld murmured as he rose, took the hand I had extended and kissed the back of it, his mustache tickling me.

With a half laugh, I managed to extricate my hand. “I’m attorney Nicole Sterling.”

“What a shame.” The doctor shook his head. “Such a beautiful woman to be a blood-sucker. But any victims here are already dead, Counselor.”

“Ha, ha.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a vampire?”

I sighed. Trust him to pick a ghoulish lawyer joke. “A vampire only sucks blood at night.”

“Uh, Doc,” Sam interrupted. “If we could get down to business…”

“Monkey business?” The doctor leered at me.

Enough was enough. “No, about a patient who died here.”

“Must have had the hospital food. It kills me every day.”

“Doctor Hassenfeld. Please, this is serious. My clients’ baby died here, suspected SIDS death.”

“Or suffocation,” Sam added coolly.

“Claire’s baby? Sad case.” He leaned against his desk and folded his arms.

“You know her?”

“Of course. She’s a paramedic—damn fine one too—and our paths have crossed on occasion.”

I glanced at the artwork. Dr. Hassenfeld smiled. “Are you wondering what a guy like me is doing in a place like this?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“I was a cardiovascular surgeon until I had a stroke a few years ago. Couldn’t operate on the living anymore so I switched to the dead. Not as glamorous or well-paying, but I get no complaints if my hands shake.”

I didn’t know what I would do if I couldn’t be an attorney anymore. The idea didn’t bear thinking about. I kept my tone neutral. “Makes sense to me.”

“Besides the pay’s decent and I need the money to pay my ex-wife who is hell-bent on siphoning off all my assets.” He spread his hands in a ‘what can you do’ movement. “So why are you here about the Whitman baby?”

Sam intervened. “Somewhere between the hospital and the funeral home, someone removed her heart, liver and kidneys.”

I shot him a startled glance. The medical examiner must have made quick work last night. Claire had only noted the depression suggesting the heart had been removed. I didn’t look forward to telling her other organs had been taken.

The doctor sagged in surprise. “What?”

“Also her chart’s missing,” I added.

Sam sidled up to me and said in a low voice, “Give you a point to fixate on and you’ll stick to it to the ends of the earth.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the doctor shook his head. “Naw, the chart will show up. Those things go missing all the time.”

Sam gestured at the body storage cubicle in the other room. “The baby came to you intact?”

“And she left the same way. With all her internal organs.” Hassenfeld frowned.

“You’re an expert, Doc,” Sam said. “What do you think could have happened to the organs?”

“I can’t even begin to speculate.” The other man rubbed his face. “The Depp Funeral Home has a good reputation, but it wouldn’t be the first time something went wrong during the embalming. However, they would have notified the family.” The doctor’s mustache quivered. “This is downright gruesome.”

“Ever hear of the black market in organs, Doc?”

Hassenfeld’s laser-sharp glance cut to Sam. “That old urban legend? It’s a myth promoted by bogeymen. I hope you’re not barking up that tree and scaring off potential organ donors.”

“What were your findings as to cause of death?” I interjected. A black market in organs? I didn’t know where Sam was going with his questioning but there was only one thing I was interested in. Easing Claire’s mind.

“Officially, I can’t be conclusive. Either apnea or suffocation,” Hassenfeld said. “As to whether the baby got tangled in her blankets or a pillow was placed over her face, I can’t say. I noticed no evidence of ecchymosis—bruising, that is. But then again, I wasn’t doing a full-blown autopsy. At the time the baby came to me, there was no suspicion of foul play. I just did a routine exam to complete the death certificate.”

“Did you have to cut the body open at all?” I asked.

“No. No reason to.” He rose, walked around the desk and settled into his chair. “Your people,” he addressed Sam, “didn’t call until after I’d released the body to the funeral home. Next time an infant’s death is deemed suspicious, the police need to react faster.”

So unless the medical examiner found something Dr. Hassenfeld had missed, the police had nothing but circumstantial evidence, I thought with relief.

A tall Hispanic woman dressed in a black suit entered the room. Although her smile was gracious, suspicion glinted in her eyes. “Hello. I’m Dr. Rosa Cruz, the hospital administrator.”

Sam and I shook hands with her as we indentified ourselves.

“A nurse advised me that a police officer and an attorney were here asking questions. Is there a problem?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam went with the blunt approach again. “I’m investigating the organ theft and desecration of Rebecca Whitman’s body.”

Paling, the administrator raised a hand to her throat. “Dear God.”

Dr. Hassenfeld grabbed a white lab coat from a hanger. “That’s only the half of it, Rosa. Apparently Detective Bowie suspects the baby’s death wasn’t from natural causes, but the police requested the body too late. I’d already processed the death certificate and released her to the funeral home.”

Regaining her composure, Dr. Cruz nodded. “We pride ourselves on the rapid handling of patients who have passed away here. The bereaved relatives need to be able to make their arrangements. We’re quite lucky to have an efficient pathology department with Dr. Hassenfeld heading it.”

“Speaking of efficiency.” The doctor glanced at his watch. “I have a patient on his way down here from the hospice unit. I need to get ready.” He shut off the music.

“Of course. We can continue this discussion in my office.” Dr. Cruz indicated the door. Sam and I exited, followed by the two doctors.

Slipping on his coat, Dr. Hassenfeld nodded. “I hope you find the bastards who mutilated that poor little baby.” Then whistling he went down the hall, disappearing through another set of doors. Moments later, the song “War” blared out.

Dr. Cruz’s lips twitched. “Dr. Hassenfeld may be a bit unorthodox, but we’re lucky to have him.”

“I’m sure,” I said politely as I walked beside her to the main hallway. Spotting a restroom, I gestured toward it. “If you would excuse me, I’ll catch up with you. Your office number is…”

“Four twelve.”

Sam looked like he wanted to wait for me, but the administrator urged him forward, saying she had another appointment shortly.

Stepping inside the restroom, I waited a minute or two before cautiously opening the door. I glanced down the corridor and saw the elevator doors slide shut. Good.

I crept toward Hassenfeld’s office. Not once during our interview had the doctor bothered to check the files overflowing his desk for Rebecca’s chart so I was going to do it for him. Music still blasted from the examination room.

So long as his office door remained unlocked… Yes.

I stole inside. It wouldn’t be an illegal search and seizure if I’d happened to have left my medical release on this desk and in looking for it found the chart as well. I could merely point out its location and request my copy.

I went to the side closest to the door and began shuffling through the stacks. My anal nature shuddered. This was a worse mess than my partner Carling perpetually created. How people could work in such a state of chaos was beyond me. None of the folders were in alphabetical order. I paused, hearing only the throbbing beat from the radio in the other room.

Shifting to the next stack, I picked up a sheaf of documents and a pink slip fluttered free. I crouched to pick it up and saw the name Colin Depp scrawled on a phone message dated the same day Rebecca had died.

The fine hairs on my neck stirred as I sensed someone behind me. Before I could rise or stammer an explanation, blinding pain exploded in my head. I fell forward in a sea of papers.

Fighting the dizziness, I rolled over to see my attacker, but only caught a glimpse of a white sleeve before another blow sent me plunging into a dark, dreamless oblivion.

Chapter Four

A sledgehammer slammed away at the back of my head as if it hadn’t been split apart already.

While I yearned to slide back into unconsciousness, the pain demanded that I get up and take an aspirin or something stronger.

Groaning, I lifted a hand toward my forehead and hit…metal. Other aches and pains made themselves known, my back complaining about the hard surface beneath it. My eyes flew open and saw only total darkness. Where was I?

I raised both hands this time and slowly traced the cool metal surface encasing me.

Oh God. I was in a coffin. Panic shoved aside pain as the bitter taste of bile lined my mouth. My chest heaved and I struggled to breathe. I pounded my fists against the surface over my head and then pushed as hard as I could.

What was that?

I steadied my hands on the metal and this time rocked. The bottom shifted ever so slightly before rolling back. Not a coffin. The pressure in my chest eased.

Think, Nicole.

I’d been standing in Dr. Hassenfeld’s office when I’d been attacked. So where could I be? My mind’s eye replayed all the images I had of the room. Now that my breathing had eased, I heard a low hum. Electrical power.

The refrigerated chamber unit. It had been in the room next door. I’d shuddered when I had spotted it, knowing what was stored behind the cubicle doors. Bodies.

Ruthlessly, I crammed back the horror that I was in a drawer where countless corpses had lain. Mustn’t get sick now. There’d be plenty of time to puke my guts out later.

The chamber had a door, but at which end? Had my attacker put me in feet or head first? I prayed the former since I wouldn’t be able to move my arms enough to do a damn thing if the door was behind my head.

I wiggled my feet. No shoes. They either fell in the struggle or the attacker took them off. Don’t get creeped out by the man touching you while you were unconscious.

Inch by excruciating inch I shimmied toward the opposite end. A refrain built in my head. Get out, get out, get out.

How much air was in this chamber? Don’t think like that. It was refrigerated so there had to be circulation to some extent. I had to get out. Who would take care of Mom if something happened to me?

I’d never thought about that contingency, about dying. You’re too young to think about dying, I warned myself.

My feet touched the cool metal. I slid my left one up, tracking the outer edge until my toes connected with a rectangular shape. The latch. Relief shuddered through me. I inched up until my knees were as bent as they could be in the confined space. I kicked out.

Thud. This would not be my tomb. The drawer jostled back and forth. Good, maybe I could get some momentum going to help push against the door. Thud, thud.

Where was Sam? He would come looking when I didn’t show in the administrator’s office…wouldn’t he? A chuckle of half panic, half irony bubbled in my chest. The man did have a habit of showing up when I least needed him. Trust my luck that he wouldn’t show when I did.

Despite the chilled air, perspiration beaded on my forehead. My heels throbbed but still I kicked. This was a hospital for God’s sake. It was filled with people. Someone had to hear me.

Sam, where are you? I gave another vicious kick.

Suddenly the door flew open and light penetrated the chamber. I sailed out along with the drawer being pulled. Strong arms wrapped around me, lifted me up.

“Nicole, honey, are you okay?” Sam’s rough voice rumbled in my ear. For a moment, I allowed weakness and buried my face against his broad chest, craving a lifetime of this sense of security.

Sam’s arms tightened around me and his hand stroked my back. I let his strength flow into me, washing away the last vestiges of fear. When my legs were steady, I released my death grip and pushed away. Sam frowned but let his arms drop. The lines of concern scoring his brow eased, and his cop expression slid into place.

Good. In my current state I could deal with Sam the detective far better than I could Sam the man.

“Miss Sterling.” I looked around Sam to where Dr. Cruz stood beside a gurney. She raised a trembling hand and pointed at the refrigeration unit. Reluctantly, my eyes were drawn to what could have been my coffin. I suppressed a shudder at the small, dark opening.

“What kind of stunt do you think you were pulling?” she demanded. “We could file charges against you.”

Her shrill tirade triggered the little men in my head to resume their hammering. Wincing, I touched the back of my head. “I didn’t crawl in for a lark, Dr. Cruz. Someone knocked me out and put me there.”

Sam gripped my arm and swung me around to face him. “Who?”

The sudden movement caused everything around me to blur. I swayed. With an oath Sam picked me up.

“Hey, put me down. I’m all right.” I meant to give him a sharp whack on the shoulder but managed only a weak thump.

“Shut up, Red.” He crossed to a chair set against a wall and placed me in it. He pressed my head toward my knees and then ran his fingers through my hair. The man had radar. He ran over the spot immediately.

“Ow.” I batted at his hand. “Stop that.”

He released me. When I raised my head, I saw the rage blazing in his eyes. I prayed to God his anger was directed at my attacker and not me.

“Did you see the bastard who did this?”

I lifted my shoulder. “No. He or she hit me from behind.”

Dr. Hassenfeld, a scrub mask dangling around his neck, appeared in the doorway. “What the hell’s going on here? This is a restricted area.”

The hospital administrator waved her hand in my direction. “Miss Sterling says she was attacked.”

“Not just attacked,” Sam interjected as he pulled out his phone. “She was placed in that body chamber drawer.” He punched in a number. “Bowie here. I need a unit at Oceanview Medical Center.”

Dr. Cruz started. “What do you think you’re doing, Detective?”

Sam gave her a razor-thin smile. “Calling it in. After all, you wanted to press charges.”

“I was upset.” She gave Dr. Hassenfeld a pleading look. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Tough. A crime occurred here.”

The pathologist stirred. “Let me check the equipment. If no harm was done, then we’ll write it off as an accident.”

“Hang on,” Sam said into the phone and then scowled at Hassenfeld. “I thought this was a hospital. What aren’t you checking Nicole for a concussion? She has a knot the size of a buzzard egg.”

“I do not have a lump that big,” I protested. I gently probed the area and winced. Uh-oh. I didn’t know how big a buzzard’s egg was but the swelling was sizable.

Sam turned sideways and in a low voice fired off a round of instructions into the phone.

Hassenfeld approached. “Let me look you over.” His touch was light and professional. “Rosa, get a wheelchair. Let’s get her to an examination room stat.”

All I wanted to do was go home and shower. My skin crawled every time I glanced at the refrigeration unit. While I was sure they cleaned the drawers every time an occupant was removed, still…

“I’m fine.” I tried to stand but every muscle and bone protested. I ground my teeth together. “There’s nothing wrong that a hot shower and a few aspirin won’t cure.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The pathologist was all doctor now and in command of the situation.

Within minutes I was wheeled to an examination room. For once I didn’t mind putting on a hospital gown. I didn’t want to see my own clothes ever again. Then a technician transported me on a rattling gurney to another room.

The cold would have caused my teeth to chatter, but it was the monstrous machine in the center that had me swinging my legs off the gurney.

“No, absolutely not.”

The technician blocked me. “Ma’am, you’ve had a blow to the head. The doctor is concerned about bleeding and has ordered a MRI. It’ll only take about twenty minutes. There’s no pain involved.”

Only the agony of once more being entombed. The gleaming drawer would carry me into the guts of the machine where sounds like gunshots would go on for what seemed like an eternity.

My mother had undergone several MRIs, and every time I’d sat beside the machine to keep her calm. While I may not have been claustrophobic before, never again would I be able to stand being confined in a metal tube.

“Sorry, but no way.”

“I’m going to have to call the doctor.”

“You do that.” Air stirred across my back as a door opened behind me. I suddenly remembered I was in a hospital gown with my naked butt exposed for all to see.

I whipped my hand around and gripped a handful of fabric.

A man’s dark chuckle sounded as Sam walked to my side of the gurney. “Too late, Red. I’ve already seen your very charming assets.”

Heat infused my face. I lifted my chin. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.” His searching gaze didn’t miss a thing. “What’s wrong?”

The tech raised his hands. “She refuses to go into the machine.”

I couldn’t even look at the gaping hole waiting to swallow me alive. “Sam…”

I lifted a helpless hand, which he caught and enfolded in his large one. Although he had a powerful grip, his hold was gentle. “I know how hard a noggin you have, but you had a nasty blow.” His fingers tightened. “You need to get it checked out. Can’t take chances with head injuries, Nicole.”

I closed my eyes. “But it’s a tomb.”

“Hon, it’s a machine with all sorts of fancy medical bells and whistles. I’ll stay with you the entire time. If anything goes wrong, I’ll get you out.”

I sighed, opening my eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay, let’s do this.” The technician assisted me onto the ledge, not a mean feat as I kept a death grip on the back of the gown.

When the man disappeared, I gazed up at Sam without speaking. As the drawer began to slide, panic’s tentacles gripped me. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can, honey.” Sam gave me a reassuring pat. As I moved away, he winked. “Once you come out, will you let me touch that dragon tattoo on your ass?”

“What?”

The tube swallowed me. But I swear as the gun bursts began, I could hear Sam’s laughter.

Simmering, I pulled into the drive of the single-story stucco house I shared with my mother in Boynton Beach. A bright cherry-red Mustang was already parked there. I hadn’t called Carling so it was obvious someone continued to stick his nose in my business where it didn’t belong.

I got out and slammed the door of my silver BMW, a rare present from my father. The winter sun beat down on me, its warmth soothing. After hours of circulated hospital atmosphere, I inhaled the crisp air like it was fine wine.

A nondescript black sedan rolled to a stop on the street and Sam emerged. I slung my purse, which had been recovered in Dr. Hassenfeld’s office along with my shoes, over my shoulder.

“That’s far enough. You saw me home, now go.”

Of course he continued to amble with that rolling stride of his toward me. “My mama taught me to see a lady to the door.”

Mom had been having a good day when I left and she knew Carling—at least on most days she did. However, she’d never met Sam. I didn’t know if a stranger would upset her.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Then you should have no problem with me walking the last few steps with you.” He cupped my elbow and guided me toward the door.

The beds of impatiens I planted on either side of the door at the end of October were already huge puffs of pink, purple and white due to a heavy dose of fertilizer. The bursts of color complemented the deep rose I’d painted the house a few years ago. At the time I’d considered moving to West Palm Beach to be closer to work, but this house was paid for courtesy of dear old Dad, and my mother was familiar with the neighborhood. More importantly, the neighbors knew Mom. A big plus. Since I couldn’t move, I’d given in to painting the house a color I wanted.

Sam nodded. “Place looks great, Red.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath and opened the door. Only an abbreviated entry separated it from the living room filled with the Queen Anne furniture my mother favored. When the time came to face the inevitable, the set was getting consigned to charity. I didn’t care if I sat on nothing but cushions until I could afford something more contemporary and comfortable.

Along the wall dividing the living room from the Florida room sat a large hutch filled with framed photos and awards from a better time in my mother’s life. A lot of famous faces were on those shelves.

Carling sat on the sofa across from my mother, who was in the wing back chair that had functioned as her version of a throne until recently. My friend looked up and paled. Great. For anything to ruffle the unflappable Carling Dent, I must really look like shit.

She leaped up and rushed over to me. “My God, are you all right?”

When she reached out to hug me, I straight-armed her. “Trust me, you don’t want to touch me. Not until I’ve had a shower and changed.”

She promptly used her momentum to turn on Sam. “What the hell happened? Where were you when Nicole was being stuffed alive in a metal tomb?”

“Shh.” I cast a worried glance at Mom. So far, so good. She seemed content to stare out the front window. “Lower your voice.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I was interviewing the hospital administrator, which I might say, your partner would’ve also been doing if she hadn’t pulled a disappearing act.” The look he gave me was not amused. “When her trip to the restroom lasted more than fifteen minutes, this country boy realized not even Red could take that long to apply lipstick. Dr. Cruz cost me another fifteen because she insisted on escorting me and then had to deal with an emergency.” Even now frustration simmered in his voice.

Only thirty minutes? An eternity when trapped inside a dark box.

“Who are you?” Mom stood next to me. Uncertainty thinned the once rich resonance of her voice.

I reached over and touched her arm, absorbing the punch of pain when she shied away from me. Carling plastered on a bright smile. “Hey, Annette. Your daughter Nicole brought home a friend with her.”

“Nicole?” Clarity sharpened in Mom’s eyes. “What on earth happened to you?”

“I’m fine, but there was an accident.” This time when I touched her arm she didn’t shirk. “That’s why Detective Bowie is here.”

When she was with us, Mom could still summon up the mega-watt smile that used to flash across billboards. “Why, Detective.” She held out her hand. “What a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Sterling.” Sam took her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed the back. Both Carling’s and my jaws dropped. When she glanced at me with a stunned expression, I shrugged.

Who knew that the force’s most annoying bulldog had manners? Was this the same man who had once opened the door for me and promptly let it slap me on my butt because we’d been arguing about a case? We may have been on fire in bed, but we had never managed to separate our jobs from our relationship.

It’s hard to work with someone you’ve seen in the buff.

Sam…naked. Even the thought made my mouth water, beaten only by the memory of his kisses. Mind-blowing, tongue-touching-tonsils, pelvis-grinding kisses.

Sam looked at me then, the intensity of his expression almost scorching my skin. I flushed as I realized he too was thinking about what we once had shared.

Great, let’s just interject unrequited passion into your complicated life.

I straightened my shoulders. “Detective. Thank you for escorting me home. I will call you later to check on the progress of the investigation.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked. “You do that, Red. Just be sure that cute butt of yours stays in a chair and Carling—” he turned his attention to my friend, “—the doctor says she has to be under observation for twenty-four hours. That was the condition of her release.”

Carling nodded. “I’ll stay with her.”

“Nicole.”

I looked at Mom and saw the confusion clouding her eyes. Inwardly I sighed. The moments of coherency were getting shorter. “Yes?”

“You are okay, dear?”

“I’m fine.”

She nodded and returned to her chair to resume staring out the window. Carling cleared her throat and we both stared at Sam. He threw up his hands. “I’m leaving.”

I followed him to the front where he opened the door and paused outside on the portico. Sympathy flashed across his expression. “I’m sorry, Nicole,” he said in a low voice. “How long has your mother had Alzheimer’s?”

I choked back a laugh. When had Mother begun to lose her identity? She’d always been careless in recalling names and losing things. Should I have known then? When she increasingly insisted on staying home?

Would it have made a difference if I had recognized something was off and taken her in for evaluation earlier?

The chains of guilt twisted tighter. Nineteen months ago, Mom hadn’t returned to the table from using the restaurant’s restroom. I had gone searching and found her standing outside in the parking lot with a befuddled look in her eyes that was to become the norm. A month later, after hearing the doctor’s diagnosis, I had blown a trial and then broken up with Sam. My life’s plate had overflowed and I’d gone into survivor mode.

My legal training kicked in. Answer the question asked. Nothing more.

“A year and a half.”

A tendon ticked along his jaw. “Did you think I couldn’t handle her illness? That I would leave you? Is that why you broke things off?”

I wrapped my arms around my middle. “Don’t you remember, Sam? We promised each other there would be no commitment. We would enjoy the sex and that was it.” When the panic attacks had begun, I’d been so desperate to reach out to him. But my need had scared the hell out of me.

Hurt flashed in Sam’s eyes. “It wasn’t about the sex for me, but when I tried to suggest moving our relationship to another level, you shot it down. You never gave us a chance.” He turned and crossed the yard to where his car was parked.

I shut the door and leaned against it. I would not second-guess breaking up with Sam. Alzheimer’s was not only sucking away my mother but also claiming my life. I had nothing left to give.

I closed my eyes.

Chapter Five

A terrible silence filled the tomb. I was completely alone. Don’t panic. Above all, don’t panic. I tried to lift my hand but couldn’t. I opened my mouth and screamed for help yet no sound came out. I was buried alive with no one to save me. I had to get out. I had to live.

I jerked awake and took a long shuddering breath. I was in my bedroom. I sat up and ran my fingers through damp, tangled waves of hair. The bitching headache I’d had earlier was only an annoying throb. Now I remembered. Carling had insisted that I lie down for awhile. I must have fallen asleep. I checked the clock on the bedside table. Four o’clock.

Injury downtime was over; I had pressing questions about my client’s case that required answers. The Whitmans had apologized profusely for not telling me about their first baby’s death. Brian’s explanation was that they had been too distraught over Rebecca’s loss. I’d let the omission slide for now, but we did need a heart-to-heart conference.

After heading into the bathroom, I tossed back another aspirin, pulled my hair into a loose ponytail and checked myself in the mirror.

Still a little pale but with my redhead’s fair complexion, that state was chronic. And recently so were the dark shadows under my eyes. Because Mom had drilled me about public appearances since I was a small child, I applied mascara and blush before slicking on my favorite shade of peach lipstick.

I studied the results and nodded. Better. At least I was presentable.

“What are you doing?” Carling’s reflection appeared in the mirror. She folded her arms and glared.

“Putting on some makeup so Mother won’t go ballistic.” I turned around and leaned against the counter. I kept my tone nonchalant. “You know how she is. Even when she doesn’t recognize me, she’ll rag me about wearing lipstick.”

Carling grinned. “When I first arrived, she lectured me about not wearing a dress.”

“A common complaint.” Mom had never accepted the more casual Floridian attire. Growing up she drove me to school decked out in a dress, hose and high heels while other mothers had been in T-shirts and shorts.

Carling gave a nod toward the living room. “Sophie’s here.”

Sophie was the most recent addition to my strained budget. I paid the good-natured Hispanic woman to watch my mother while I worked. She prepared meals and helped me with the cleaning. A godsend, Mom had taken to her despite her increasing paranoia about strangers.

“How’s the movie going?” asked Carling.

“Only a few more weeks left of taking her to the recording studio.” Mom had been approached by an old friend about voicing a minor character in an upcoming animated film. She’d been ecstatic. All her life she’d dreamed of being in the movies but had never been able to make the transition from stage to film.

The gig sounded ideal. All she had to do was record her lines at a Miami studio. When the cast had been announced, Mom had been in the local media spotlight and she’d gloried in the attention.

Then she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. After speaking with the doctor, I discussed the situation with Mom’s friend. He’d agreed to let her go forward, but for Mom’s sake no word of her condition had been leaked to the press.

“She’s amazing, Carling. The technicians think she’s cute when she messes up their names or forgets who they are entirely. However, the moment the recording begins, she nails her lines.”

“You spend hours rehearsing with her.”

I shrugged. “True, but it’s like deep down there’s a switch she turns on when it’s time to be Annette Hayes once more.”

Hard rock music blared from Carling’s pocket and she dug out her cell phone. “Hey, Maria, what’s up?”

Maria was the firm’s lead secretary so I watched Carling’s expressive face as she listened. Here and there I caught the secretary’s agitated voice. Something was up at the office. Good. This might be my chance to leave the house without a chaperon.

Carling spoke, cutting off the other woman. “Look, we’ll have to tell him to get another attorney for his son.”

I straightened. “What’s wrong?”

“We had a referral call. The man’s son has been arrested for drug possession and the first appearance is in an hour. Kate’s still in court and you’re in no shape to be left alone—”

“Hold it right there,” I interrupted. “Take the case. I’m fine now that I’ve slept. I’ll just curl up with my laptop and work from home. The hearing will take you a couple of hours, max. If you’re worried about me, you can swing by afterward.”

Carling narrowed her eyes as she tapped the phone against the palm of her hand. “No double or blurred vision?”

“None. No dizziness or nausea.” At least none that a swig of antacid wouldn’t cure, I told myself as my stomach twisted. I pointed at the phone. “Tell Maria you’re on the way.”

“A blow to the head is nothing to monkey with.”

If anyone knew how nasty head injuries could be, it was Carling. She’d been grazed by a bullet when a client was shot and killed then suffered a concussion in a car accident.

I made a cross over my chest and raised my hand. “I promise I’ll call if I start having any symptoms.”

Focus on the goal at hand. I smiled. “Besides, Sophie’s here.”

“If you’re sure…” At my nod, Carling raised her phone. “Maria, I’m clear to handle the hearing. I’m on my way. Call and set up a client meet at the jail.”

After a few more directives, she closed the phone and gave me a fierce hug. “You behave and I’ll swing by when I’m done.” She whirled and left the bathroom. I followed, opened the door and groaned. All thought of sneaking out after Carling left fled.

My worst fantasy stood on the front stoop.

“Evenin’, Red.” Sam’s bemused gaze raked me and his dark eyebrow shot up. “Going somewhere?”

I bit back a sigh. “Of course not. What are you doing here?”

He held up two greasy white bags. “I was in the neighborhood for some burgers and thought I’d drop in.” Before I could stop him, Sam ambled past me and Carling into the living room.

She grinned and gave me a quick salute. “You’re in good hands. I’ll check in after the hearing.” She dashed to her car. I closed the door and went into the living room only to catch a glimpse of Sam escorting Mom into the kitchen.

“Miss Nicole.” Sophie approached me.

“Yes?” My stomach growled at the lingering aroma of grilled meat and onions.

“I was wondering if I could leave early now that you have company. My nephew gets his blue belt in karate tonight.”

I dragged my gaze from the kitchen entry and smiled. “Of course. I’m grounded for the night so go watch Miguel.”

“Gracias. I will see you tomorrow.” She tilted her head toward the next room. “Your man…muy guapo.”

I shook my head. “Not my man.”

“No?” The other woman’s brown eyes twinkled. “He acts like he is.”

I made my way into the kitchen and caught my breath. In companionable silence Mom sat next to Sam, wolfing down a burger. Sam glanced over at me and held up an unwrapped sandwich. “Been waiting on you, Red.”

I had my pride, but it wimped out under the strident demand of my long ignored stomach. I grabbed the proffered burger and bit into it. Stopping midchew, I watched as Sam casually held out a fry to my mother, which she grabbed.

I sighed. How did he do it? Mom never trusted strangers and here he was practically hand-feeding her.

Companionable silence prevailed until the last greasy fry was fought over and made its way victoriously into my mouth. Mom rose and gifted Sam with one of her rare smiles. “Thank you for dinner. If you all will excuse me, I think I will head to bed.”

I kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Mom.” I remained standing, watching, until she walked through the living room, past the outer door, into the hall leading to the bedrooms. Moments later I heard a door close. Good. There wasn’t an exit to the outside on that wing of the house. She was safe for now. I sat down again.

Sam leaned back and studied me. “Your mama’s a real charmer. Guess you must take after your father.”

I looked up with a quick retort on my lips but the words stuck in my throat. The sight of Sam lounging in the kitchen chair triggered a sharp pang of a different type of hunger. My fingers itched to stroke the rough five o’clock stubble on his jaw, to muss his finger-raked hair. To straddle his lap and unbutton his shirt, revealing more of the crisp black chest hair peeking over the V.

Business, talk about business. My safe harbor.

“Don’t you have a suspect to beat up or somewhere else to be? Lovely a visit as this has been, I have work to do.”

The physical pang receded, leaving me drained. I lowered my aching head until I could prop it up with my hands.

Sam’s chair scraped against the tile floor, but I continued to hide my face. The press of his warm fingers along my neck brought me upright.

“Relax, Red. You look like you could use a good neck rub.” His fingers gently dug into the tense muscles. I bit back a groan.

Sam’s fingers worked magic from the base of my skull to my shoulders. There, they hesitated before continuing their ministrations down between my shoulder blades. Every inch of flesh left in their wake tingled, burned.

Hunger pains, nothing. I was on fire now. I drew in a choppy breath and exhaled it raggedly as Sam’s downward progress reached the back of my bra. His thumbs anchored over the back fastening. The sweep of his fingers brushed the sides of my breasts. My nipples hardened as aching heat pooled between my legs.

I clutched my knees together to still their trembling. If I leaned back against Sam’s body, I knew with absolute certainty I’d find his hard arousal.

I leaned forward.

“Thanks.” I heard the husky strain in my voice and swallowed. “That was great.”

His hands broke contact. My body cried foul at my head’s choice. Sam’s raspy breath gradually calmed, but his voice mocked me. “The pleasure was all mine.”

I watched him warily as he walked around the table and returned to his chair. With a lithe movement that would put a Florida panther to shame, Sam stretched out and clasped his hands on his stomach.

I willed my hormones to chill. Here I was a quivering mass of electrified nerve endings while Sam stared coolly at me.

Not one muscle betrayed any sexual tension, or frustration…except for the betraying bulge in his jeans. So he had been affected. His kicked-back attitude was a sham. “Why didn’t you tell me your mother had Alzheimer’s?”

So much for seduction. My emotions were now somewhere whimpering around my unpolished toenails. It was back to drawing the line between us. Wasn’t that what I wanted? I stifled the “hell, no” protest from my body. Control was everything.

When I spoke, I was crisply professional, distant. “I didn’t tell you initially because it’s not a simple diagnosis. Mom has struggled with bouts of depression in the past.”

Like the five-year-long one after my father moved on to a younger wife. Initially, there had been no contact between our families. Then Dad’s second wife started including me in their holidays to get to know my half brother and sister. Despite how painfully awkward the occasions were, I’d gone. It was the only way I ever saw my father.

“By the time it looked like the doctors were right—” I shrugged, “—we weren’t even on the same side of the law anymore let alone in a relationship. Mom’s condition isn’t public knowledge.”

I had to give Sam credit for being quick. “She’s got an acting job?”

“Yes and no. She’s doing voiceover work for an animated film. She’ll be finished in another month after which her publicist will plant a tactful notice that, this time, her retirement will be permanent.”

When Sam didn’t comment, I glanced at him. He scowled at the tips of his boots before looking up, his dark eyes sharp with accusation. “It still burns me that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me your mother was sick.”

He was the last one who should be bitching about trust. I lashed back, “Hey, don’t lay that particular guilt trip on me. You didn’t tell me you’d discovered the murder weapon in the Gordon Archer case was tainted due to a police screw-up. As a result a killer walked, Sam, and slaughtered a whole family.”

“Dammit, Nicole. So the Archer prosecution went south on you. Shit happens. Cases are never perfect. You did the best you could with the remaining crumbs of evidence and even managed to get a hung jury. A jury in the hands of a less-skilled prosecutor probably would have given him a free pass in five minutes.”

A better attorney might have been able to re-piece the evidence to get a conviction on a lesser crime. I’d been so damn confident I had a slam dunk case that I indicted only on one count of murder with intent to kill. A mistake I would always live with. Pressure built in me.

I shoved back the chair as I stood and gripped the table’s edge to steady myself. “Let’s get this straight. That doesn’t absolve my failure. I panicked, okay? I blanked out and didn’t know what to do next.” What I couldn’t confess to him was my dark secret that the paralysis had recurred. “I couldn’t handle the job so I quit.”

I snatched the crumpled bags and rammed them into the garbage pail. “I’m sorry if I hurt you or you can’t understand, but that’s the way it had to be.”

Spinning around, I stormed out of the kitchen and made my way to the living room bay window. I fought for calm as I watched the palms in the yard sway gently beneath the muted glow of the half moon.

I sensed Sam standing behind me. His silent censure wrapped around me until I ached.

“I know you’ll never accept or understand my decision, but I just couldn’t be a prosecutor anymore.” Tears seared the corners of my eyes.

“You find defending child murderers more rewarding than taking them off the street?” His tone condemned me.

It was a debilitating blow, effectively delivered. Closing my eyes, I swayed as paralyzing memories assailed me. I had locked away the ghosts of past cases and struggled to keep the lid shut.

Cursing, Sam roughly grabbed my shoulders. “Damn it, Red. It’s been one hell of a day. You always know how to rub me raw.”

I snapped my eyes open, catching his concerned expression as he gazed down at me. I wanted to sock him. Anger suppressed my demons. “So it’s my fault you’re such a jerk?”

Something flickered in his dark brown eyes for a moment, but Sam’s inscrutable police mask slipped into place before I could identify the rare revelation of emotion. He slowly dropped his hands and stepped away. Muscles bunched along his jawbone.

“No. I always end up being an idiot around you with no help from anyone.”

I bit my bottom lip. “I nearly lost my sanity as a prosecutor. I had to save myself.”

“So you decided to dump me at the same time?”

“I decided to go for a clean slate.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “Just think of this, Nicole. How many lives did you save by putting away the bad guys during your years in the state attorney’s office?”

“Not nearly as many as I lost. I can’t go back to that life again.”

Sam’s iron jaw jutted in disgust. “I’d never have believed you would turn tail and run away because of one mistake. That you would lose belief in yourself. Not my Red.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I was damned if I would let Sam see he had struck a nerve. I fisted my hands at the sides of my body. “Listen, as you so kindly pointed out before, the criminal system isn’t perfect. Innocent people, believe it or not, get charged with crimes. Some are wrongly convicted. It’s my job to make sure people like Claire Whitman get a fair shake.”

I widened my stance. “And I’m not your Red.”

“Not anymore.” Sam’s quiet pronouncement was more shattering than angry words. He turned and left. Seconds later the front door slammed.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I again faced the window, watching the only man who could—and did—destroy me with a few words stride to his pickup. True to her promise to return and spend the night, Carling pulled up in the drive and tooted her horn, but Sam didn’t pause.

It was better to keep him out of my life. Fewer witnesses if I failed again.

Chapter Six

Gone the next morning was the headache. Slithering into its place was guilt. As I gave Sophie an update on Mom’s condition, it coiled and contracted until I could scarcely breathe.

I grabbed my bag and keys and went out to the car. Carling had left earlier. Catching a glimpse of my mother’s silhouette in the window, I raised a hand even though I knew this was a morning where she was lost in a shadowy world.

Icy pellets of recrimination struck me. Mom was slipping away and here I was going off to work. And for what? I hadn’t kept the last monster I had tried off the streets. Pressure began to build in my chest.

With a sharp twist of the wheel I pulled the BMW over to the side of the street and squealed to a halt. Stop it, I ordered myself. No panic attacks allowed. Not today. Not ever again.

My hands fisted on top of the steering wheel. Maybe Sam had been right last night. Maybe I should remember the criminals I had taken off the street. While I couldn’t stop Alzheimer’s from taking my mother, I could prevent Claire Whitman from being falsely accused of murdering her baby. That I could control.

Expelling a breath, I flexed my fingers. I had a plan. After checking the mirrors, I pulled back into the street. Within minutes I was northbound on I-95.

Think about the case. What kind of deviant would steal a dead infant’s organs? I hadn’t forgotten the fact that Sam had also been at the hospital for the baby’s records. Were the police trying to tie the mutilation to Claire? She was an EMT with medical know-how. As a prosecutor, she would have been high on my list of suspects.

I took one of the exits into West Palm Beach and headed east. From the time Claire’s baby had been rushed to the hospital, the child’s body had been in three known locations: the ambulance, the hospital and the funeral home. Logically, the mutilation either occurred in transit or at one of the three places. Although the funeral director, Colin Depp, claimed the surgical scars were already there when the body was delivered, the guy had a major creep factor going on.

Besides I had another legitimate reason to speak with him. Brian Whitman had left a message. After his wife opened the coffin, they had also noticed a silver rattle placed in the casket was missing.

My cell rang. I slid on my earpiece. “Nicole Sterling.”

“Nicole, this is Damian Quint.”

Damian who? I frowned as I concentrated on changing lanes. “Hello.”

His chuckle was low and rich. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I got your number. Brian Whitman gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind.”

Oh, the Whitmans’ friend. “Not at all. Is everything all right with them?”

“As much as can be expected with the strain they’re under. I’ve offered to help with Brian’s practice until this is all over.”

“That’s nice of you. I’m sure they appreciate the gesture.” Wishing he would get to the purpose of his call, I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel.

“I know you must be busy so I’ll cut to the chase. I’d like to see you again.”

That came out of left field. “Excuse me? The connection isn’t great.”

A cautious note crept into his voice. “I was clumsily asking you out on a date. My impression was that you’re not involved with anyone, was I wrong?”

I hadn’t dated since Sam—and for good reason. I took a breath and released it. “No, I’m not seeing anyone, but Damian, now’s not a good time for me.”

There was a long pause. I wrinkled my nose. Way to go, Nicole. Piss off every interested man that comes along.

“I understand. Maybe we can take it in smaller steps. How about a drink next week?”

I opened my mouth to say no and then clamped it shut. A drink wasn’t a lifetime commitment. Plus I could learn more about the Whitmans. They didn’t seem to have an extensive network of family or friends. “I would like that, but I need to check my calendar.”

“Great, I’ll call you later and we can firm up a day and time.” We said goodbye as I reached my destination.

Turning into the funeral home’s drive, I swung around to the rear lot. Might as well check out the entrance where bodies were delivered. I reminded myself to ask if they did their own pickup or hired an independent contractor to handle transport. It was amazing what a big business death was.

The tan stucco building winged out in a V shape with a large portico framing the back of the right prong containing the garage. A small white truck plastered with ice cream logos stood beneath it. What the hell? I frowned as I pulled into a spot facing the building. I hadn’t seen any vending machines the night of the funeral. Maybe that was the explanation for Depp’s “ick” factor. He packed bodies in ice cream instead of ice.

I hitched my shoulders to shrug off the unpleasant image and stepped out of the Beemer, pocketing my keys.

Hearing the hum of a motor, I crossed under the portico to the truck. No one was in the driver’s seat and the back doors were closed. I wandered around to the right side with the cutaway for doling out ice cream, but the accordion shutter was rolled down. I curled my fingers under the edge and gave an experimental tug to see if it would open. No deal.

I approached a door with a sign stating Deliveries Only tucked into the side of the garage. I tried the handle and it opened. Stepping inside, I saw two gleaming black limousines parked side by side. I went through another door and found myself in a dimly lit, wide hallway. Quietly, I closed the door behind me.

Although lush, deep-piled carpet covered the floor in the reception, viewing rooms and chapel, here grey industrial-strength linoleum covered the floor. The better to roll the bodies along. The first room to my right had a wide steel door with a plaque marking it Prep Room, Staff Only.

My stomach twisted in protest as I pushed down on the latch handle and entered the darkened room. Even as I searched for a switch, fluorescent lights flickered on overhead. I released on a sigh the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. No bodies occupied the two gurneys.

Metal cabinets lined the one wall. The first one contained bottles, jars and tubes of makeup and hairspray along with sponges and brushes. When I tugged on the handle of a drawer next to the gurneys, it slid out smoothly, revealing the surgical tools lined up inside. My mouth tasted sour as I fought a wave of nausea. I shoved the drawer shut. No question the funeral home had the necessary equipment for embalming—or something worse.

I turned and quickly left the chamber of horrors. I followed the hall until I reached another door. Pushing down on the handle, I found it opened into a carpeted hallway. If I recalled the layout correctly, this one formed the top of a T. The business offices were straight ahead and the longer, intersecting hall led to the viewing room, chapel and front entrance. Although a patch of light spilled from the office the place was as quiet as a tomb.

Bad pun, Nicole. I imagined working here could give anyone the willies. Shaking my head, I walked down to the other end. “Mr. Depp?” I called out. No one responded.

I checked the first room, which was fitted with a gleaming wood conference table, several chairs and three ornate coffins, two with the lids open. Several stands held large catalogs. The place where one selected how to be buried in style and dropped a ton of money for the privilege. Suppressing a shudder, I moved on. A second room contained several desks and computers but no people.

Frowning, I checked my watch. A little after nine. The cadaverous young man who helped Depp direct people at the funeral could have been a part-timer.

Last was the corner office, clearly the owner’s. My lips curled at the sight of the cemetery posters covering the walls and a model-sized coffin on a credenza. I retraced my steps to the hall leading to the front and then paused. Something niggled at the edge of my mind about the showroom. I returned to its door and studied the contents.

It struck me. The lid on the third coffin was closed while the others were open so customers could see how they would spend eternity in comfort. I could have sworn all the models had been open during the Whitman funeral. Unable to shake the sense of wrongness, I approached the coffin. For all I knew, the staff liked to play a sick game of hide-and-seek.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the lid’s handle. I thanked the exercise gods for all the push-ups I’d done the past year and wrestled the lid up. I bit back a scream.

Colin Depp was a true funeral home director even in death. His sightless eyes gazed back at me as he reposed with his hands crossed just below his breast bone. His tie was neatly knotted and the jacket of the banker gray suit buttoned closed. The lapel held a crushed white carnation. Beneath his head red ribbons of blood streaked the small pillow’s ivory satin.

The sound of a door closing brought my head up. Whether it was the staff, the murderer or both, I wasn’t waiting around to find out. I made a beeline for the door and peeked around the corner. A man cursed in the hall leading to the front. He was close.

Praying the thick carpet would muffle the sound of my shoes, I dashed to the door I’d entered through. I pressed down on the handle but metal was metal, no matter how well maintained. It screeched.

I slammed it open and then ran past the preparation room into the garage.

“Hey!” At the hoarse exclamation, I looked back and saw a man dressed in white standing in the door. He dropped a small cooler. Plastic bags with dark contents spilled onto the pavement. The man reached for the gun sticking out of his waistband.

Oh shit. I ducked around the first limousine and the windshield shattered in a spray of glass. Keeping low, I raced to the exit and burst through the door. I jammed my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out the keys as I ran in a zigzag pattern to my car. I ripped open the door, flung myself into the seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Come on, baby, start.

Sweat trickled an icy path down my spine as the engine roared to life. I spared a glance through the windshield and saw the man taking a wide-legged stance in front of the car and raising the gun. My thundering heart told me to go in reverse; my head said to go forward.

I put the BMW in drive, ducked down and floored the accelerator. Glass shattered and the passenger seat cushion exploded into bits of foam. I tightened my grip in anticipation of contact, but the gunman dove to the side seconds before I reached him.

Dammit. Missed him.

I sped along the drive, peering through the spidery cracks in the windshield. At this time of the morning traffic was light on the side street. Tires screeched in protest as I made a sharp right turn toward the nearest main road, Military Trail.

Behind me a horn blared. Glancing into the rearview mirror, I saw the ice cream truck careen onto the street. I canceled any thought of losing him in the traffic on Military Trail. Too many stop lights, too much congestion could work against me as easily as for me.

Maneuverability. That was my advantage.

Without slowing, I turned left, machine screaming in protest, but the Beemer held the pavement. As I raced down the side street, I dared to take my right hand off the wheel for a moment and rummaged in my purse. I breathed a sigh of relief as my fingers brushed the smart phone tucked as habit in the side pocket.

I pulled it out and touched the number 1.

Sam’s tone was brusque. “Nicole, I can’t talk—”

“Sam.” Tires squealed behind me. I made another right.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was now alert.

“Colin Depp is dead and his killer is trying to ram an ice cream truck up the rear of my BMW.”

“Where are you?”

“On Kirk Road, one block from making a right onto Gun Club.”

“That’s my Red. I’ll alert the sheriff’s department. Keep me on the line.”

“Will do.” I put the phone in its holder.

Oh God. I could see traffic on the road ahead of me and nothing but the truck’s grill and headlights in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t stop.

Praying, I gunned the gas and spun the steering wheel. Horns clamored, metal screamed. The rear of the Beemer fishtailed as I fought to control the turn. My heart stopped for a moment when one side of the car lifted due to the over-correction, then righted and shot down Gun Club Road.

Sweat plastered my blouse to my back and rolled down my face. My eyes burned from the salty drips. I hunched my shoulder and swiped my forehead, checking the mirror. Although the last turn had gained me some distance, the truck was still behind me.

There. The large complex loomed ahead on the right. I waited until the last minute and yanked on the wheel. The Beemer shuddered but I sped along the drive to the back of the building. Spotting a ramp by a bank of doors, I pulled up, slammed the car into Park, opened the door and bailed out.

I stumbled but a strong hand grabbed my elbow and steadied me. I barely had time to register that my savior was Sam before he propelled me to the side of the ramp. I looked over my shoulder just in time to watch the truck plow into the side of the BMW. Metal collapsed with a sickening sound. Glass crackled, exploded. Rubber burned as my car flipped.

Gears ground as the other driver tried to put the truck in reverse, but khaki-clad deputies holding guns and rifles emerged through the doors and surrounded the truck. My assailant put his hands up. Moments later he had been pulled out of the truck and was lying spread-eagled on the ground.

“Are you all right?” Sam sounded agitated as he ran his hands over my shoulders.

“I’m fine.” My smile was tremulous. “I guess he was so determined to take me out that he didn’t notice I was leading him straight to the detention center.” Gun Club Detention Center was the large jail complex for Palm Beach County.

Suddenly, Sam’s miraculous presence hit me. I frowned. “How did you get here so fast? I was booking it and only a few blocks away when I called you.”

“I was meeting with a suspect and his attorney.” He lifted a hand and stroked a damp tendril of hair from my temple. “Let me tell you, Red. I ran to get out here and almost wasn’t in time. You must have broken every speed limit.”

“Not to mention a few red lights.” I shuddered, recalling how close I’d cut it. “If it weren’t for my car…” I swallowed as I took in the wreckage.

The BMW was a twisted chunk of metal. A sharp pang cut through me. My father had given it to me when I’d landed my job as a prosecutor. Initially, I’d been angry at the gesture and had almost handed the keys back to him. After all, my parents had divorced when I was five and Nick Sterling had—for all intents and purposes—also divorced himself as my father.

Little heard from, rarely seen. Birthdays and Christmases often passed without a call, let alone a gift. Mom had gone to court several times over alimony and child support payments. Then after two years of strife, Dad had married his secretary, Debra, and all had changed.

I had to give my stepmother an A+ in the conscientious department. Checks signed by her arrived on time. Dad called me every holiday and together they dropped off brightly wrapped gifts. Within short order, they had their own children, a boy and a girl. I’d even been invited to their house for family gatherings.

I’d kept such family occasions to a minimum, but Debra had dragged the whole brood to my law school graduation. She had been the one who made me see that Dad’s gift was his way of saying he was proud of me.

Now the Beemer was a total loss. I sighed and glanced up at Sam. Worry scoured lines in his face. I reached up and covered his hand.

“I’m fine, really. The car was a gift from my dad, that’s all. Now it’s toast.” I hitched my shoulders. Taking the hint, he released me.

I picked my way through the debris. Going around to the passenger side, I grabbed my bag and shook off the glass in a glittering spray. I emptied the glove compartment of the registration and a few CDs. Then I searched for anything else I should remove. Spotting the cell phone on the driver’s side floor, I picked it up and stuck it in my purse.

The car was beyond repair, no doubt. I took a deep breath, released it and stroked the headrest. “Thanks, girl, for keeping me safe. You were the best.”

Blinking back tears, I gave the seat one last pat. Sam stood a few feet away, his hands jammed into his jeans’ front pockets. “Ready to tell me what happened? I’ve got a unit responding to the Depp Funeral Home.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Detective?” One of the deputies standing at the rear of the ice cream truck gestured. “You might want to take a look at this.”

Sam gestured for me to stay where I was, but of course I didn’t. I followed to where more than a few deputies stood with a green cast to their coloring. Standing inside the truck, one held up a bag.

“What the hell?” Sam grabbed the edge of a door and vaulted inside. I pushed through the crowd until I had a clear view. The bag contained two dark red, slimy…

I swallowed. “Sam, those aren’t…”

“Cherry popsicles? No, Red.” His lips curled back in distaste as he motioned for the officer to return the bag to the cooler. “Looks to me what we have here are organs on ice.”

Sam placed his hand on the side of the chest. “Someone see if the truck’s engine can run. These units aren’t chilling and the whole lot is going to spoil.”

A young male deputy clapped his hand over his mouth, spun and rushed off. A gray-haired officer rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.” He disappeared around the corner.

Sam straightened. “Someone call the medical examiner’s office and get their tails out here.”

I stood staring at the contents of the chests. “Sam, are those human?”

He gave me a curt nod. “I’m not the ME but they sure look like human remains to me.”

Claire’s baby. A wave of sickness slapped me, almost taking me down as my legs turned to jelly.

Cursing, Sam jumped down and wrapped his arms around me. His strength flowed into me, and gradually the trembling subsided.

“Honey.” He ran a gentling hand up and down my back. “They’re not that baby’s. From the size, we have a shipment of adult organs.”

“Shipment.” I lifted my head and stared into his glittering gaze. “From Hassenfeld’s reaction yesterday, I thought you were pulling his leg. You really believe someone’s harvesting human organs?”

“Yes.”

I gripped his upper arms. “We need to get to the funeral home.”

Chapter Seven

I studied Sam’s grim profile as he drove us away from the detention center. Our argument about going with him had been short but not sweet. My being a material witness to the active crime scene trumped his desire to pack me into a cab home. While we’d walked to his parked car, I’d called both the office and my insurance company.

“I thought you were on Homicide again.” For awhile he’d served with the special crimes unit and on an FBI task force.

He cast me a dark look. “I am. You and your partners manage to keep me pretty busy.”

I bit my lip. The sick running office joke was how high the body count could pile up during one of our cases—and how many Sam ended up with.

“But you didn’t seem surprised at all about what was found in those coolers…almost as if there’s an ongoing investigation.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Budget cuts, work force reduction. Units aren’t as clear cut anymore. I’m a cop, Red. Whatever case the captain needs me to work on, I’ll investigate.”

Tendons flexed in his hand as he tightened it on the steering wheel. “However, as of this morning, I’m officially no longer handling the suspicious death of the Whitman baby. That’s been reassigned.”

I didn’t know if the constant tightrope Sam and I walked in our relationship just slackened or pulled impossibly tight.

“Meaning you’re investigating the theft of the baby’s…” My voice trailed off.

She has a name, Nicole, even in death. You’d never let a jury forget it. Don’t start impersonalizing her now.

Sam shot me another glance as he pulled into the driveway of the Depp Funeral Home. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll be able to keep me apprised of the investigation’s progress.”

“No.”

“May I remind you that I represent the Whitmans?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted. “Hard to forget when you remind me every hour on the hour.”

He parked next to a black-and-white unit and switched off the ignition. Yellow tape already cordoned off the rear of the building. Several uniformed officers stood guard.

Sam turned to face me and draped his arm along the back of the passenger seat. His fingertips grazed my neck. The adrenaline still swirling around in my system turned edgier.

“What little I can tell you, I will. But this investigation is larger than the Whitmans’ unfortunate situation.” Exhaustion lined his face.

I laced my fingers so I wouldn’t do anything so stupid as to reach up and try to stroke those lines away. “How large?”

“Depp’s murder could be our first break in an organization very efficient in the black market of organ harvesting. Up until now, they’ve relied on bribes, secrecy and the power of grief to secure organs and bones.”

“Since Rebecca’s body was mutilated during transport, at the hospital or at the funeral home, one or more of them have to be involved.”

Sam grinned. “Haven’t lost your prosecutorial instincts.” His fingers toyed with wisps of hair at my nape. My skin practically whimpered at his touch. Too much. I needed to focus. I twisted away and he let his hand drop.

“Here’s the play-by-play. Someone’s injured in an accident and taken to a hospital. The harvesters will find out if that person’s the right blood type for a client on their waiting list. Then suddenly the victim turns up with a missing organ or dead—often both. An immigrant working the fields and faced with crushing debt can sell a kidney for quick cash. A John Doe lying brain-dead in a hospital is a pipeline of organs for the doctors allowing to petition for transplantation rights.”

“But I thought an organ’s transplant viability is short-lived.”

He shrugged. “As they say, buyer beware. The FBI got the first whiff when three people who bought their organs online contracted the same rare disease and died. A widow who had begged her husband to wait for a donor saved the emails and came to the authorities after his death. Of course the trail was well-hidden, but the Feds suspect the center of operations is our fair and lovely county.”

An unmarked car drove up to where the uniforms waited. Sam’s partner Tony Galluci emerged and headed inside followed by the others.

Sam nodded. “There’s the search warrant.” He got out, circled around the car and opened my door.

I eyed the building as we approached. The roof jutted at a higher level over the garage. Funeral homes had long been permitted to perform tissue donations if the deceased’s family signed consent forms. I’d already checked with the Whitmans and they hadn’t. That didn’t mean the dead director hadn’t forged their signatures.

Tracing the same path I had earlier, we entered through the garage. I kept my gaze straight ahead as we passed where a small screen hid the cooler and its contents. An officer wearing a baffled expression stood in the doorway to the embalming room.

Sam paused. “What is it, Hernandez?”

The officer lifted his shoulder. “It’s the damndest thing, sir, but that table on the far side looks like it has a hydraulic base.”

“What?” Sam knelt down and studied the table. I crowded behind him. Instead of rollers, the last table rested on a tube similar to those in a car shop. As the familiar band began to tighten across my chest, I forced myself to breathe deeply.

But that insidious voice taunted, How could you miss something so important again?

Sam pulled out a penlight, clicked it on and pointed the beam at the ceiling. The light skipped around before landing a rectangular outline in the ceiling. I’d missed that too but…

I gripped his shoulder. “Sam. When we were outside, I noticed that this section of the building is higher than the front although there are no windows.”

He rose and walked down the hallway, opening two other doors. At the third he paused. “Bingo.”

Since his broad shoulders blocked my view, I stood on tiptoe to see around him. Shelves lined the cramped supply room but in the corner stood a metal staircase rising to the ceiling. Sam glanced at me. “Good catch, Red, but you stay here while we check it out. Hernandez.” He motioned for the officer to follow him.

At the top of the stairs he pressed on a ceiling panel and moved it aside. The two men disappeared. Moments later I heard Sam’s distinct whistle. Spotting a box of latex gloves on a shelf, I popped it open and removed a pair. After snapping them on, I crept up the stairs. As soon as my head cleared the access space, a fetid odor rolled over me. While downstairs smelled of industrial strength bleach, up here the cloying smell of decaying flesh permeated the small chamber.

I retreated to the storage room, grabbed several surgical masks and put one on. I climbed up once more. Officer Hernandez, now wearing gloves like Sam, found a switch and flicked it. Powerful operating room lights came on, throwing a garish gleam on steel supply carts that held surgical saws and knives. A freezer and a refrigerator hummed in the corner alongside stacks of empty coolers. White plastic gallon jugs lined another wall. Silhouetted like ghostly fingers were white PVC pipes of various lengths sticking out of a large paint bucket.

The officer crossed to the bucket and rubbed his chin. “Why would they need PVC pipes up here?”

I swallowed the lump of horror that lodged in my throat. “They’re for bones.”

Sam and Hernandez swung around. “Christ, Nicole, I told you to stay put.”

I ignored him as I carefully made my way over to the stack of pipes, careful not to touch anything.

“I caught a television show on unusual crimes. There was an episode on an organ broker in Pennsylvania. In that case when there was an open casket viewing, a body snatcher would cut out the arm and leg bones, leaving the hands and feet intact, and then inserted the pipes in place so no one was the wiser.”

“Here.” I handed the officer a mask. “Best put this on.” I gave the remaining one to Sam, who slid it over his face.

“Shit.” Hernandez blanched. “Be right back, sir.” He staggered to the stairs and disappeared.

I would have loved to follow him, but in my years as a prosecutor, I had seen all manner of savagery. Dead was dead, right? These particular victims never knew what hideous atrocities had been committed against them.

I willed myself to look at the instruments crusted with unimaginable body waste. Plastic bags filled one bin and plastic food containers packed another. A stack of empty ice cream tubs sat on the floor. When I raised my head, Sam was studying me with an intent look. “You okay?”

I realized I’d been holding my breath and gestured. “This is a body chop shop, Sam. Bones, body tissue, maybe even eyes were harvested here, but…” Disappointment swirled with revulsion as I considered the little attic of horrors.

“I don’t think this operation was sophisticated enough for vital organ removal.”

Good news, bad news. I hadn’t found the source of Rebecca’s mutilation yet. Without a full autopsy the state would have a hard time proving without a reasonable doubt that Claire Whitman killed her baby. However, forensics-wise, I would have an equally tough time proving her innocence. It wouldn’t be the first time a person was tried and convicted on circumstantial evidence.

On the plus side, the media would be so busy having a hey-day over this ghoulish chamber that it might not pick up the story behind one sad little victim.

I crossed to the stairs. “I’ve seen enough. I’ll wait outside by the car.”

“I’ll take you home.” Sam followed behind me. Downstairs I couldn’t drag the gloves and mask off quickly enough, and dumped them in a garbage bin in the storage room. He stripped his off as well.

I drew in a deep breath but could still smell the death that clung to everything in the place.

“I’m fine. What abominations happened here need your immediate attention. You’ll need to update the search warrant.”

He scowled. “We already have a search warrant.”

Anger boiled inside me, so hot and intense that I knew it had been simmering for a long time. I stabbed my index finger into his chest.

“No, you don’t. You’re not screwing this investigation up by playing fast and loose with procedure like you did the Archer case. Tony probably got only a standard warrant for a possible homicide. Granted, your search of the premises led to the discovery of the attic so any evidence secured there could be safe from a challenge in court. However…”

I made to give him another jab, and he wrapped his hands around mine.

“Are you ever going to forgive me? It’s been over a year, Red. Mistakes happened. You know that. Especially in the heat of an investigation or trial…” His voice trailed off and chagrin flared in his gaze.

I pulled my hand free and wrapped my arms around my middle. “Yes, errors certainly do occur during a trial. And I wasn’t good enough to overcome them. My mistake let a monster walk.”

I tilted my head toward the ceiling. “There’s a new monster in town, and its victims were defenseless and could number in the thousands. Get a new search warrant for that room.”

Without waiting for his answer, I walked down the hallway and didn’t stop until I was outside and as far away in the parking lot as I could get. Finally, I allowed the sickness roiling around inside me to follow its natural course and puked my brains out.

At some point during the racking heaves I became aware of Sam rubbing my back, but I was too far gone to care that he was seeing me in such a vulnerable state. Gradually, the spasms lessened and then stopped.

“Here you go.” Sam offered me a folded red bandana and a bottle of water.

I opened the bottle, then swallowed and spit until the burning, acrid taste was gone from my mouth.

“Thanks.” I swiped the bandana across my face. “I’ll wash it and return it to you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Toss it. I bought it at the dollar store.” Cocking his head, he studied me. “You know, you don’t always have to be so strong. The whole world won’t crash and burn if you’re human.”

I crumpled the bandana. “Funny. Puking my guts out in front of you ranks right up there on my vulnerability chart.”

Sam placed his hands on my shoulders. “Nicole, don’t worry. I’ll get the warrant.”

I lifted a hand to cover his. “You have to stop this operation.”

“Come on, let me get you home so I can get back in there.”

As we returned to his car, I thought about a conversation I’d once had with Carling. On two occasions she had barely escaped death. She had described the sensation of being split in two.

Certainly enough had been written about near death experiences, the separation of body and soul and spirits caught on the physical plane. Did one need to be whole to leave this life? Could what happened here have left people in limbo?

With practiced skill I buried that disturbing thought. I had enough on my hands without worrying about the dead’s souls. All I could do was make sure justice was done for the living.

Chapter Eight

As I had predicted, the media went into a feeding frenzy once word leaked about the funeral home. Anchors vied for clever nicknames for its former director, with “The Bone Harvester” and “The Organ Grinder” prevailing. Reports detailed every legend, urban or otherwise, about the ancient tradition of body snatching.

The press learned about my involvement and descended upon the office in droves. A few reporters came to the house, and for once I counted Mom’s escape into oblivion a good thing. Fortunately, I had long removed the phone in her bedroom after she had made a long distance call to a perfect stranger in Great Britain and talked for over an hour. Now only the phone in the hallway remained connected. All media calls were directed to the firm.

Chaos reigned in the office, but Carling and Kate were high-fiving over all the free publicity when several people called looking for representation.

I kept waiting for another development on the Whitman case. The husband, Brian, called so frequently that I almost cringed when I heard he was on the line. Probably the same reaction Oceanview’s administrator and Dr. Hassenfeld had to my repeated calls for updates on the missing records.

However, the week passed without any contact from the police, the state attorney’s office…or Sam. I should have been relieved but instead the dead silence from his direction made me edgy. Only through the grapevine did I learn the ice cream truck driver had lawyered up immediately and wasn’t saying a word.

Late Friday I returned from a witness deposition on another case only to find the staff gathered at my office door. Catching the lead secretary’s eye, I asked, “Maria, what’s going on?”

She grinned. “You have flowers. We were trying to get up the nerve to open the card.”

“Flowers?” No wonder the staff was atwitter. With a year’s abstinence from the dating scene, I myself could only describe the excitement welling up inside me as giddiness. Everyone stepped aside so I could enter the room. My jaw dropped. A lavish bouquet of blood-red roses stood in a vase on my desk.

Only one name floated to the surface—Sam. My fingers trembled as I opened the envelope. But my excitement fled as I read the card. Looking forward to spending time with you. Damian Quint.

I looked up at the expectant faces. “Sorry, ladies. They’re from a friend of a client.” I could almost see the collective drop of shoulders as they turned and went back to their stations. I flopped down in the chair, leaned my elbows on the desk, and braced my chin in my hands.

“Why the glum look?” Kate strolled into the office.

“I got flowers.”

“How perfectly dreadful,” she murmured as she stroked one of the blossoms. “Name the culprit and I’ll beat him up with one of the fronds.”

“They’re from the wrong guy.”

Understanding lit her face as she sank into one of the visitor chairs. “Not from Sam.”

“Nope.” I leaned back and propped my feet on the edge of the desk as I considered the truth of my disappointment.

“Still.” Kate cocked her head to gaze at me. “Someone thought enough of you to send you these. Is he good looking?”

I nodded. “Very. Damian Quint. He’s a friend of the Whitmans. Wants to buy me a drink.”

“That’s a very non-threatening first date. The problem is…”

“All I could think about when he asked was how much background information I could obtain on the Whitmans.”

Kate nodded. “Occupational hazard in the dating world.”

Grinning ear-to-ear, Carling rushed in carrying rolls of bright pink fabric. “I got the T-shirts.”

I blinked. “What T-shirts?”

She dumped two shirts into the remaining chair and unfurled one. Across the fuchsia-colored front, in bold black letters read Dent, Rochelle and Sterling. She flipped it around to the back to show off the tagline: The criminal attorneys who care.

“We’re going to stand out in the crowd tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I stared at the shirt. “Oh, the race.” At some point I had agreed to run with my partners in the West Palm Beach Police Race for Drug-Free Kids. Sam would be there—he was one of the officers who first organized the race several years ago.

“Look, I’m not sure I can—”

Carling held up her palm. “Hold it right there, Sterling. You promised. I know darn well you made arrangements with Sophie to be at your house. You’re not wiggling out of this commitment.”

“Besides.” Kate smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on her still perfectly pressed skirt. “Sam will be there and some little birdie might tell him you received flowers from another man.”

I gave my friends a long, slow smile. “There is that.”

Saturday morning found me with others milling on Flagler Drive by the Intracoastal Waterway. Even as the sun’s morning fingers of pink released their grip on the blue sky, I knew it was going to be a perfect day for running. With fifteen minutes until the race, I ran through my warm-up stretching routine. Kate and her fiancé, the firm’s investigator Gabe Chavez, had gone after bottles of water for our group.

Beside me Carling sat on the ground and grumbled. “I don’t know why I thought this was such a bright idea. I should be in bed sleeping and enjoying my Saturday.”

I grinned down at her. “It’s for a good cause, and one early morning run won’t kill you. You might even like it.” Over the past year running had been my salvation. While I never could outrun my problems, for a blessed period every day I could forget about them.

Carling wore a pained expression. “Never. Have you ever seen anyone who smiles while they run? It’s called masochism.”

She tied her running shoe and re-directed the conversation. She excelled at such maneuvers.

“You also forget.”

“Forget what?”

“This run is twice as long for me than you.”

Astounded, I stopped stretching. “It’s a five mile run. Last time I checked, we were all running the same route.”

Carling smirked.

“Your legs are twice as long as mine. That means for every step you take, I have to take two.”

Laughing, I reached out to help her up. “Only your warped mind would think of something as ridiculous as that at seven forty-five on a Saturday morning.”

Carling calmly accepted the assist. “It’s not ridiculous. Think about it.”

“I’m glad to see the two prettiest women here can think, laugh and run all at the same time.”

I stilled at the gruff voice. My heart pounding, I pivoted, forcing a bright smile. “Good morning, Detective.”

Carling hurled by me, flinging her arms around his neck. “Save me, save me, Sam, from this fiend. She and Kate coerced me into running.” She moaned tragically and burrowed her head against his shoulder.

I fought back a tinge of jealousy at my friend’s easy physical contact with Sam. I flushed as his gleaming eyes stared at me over Carling’s head and then slowly traveled up and down my body. Although I wore a zip-up sweatshirt over the firm’s T-shirt to guard against the November chill, my leggings, while practical for running, fit like a glove.

He righted Carling and then affectionately fluffed her black cap of hair. “I like the firm’s logo on the shirts.”

She tilted her face for his kiss on her cheek. “My idea of course.”

Sam cocked a brow at me. “Didn’t think the warm and fuzzy motto would be your partner’s idea.”

“Smart ass.” Carling released him. “Are you running today?”

He slowly shook his head. “No, I got stuck coordinating the damn thing again this year so I’m relegated to the sidelines.”

It was time to insert myself into the conversation. It was either talk or become hypnotized by the sight of Sam in his white regulation T-shirt and black jogging shorts. The man was all bronzed muscular arms and long, sinewy legs. His powerful chest tapered down to a narrow waist and hips. In the crowd of male participants, Sam was the essence of virility. He wore his prized Florida Gators cap tipped back on his head.

“Bull. The drug prevention program has always been your baby. You probably stood first in line with your hand raised for this race.”

The crevices lining the sides of his mouth deepened into a sheepish grin. “You’ve got me there, Red.”

Carling’s cell rang. She glanced at the display. “It’s Jared. He’s preparing a big trial for Monday. Hey, honey, how’s it going?”

Sam raised his voice. “Tell him to get his sorry ass over here.”

She held out the phone, and Jared’s sonorous voice succinctly told Sam what he could do with himself. Carling grinned, put the phone to her ear and turned away. I still couldn’t get used to my sharp-tongue friend practically cooing whenever she spoke to her boyfriend.

From the staging area I spotted Kate and Gabe, carrying bottles of water, pause and grab a lingering kiss. A sharp tinge squeezed my heart.

I was happy for the two women who had been my closest friends since law school, but at times I missed the close comradery we’d once shared. After all, we first hatched the idea of running a law firm together over dinner at the pub across from campus, although then we’d sarcastically dubbed it Debt, Default and Miscarriage Law Firm.

Now we were Dent, Rochelle and Sterling, P.A. We’d come a long way, but our paths were now branching out in different directions. That’s what grown women did, and yet I sensed I was the one getting left behind, at times in a cloud of dust.

A shadow fell over me and I realized with a start that Sam was so close his breath feathered my face. “What’s this about you getting flowers from a strange man?”

My partners hadn’t wasted any time. I kept an innocent look on my face. “A friend of a client sent them.”

Wasn’t it wonderful how one could hide behind the truth and make it sound like a lie?

“Two dozen roses don’t sound like a ‘thank you’ to me. More like a hit on.” He leaned even closer. “Do I know him?”

I slapped a hand across his chest. “Don’t pull that intimidating stance with me, Bowie. I’m not going to tell you his name.”

Sam placed one hand over mine, imprisoning it. He circled his other around my waist and drew my body against his. “Then how about a good luck kiss before the race, Red? If you make it soft, long and juicy, I may even give you my lucky hat so you’ll win.”

I relaxed against him, splaying my free hand up high across his chest for balance. “Is that right, big guy?” I ran my tongue over my top lip.

Desire darkened his eyes. With a stifled groan, he lowered his head. In one quick move I snatched his cap, broke free and danced out of his reach. As I flashed him a victorious grin, I slipped the cap on.

Sam fitted his hands to his hips and watched me. “I’ve never knew you to be a tease.”

I hadn’t either and the fun of being one was delicious.

“You owe me a kiss, Red, and trust me, when I collect, I’ll pick a time when we’re not in public.” His slow smile was dark and wicked with a promise.

I halted my celebratory jig.

“I have to go start a race. I’ll be watching for those long legs of yours and imagining them wrapped around my waist.”

As every erogenous zone in my body quivered to life, he turned. I breathed a huge sigh of relief intermingled with regret. I’d been so positive that it had been for the best to break up with him. But best for whom? My need for him was just as sharp and strong as ever, and he still wanted me too.

Watching his taut backside disappear into the throng of racers, I belatedly realized Carling had returned and was studying me. “What, Carling, what?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I think you’re nuts, that’s all.”

I lifted my eyes in supplication to the sky. “Why?”

“For letting Sam get away from you.”

I didn’t like being pinned by the truth and resentment welled up. “I had my reasons and he didn’t particularly try to hang on.”

Mentally I seized on that point. Sam hadn’t fought for me or our relationship. He’d walked away.

Carling snorted. “Only after you dusted him off.”

My mouth tightened. “He was only too willing to be dusted off.”

Shooting me a look of disbelief, she adjusted the number on her shirt. “Come on, let’s join Kate and Gabe. It’s almost starting time.”

We took our positions together. Through the crowd, I zeroed in on Sam at the front, raising the starter pistol above his head. At its sharp report, the pack surged forward.

Carling shouted at me, “Just because a man walks, Nicole, doesn’t mean you can’t get him back again.”

My friend was infamous for getting the last word. She also sure knew how to sprint out of harm’s way.

After the race we gathered together. Gabe and Kate suggested going to a bar on Clematis Street for a beer and a quick bite to eat. Carling called Jared and he agreed to meet us. The buzz from the race continued for me so when Sam approached our group, I planted a hand over the top of my head.

“You can’t have your cap back until you have a beer with us.”

At that moment my cell rang. I unclipped it from my waist and saw the display number. Like a rattlesnake, tension struck and my relaxed mood fled. “What is it, Sophie?”

“Your mother. I left her only for a minute and when I returned she was moaning and rocking back and forth. When I tried to ask what was wrong, she starting screaming.” In the background I could hear Mom’s wails. The insane sound drove tremors through me.

“I can’t get her to calm down.”

“I’ll be home shortly. Just don’t let her out of the house.”

I disconnected and gave everyone an apologetic smile. How many more times in my life would I have to make excuses for my mother?

“Sorry, guys, but I need to go home. Something’s come up with Mom.”

“Do you need help?” Kate asked, concern filling her blue eyes.

I needed all the help I could get, but how could I impose on friends? I had to shoulder this myself. I forced a smile and shook my head. “You all go have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I removed the cap and handed it over to Sam. “Good job with the race. I hope you raised a lot of money.”

I turned and walked away. Trying to maneuver through the crowd only upped my tension. Long minutes passed before I could get to my rental. By this time of the day, traffic packed I-95 so I did breathing exercises as I inched my way home. Finally I pulled into the drive. As I got out, two black pickup trucks parked on the street.

Stifling a sigh, I went to meet Kate and Gabe as they emerged from the first one. My friend gave me a quick hug. “Carling’s getting takeout. We figured we could all use a good lunch.”

Sam exited from the second truck and I looked from him to Gabe. “What’s with the matching pickups? Did you go buy them together?”

The two men gave each other a fist bump and simply grinned at me. Sam checked his watch. “Hey, let’s get a move on. The game’s about to start.”

I didn’t have to ask what game. Sam lived and breathed for the University of Florida Gators.

While I appreciated the gesture my friends were making, I didn’t know how bad a state my mother was in. “Look, Mom may be in one of her fugues, and there’s no telling what she’ll do or say…”

Kate circled her arm around my shoulders. “Then we’ll just have to cheer her up.”

Caving to the inevitable, I nodded and let her lead me into the house. “Chin up, Red,” said Sam as he put his hat back on my head and trailed a finger along my cheek. The guys then peeled off into the TV room.

Kate and I found my mother muttering to herself and pacing in an agitated manner back and forth in the living room. Sophie was as close to wringing her hands as I’d ever seen. Kate let her arm drop and I crossed the room to my mother.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” Forcing a smile like nothing was wrong, I reached out to give her a hug.

“Stay away from me.” She shrank away. Fear pinched her face. “They’re coming to steal my flesh and bones.”

I let my hands drop and fisted them by my side. “What are you talking about?”

“I recognized you on the screen.” She pointed with a trembling finger toward the other room where now the muffled noises of a game sounded. “You’re a body snatcher.” Tears began to ooze from her eyes.

Hell. She must have caught my most recent news interview and somewhere in her muddled mind, I’d become one of the monsters. A vise tightened around my chest. How to reason with her when she was in this state?

“Hi, Annette.” Kate approached us.

My mother gave her a frantic wide-eye glare. “Who are you? One of those body snatchers I saw on TV?”

“Of course not.” Kate spoke in a soothing voice. “I’m your biggest fan, remember?”

She pointed to a framed photograph taken of Mom at a party with several famous actors. “You were going to show me your album from your last play today?”

The strain on Mom’s face began to ease only to be replaced by a vague expression. “I was?”

Kate picked up another framed photo from the cocktail table, one of Mom and me when I was young at one of her opening nights. I’d always viewed that picture with a tinge of heartbreak. My parents had just separated and both Mom and I had plastered on determined smiles during our “it’s us girls against the world” stage. “You were going to show me all the wonderful photos of you and your beautiful daughter, Nicole, when she was little.”

Clouds shifted in my mother’s eyes and she looked at me with uncertainty. “Nicole, when did you get home?”

Mom never referred to her spells or withdrawals. She liked to pretend everything was normal so I only gave her a brief hug. “Just now. I brought over the gang for lunch.”

“How lovely, guests.” She gave my friend a wan smile. “Kate, how good to see you. What were you saying?”

“That you were going to show me the album from your Broadway years.”

“Oh yes, let me go get it.” She drifted from the living room toward her bedroom.

I released a long, slow sigh. “Thanks, Kate.” I looked at Sophie. “And thank you for watching her. I can take it from here.”

“Miss Nicole, there’s something I need to speak with you about.”

“What is it?”

“I have a new job. It’s full time with better benefits.”

Tension’s band drew tighter. Full time meant she wouldn’t be able to watch over Mom. I would have to find someone else.

“That’s great, Sophie. I’m happy for you.” And terrified for myself. “When do you start?”

“In two weeks. I’m already checking with my family and friends for someone to possibly help you out.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I followed her to the door and opened it.

Carling, holding bags of food and a newspaper under her arm, stood grinning on the stoop alongside another young woman with a rolling suitcase.

“Hey, I come bearing gifts. Chinese takeout…and your sister, who I found out here dithering over whether or not to ring the doorbell.”

I blinked. It had been over a year since I’d seen my half-sister Melissa. During that time she’d matured from a gangly teenager to a polished young woman wearing her blond hair in a stylish chin-length cut.

“Melissa, what are you doing here?” My brain cells finally wrapped around the fact she was at my house and there could be only one reason. “Is Dad okay?”

My sister shook her head. “Dad’s fine.”

Carling rolled her eyes. “Can we have this stimulating conversation inside? The food’s getting cold.”

“Sorry.” I moved aside and Carling forged ahead with Melissa in her wake, the wheels of her case rattling over the tile floor. Sophie wisely took her leave.

Carling disappeared into the family room where the guys were shouting at the game. However, Melissa lingered in the foyer. “I hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this.”

Since I doubted my sister bore gifts in her suitcase, I figured her version of “dropping in” held other ramifications. My cell still clipped to my waistband rang. “Hang on.” I checked the display. Right on cue. “It’s Dad.”

The young woman’s mouth thinned and her body stiffened. Hmm.

“Hello, Dad.”

Without preamble he demanded, “Is Melissa there?”

“Yes, she is.” I kept my gaze on her. “What’s going on? Did you two have a fight?”

“She’s just like you. Won’t listen to reason when she gets her mind set.”

“Nasty family trait.” I motioned for her to go into the living room where Kate sat with livid curiosity on her face. I figured this call was going to take a while.

“Don’t get flippant with me.” Irritation was sharp in Dad’s crisp voice. “Rather than taking the internship at my company, Melissa wants to work in a law firm. She got admitted into law school without consulting with either her mother or myself about what she was planning.” What? My sister had been destined to work for the Sterling electronics business.

I gave Melissa a nod. “Congratulations on getting into law school.”

She sat on the sofa next to Kate and lifted her chin. Another Sterling trademark. “Thank you.”

Two eggrolls in hand, Sam strolled into the room. His intent gaze went from me to Melissa. “I figured you all would be hungry.”

Mentally groaning, I sank into one of the wingback chairs. He offered one to me and then went over to my sister. “Here. I’m Sam Bowie.”

“Melissa Sterling. I’m Nicole’s—”

“Sister.” Sam nodded. “She’s told me all about you.”

I had? I took a vicious bite of the eggroll.

“She has?” Melissa shot me a quick glance.

Kate folded her arms and glared at Sam. “You didn’t bring me a roll?”

“Got you covered, honey.” Gabe wandered in with a white paper bag. Close on his heels was Carling, who plopped herself down on the sofa on the other side of my sister. Somehow they seemed to be offering her a frontline of support. After handing Kate a roll, Gabe stood next to Sam. The spacious room suddenly overflowed with people. I downed the rest of my eggroll.

“Hello? Nicole? What’s going on?”

I leaned back in the chair and spoke into the phone. “An impromptu convention, Dad. Care to join in?”

I could hear him muttering under his breath about daughters. “Listen. You’ve always been Melissa’s idol.”

“I have?” Startled, I glanced at her but by now a cool, restrained expression had slipped over her face.

“Yes, so here’s how I look at it. If she’s around an actual law practice, she’ll learn fast enough that it’s all about money and not some lofty concept of justice. Just like you did.”

His observation sucker punched me. Granted, I had burned out for a little bit, but I hadn’t lost faith in the justice system. I hadn’t sold out. My fingers tightened on the cell’s case. “Did I?”

Dad ignored my question in his typical quest to get what he wanted. “If she could spend a few weeks working for you, I figure she’ll see the light and come home.”

“Dad.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s not so simple. I have two partners. I’ll need to discuss Melissa interning at our office with them.”

Both Kate and Carling straightened, looked at each other and then at my sister. Kate smiled. “We’ve been talking about advertising for a law clerk at one of the local schools.”

I stared at her. “We talked about it as one of the stepping stones when we had enough business.”

Carling waved a hand. “And we do. All that publicity brought in a flood of new clients. I could use a hand with research.”

“We could use someone to run to the court,” Kate added.

Melissa gave me a cautious look. “I’ll work real hard for you, Nicole. And I can help you out around the house. I’ll sleep on the sofa if there’s no room.”

Hence the suitcase. Dad and his family lived in Hallendale along the beach so it would be quite a drive every day in congested traffic.

Kate said, “She could help fill in for Sophie and give you time to look for a good caretaker.”

Everyone stared at me, waiting for my answer. I ventured a glance at Sam and he cocked his eyebrow in silent challenge. I pressed my forehead against the palm of my hand and wondered what the hell I was getting myself into.

“Fine, Dad. Melissa can stay with me and work at our office as a clerk.”

Kate and Carling high-fived each other and then hugged a stunned Melissa. Dad and I made a few more arrangements before hanging up. My sister swallowed. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I found the album, Nicole,” Mom sang out as she entered the room. The conversation halted and everyone’s mouth dropped open. She wore a leopard-spotted unitard with tufts of hair. The scent of mothballs drifted on the air.

I had to hand it to her; she always knew how to make an entrance. I settled back for the show. “Oh good, Mom. Cats. One of my favorites.”

Chapter Nine

Later that afternoon I set up my laptop and eraser board in the Florida room. Since Melissa was taking the spare bedroom I used as an office, I had enlisted my friends to help move my stuff out. Once the game was over, everyone had left. However, Sam had lingered until I booted him out after returning his prized cap. With Mom taking her afternoon nap and Melissa settling in, I had craved that rare moment of peace and quiet and no people.

I perched on the edge of the sofa and started to gather the newspaper tossed about the glass-top coffee table. The words hospital and grant in a headline caught my attention, and I scanned the article. When I finished reading, I whistled softly.

“Something interesting in the news?” Melissa stood uncertainly just inside the room.

Might as well see how my suspicions sounded aloud. “A biomedical facility called OraGen has donated a large grant to the Oceanview Medical Center.” Suddenly, the name clicked, and excitement hummed inside me. One of the institute’s brochures had been on display in the Depp Funeral Home.

“Oceanview’s where you were attacked.”

“Yes.” Despite the hospital’s attestations that it wanted the culprit caught, its team of attorneys had effectively stymied the police investigation. I rose and drew a triangle on the eraser board. One point I labeled suppliers, listing funeral homes and hospitals. The second point, distribution. I noted ice cream trucks and a ? for others. The third point I tagged collection/sales center.

“What are you doing?”

“I like to map out a case from timelines to all the possible suspects.”

“But I thought your client hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”

I paused and gave Melissa a tight smile. “You’re correct.”

“Then why bother with all this?” She pointed at the board.

My flippant answer of “once a prosecutor always a prosecutor” died on my lips when my mother appeared in the archway, tears flowing down her cheeks.

I put down the marker. “Mom, what’s wrong.”

“They’re coming for me,” she wailed. “I saw them standing around my bed waiting for me to die so they can steal my body.”

I wrapped my arms around her shaking shoulders and drew her frail frame close. Alzheimer’s was not only sucking her essence away but also leeching her physical body as well.

“Don’t you worry. I won’t let them get you.”

I looked over at Melissa. “Why am I working a case that’s not mine? Because it’s personal. They made it personal when they attacked me in the hospital, and now Mom’s dreaming of bogeymen.”

Understanding lit Melissa’s eyes and she nodded. “Here, Mom.” I guided her to her favorite chair. “Sit down and we’ll play your favorite movie.”

She sniffed. “Sound of Music?”

“You bet.” I went to the TV cabinet, sorted through the DVDs and found the musical. I popped it into the player and turned the set on. The phone rang and Melissa sprang up to get it.

I adjusted the set’s volume. “Nicole, it’s for you.” She came back into the room and extended the portable phone.

“Thanks.” As the opening scene rang out, Mom joined Julie Andrews in singing about the hills being alive with music, and I crossed into the living room.

“Hello?”

“It’s Maria.” Maria was the firm’s go-to secretary. “The office messaging center forwarded me a call from Brian Whitman. The police have arrested Claire.”

“Call him back and tell him I’m on my way.” I disconnected and walked to the stand to replace the phone. I was mentally ticking off what I needed to do when I noticed the message light blinking. I pressed Play. A rough voice spoke in a sing-song manner.

“Annette Sterling, we’re coming to take you away, ha-ha. We’re coming to take away your flesh and bones, ho-ho, hee-hee.”

I heard a gasp behind me and a white-faced Melissa came to stand beside me. “Nicole, that message.”

“Yes.” Fury raged inside me as I hit Save on the machine. “The call didn’t come in this morning before I left for the race. Sophie mentioned she had left Mom alone for a few minutes right before she had her spell. I bet Mom overheard the message as it was being recorded.” I jotted Sam’s number on the notepad I kept by the phone. “Here. Call Sam and tell him about this. Get his ass out here. I’ll be home as soon as I bail out my client.”

Still pale, Melissa nodded. I started to turn but paused. I reached out and touched her arm. “I know you walked into a mess, and I won’t blame you if you want to get out of here. But please wait until I get home.”

The shadows lightened in her eyes and she gave me a fierce hug. “I’m not going anywhere. We Sterlings have to stick together, right?” She released me. “Besides, you’re right.” She tapped the phone. “This is personal.”

“Damn straight.” I’d get the bastards who dared terrify a sick woman. I raced into my bedroom and changed. Grabbing my purse, I headed out to the front door. I heard singing and crossed into the living room. From my vantage point I watched as Melissa leaned forward and joined Mom in the final bars of “Do Re Mi.”

The heavy chain that had been hanging around my neck for so long suddenly felt lighter.

A sharp, cold wind whipped through the detention center parking lot. I wrapped my jacket tighter around me as I watched Brian Whitman bundle his almost-catatonic wife into a car being driven by a family friend. During the first appearance she’d stood so withdrawn beside me that I’d had to nudge her to get her attention.

Fortunately, the bail had been low given the nature of the charge. The judge had deemed the defendant not to be a risk to others or for flight. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a risk to herself.

Brian patted his wife’s shoulder. “I’ll be home as soon as I swing by the office to get some paperwork.” He shut the door and hunched his shoulders as he watched the car drive off. When he turned, he started at seeing me. He gestured with his hand at a black SUV a few spaces away.

“Do you need a ride? I have to pick up several charts of patients Damian has agreed to take on.”

“No thanks. I have my car here.” I hesitated then stepped closer to him. “Brian, Claire needs a mental health specialist.”

The overhead lights threw his face into stark relief. Dark shadows deeply underlined his eyes and weariness carved his face. He too was on the brink, I realized.

“We have an appointment tomorrow to see a psychiatrist Damian recommended.”

I lightly touched his arm. “Be sure to take care of yourself as well.”

“Don’t worry. The appointment is for both of us.”

“Good. I’ll call you later this week to go over the defense. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to get the hospital records. I’m going to try to corner either the administrator or the pathologist tonight.”

“Oh?” His eyebrow shot up. “No rest for the defense, huh?” He smiled. “Nicole, I can’t thank you enough for all your support during this tough time.”

“You’re welcome. Just get some rest.”

“Will do.” He got into the driver’s side of the SUV and moments later the taillights glowed red as he sped off.

With my own car keys in hand, I stood considering the stygian darkness. Sam had called earlier to report that he’d retrieved the phone message. He also told me black-and-whites would make frequent patrols of the neighborhood. I had already called the phone company to change our number. While a new number wouldn’t deter someone bent on harassing me and my family, it would buy me time to go on the offensive.

The Oceanview Medical Center was only a short drive away. I remembered seeing the phone message that tied Hassenfeld and Depp together. With the funeral director dead that left only the pathologist to question.

I pulled out my cell and made a quick call. Pretending to be a funeral home needing to pick up a body, I confirmed Dr. Hassenfeld was the pathologist on duty tonight. Satisfaction filled me as I made the next call.

“Hello, Red.” Sam’s voice rumbled in my ear. “I’m having the phone company track all calls made to your house over the past few days.”

Good thing I took most business calls on my cell.

“I thought I’d give you a head’s up that I’m heading over to Oceanview to interview Hassenfeld again.”

“Nicole, you can’t do—”

“This is a courtesy call. Come or don’t come. Bye.” I hung up and slid into the front seat. With any luck, I could be at Hassenfeld’s office before Sam came charging in.

Ten minutes later, after ignoring several calls from Sam, I pulled into the entrance of the hospital parking lot. Red and blue lights flashed on the far side. I found a spot close to the entrance and parked. A police car turned into the lot, its tires squealing, and sped to where the other lights glared.

I crossed the lot and saw a group of people gathered in a semicircle. Oceanview’s administrator Dr. Rosa Cruz stood weeping while one man patted her shoulder. Dread formed a sick ball in my stomach as I approached.

Spotlights threw garish light on the stained sheet covering a body sprawled on the blacktop. The shroud itself was pitched at unnatural angles. A black pool emanated from one end. Silhouetted against the macabre scene, one man stood with his hand on his hip, staring at me. Sam.

He motioned to an officer, ducked under the crime scene tape and then walked toward me. Without breaking pace, he took my arm and propelled me away from the spectators. “Damn it, Nicole. I don’t have time to babysit you right now.”

I dug my heels. “I don’t recall asking for your protection. What’s happening?”

Sam’s jaw turned to granite. “It’s Hassenfeld. A hit-and-run as he was walking to his car.”

As the implications struck me, I wrapped my arms around my middle to stave off a shudder. “Anyone see the vehicle?”

He rocked back on his heels. “We’re interviewing witnesses now but so far nothing. I got the call right after I left your house. Go home. You can’t do any good here and the person you came to see is dead.”

Sam turned and walked back to the taped-off area. I rubbed my arms, aware of the bone-freezing chill of the night. I resigned myself to going home, but then Dr. Cruz broke out in a fresh bout of sobbing. I crossed over to where she was standing.

“Dr. Cruz, I don’t know if you remember me—”

“You’re that attorney.” Her lip curled in a sneer.

“Yes, Doctor. I represent the Whitmans.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” The man in the white lab coat who had been patting her shoulder glared at me. There was always more than one way to get information so I switched tactics.

“I totally understand, Dr. Cruz. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about Dr. Hassenfeld. I really enjoyed meeting him that one time. He had a larger than life personality.”

Another round of tears welled in her eyes. I groped about in my bag for the travel package of tissues I always carried and offered it to her.

“Thank you.” The woman took a moment to blot her face and blow her nose.

“In fact I was meeting with him tonight.” Nicely done, I thought. I didn’t say whether the pathologist had been expecting me.

“Oh.” She crumpled the tissue in her hands. “David didn’t mention it to me.”

“What a shame. I was hoping he’d located Rebecca Whitman’s records.”

“Those records?” Dr. Cruz shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t have anything to do with them. Besides, they haven’t been found.”

Another dead end. I tried another angle. “I’d asked him for information about OraGen. My firm has a client who has expressed interest in donating her organs.”

The other woman gave me a mournful smile. “That well may be David’s lasting tribute to the hospital.”

“He was instrumental in getting the grant?”

“Oh yes. He met the CEO at some seminar and one thing led to another through the connection.”

Were there other connections? Had the pathologist been involved in the organ pipeline? He’d once been a heart surgeon, after all. However, I didn’t think I would learn anything more tonight.

“Perhaps OraGen would consider putting Dr. Hassenfeld’s name on the new division?”

“Perhaps. An excellent suggestion, Ms. Sterling.” She took one last look at the tarp and said under her breath, “Now that bitch ex-wife will no longer be able to hound him about money.”

“That bad a separation? He mentioned he was divorced.”

She shook her head. “The worst. But if you will excuse me, I need to call his family.”

“Of course.”

Dr. Cruz turned and walked toward the nearest hospital entrance. I had a case with no clear direction. It was as if all the play’s actors had scattered off the stage with only an invisible director to script the next scene. That disembodied voice that had terrified my mother.

Dread slithered around my chest and squeezed. Where could I turn now for information?

Chaos still reigned as the curious onlookers stood in pockets talking and gesturing around the taped-off area. Flashes of light exploded as a photographer recorded every detail. One tech placed markers while another made measurements. In the center of the storm, Sam stood still, his hands planted on his hips as he studied the scene.

Like an artist he would be absorbing every nuance the crime scene painted, processing the information. Then as a hunter he would pursue every clue, every twist and turn the evidence would take him.

Nature might churn out those who preyed on the innocent, but it also produced those who served to protect. The band of pressure eased. Sam would never give up, nor should I.

He turned his head and zeroed in on me immediately. A slow wink sent a shimmer of electricity racing through me. Then he jerked his head in a signal for me to go. Smartly, I snapped a salute but instead of smiling, Sam pulled out his phone. Moments later mine rang.

“Yes?” Oh man, my voice sounded breathless.

“You owe me that long, slow kiss, Red. Prepare to ante up tonight.”

As I watched, my knees too weak to risk my taking a step, he blew me a kiss, hung up and then turned back to the crime scene. Damn. All I could think about was his clever mouth feasting on mine.

Or vice versa.

I knew he would come. Wearing a silk nightie under a thick, white terry cloth robe, I sat curled up on the sofa in the dark. Mom and Melissa had gone to bed, and the house was silent. When his pickup pulled up in front, I rose, slid on slippers and crossed to the door. Quietly, I opened and closed it behind me.

As I walked down the drive, Sam ambled around the truck and leaned against the fender of the passenger side. My feet took flight and suddenly I was running to him. He opened his arms and gathered me close. His body radiated strength, warmth and security. I buried my face against his chest and for a few moments cherished being held.

“Sam, what’s going on? First Depp and now Hassenfeld are dead.”

He ran a comforting hand along my back. “I’m not sure, honey. The car that hit Hassenfeld was stolen. We found it abandoned and wiped clean in a parking lot a few blocks away. We’re checking the area for any security cameras. According to hospital staff, Hassenfeld received a phone call and said he had to leave.”

Sam continued to stroke my spine. “It could be someone panicked and is cutting off any loose ends.”

I lifted my face. “But why now? The Whitman incident couldn’t have thrown that big of a monkey wrench in an operation of this size. All they had to do was to suspend activity for a while until the heat was off and then pick up right where they left off.”

Sam’s breath feathered my face. My skin tingled and the rest of my body tightened in response. “They probably were rattled because an avenging angel by the name of Nicole Sterling asked one too many questions.”

“Me?” I almost squeaked as his hand cupped my bottom. He widened his stance and pressed me until his erection nestled against the crux of my sex. I burned with need.

“Hush.” He lowered his head and nipped at my lips. “Don’t want to wake the neighborhood.” He nuzzled my forehead. “I don’t know about the bad guys, but you make me want to sink to my knees every time I see you in one of those prissy business suits and high heels.”

Sam tightened his hold and I splayed my hands across his chest. Arousal gleamed in his obsidian eyes. “Of course, no one else had better ever think of doing to you what I dream of every night.”

His touch unleashed a dark thrill of yearning, and the cover of night made me reckless. For once I didn’t want to think about consequences, I simply wanted to live in the moment. I rocked my hips against him, seeking to cradle his erection.

I wondered if he realized we were about to push past the remnants of our former relationship and hurl ourselves off the precipice to the unknown.

With a growl low in his throat, he kissed me. Hot, hard and furious. He tasted impossibly of man and sex. Desire whipped through me, immediate and hungry. When had his touch gained such power over me?

I tugged his shirt loose and ran my hands over the silky hair covering his taut abdomen. Sam hissed, muttered a short oath and untied my robe. He slid his hand under the nightie.

“Christ, Red. You’re not wearing any panties. Do you know how hot that makes me?”

My system hit flash point and brain cells melded when he kneaded my flesh. Then he slid a finger into my cleft, ripping a moan from my throat.

“Wrap your legs around me, honey,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. I complied, bring us center to center. The world shifted as he turned holding me and opened the truck’s rear door. My bare bottom met the leather seat. I released my death grip on Sam long enough to scoot backward. He followed, pausing only long enough to shut the door.

Then he covered me, his weight crushing me into the cushion. He slid the robe off my shoulders and then lowered the gown’s thin straps. He hooked a forefinger in the V of the nightie and drew it down exposing my breasts. The chilled night air cooled my heated flesh only for a moment before Sam planted open-mouth kisses along my throat across my chest.

I threaded my fingers through his thick hair and urged him on.

The rasp of his tongue tortured first one nipple and then the other into exquisite points. He slid his hand between our bodies and cupped me.

“You’re so hot, wet and ready for me.”

Desperate, I reached down trying to find the front of his jeans and nipped his shoulder. “And I need you to be as ready.”

Sam’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Yes, ma’am.” He levered himself up, allowing me to fumble with the button and zipper. His rigid length distracted me and I had to run my hand over it.

“Damn it, honey,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Quit playing around or I’ll never make it.”

“Then hurry.” Victory was mine when the zipper came down and I could fill my hands with Sam’s erection.

“Don’t want to play fair, do you?” He maneuvered to the edge of the seat, reached into the jeans’ pocket and removed a foil packet.

“Came prepared?”

“Hey, I worked the cattle range as a boy and college student. You learned to carry everything you need for survival.”

Jealousy flared in me. “Found that many hot cowgirls in the wild?” God, my voice sounded downright prissy.

He grinned. “There’s only one woman I’m interested in and she’s lying scalding hot in my arms right now.” He reached between my legs, moistened a finger, and rubbed the sensitive nub. The spiraling tension inside me tightened.

“Damn it, Sam. Get your pants off.” I reared up and helped him pull down the pants and briefs over his slim hips. With a quick move he rolled a condom on. Then he lowered himself and seized my mouth in a scorching, open-mouthed kiss.

I ached for him. I sank my fingers into the straining muscles of his shoulders and hooked my legs around his hips, opening myself totally to him. He broke off the kiss and raised his head. “Look at me, Nicole.”

His gaze locked with mine, he thrust into me. Again and again so deeply that I thought he would touch my heart. I heard low moans and realized the sounds were coming from me. Then everything inside me tightened and I shattered. With one last thrust Sam stiffened with a low harsh groan and carried me with him into that heady fall.

Long minutes later Sam nuzzled my neck. “I don’t know about you, but my butt is freezing.”

I gave him a light slap across his bare cheeks. In response he pumped his hips against me once. My core throbbed, ready to have at it again.

“Like things a bit rough, do you?” His eyes hooded, Sam nipped my lower lip and then soothed it with a gentle flip of his tongue. “I’ll have to remember that.

“However—” he dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose as he withdrew from my body, “—truck sex, while decidedly hot, can’t accommodate what I want to do with you the next time.”

Sam pushed up too quickly and cracked his head on the roof. “Shit.”

I laughed, bracing myself on my elbows. The laugh died as he stared down at me. I thought I would melt under the passion of his gaze. “Damn, you’re beautiful, Red.”

His hands trembled as he gathered the edges of my robe closed across my breasts. Then he sat on the edge so I could swing my legs to the floor. After we had righted ourselves, Sam opened the door and helped me down. The sharp edge of the wind set my teeth to chattering and I wrapped my arms around myself. I spotted my slippers on the sidewalk where I’d kicked them in my mindless dash. I slid them on.

Sam leaned close and took my mouth. His kiss was hard, fast, hot. “Get inside before you freeze that delicious butt off.”

He broke free and circled around to the driver’s side. I waited until he was inside the truck and tapped on the passenger window. He rolled it down and scowled at me. “Are you nuts? You’ll catch a cold.”

“Have you ever played cop and suspect?”

Disbelief chased across his face before he threw his head back and laughed. “And to think what those lawyer suits have been hiding all this time.” He opened the glove compartment. The low glow of the light glinted off the metal bracelets heaped inside.

“Anytime, anywhere, Red.”

I lifted a brow. “So long as I get to play the cop.”

“I’d surrender to you in a heartbeat.” He rolled up the window, pointed toward my house.

I slowly walked up the drive. At the door I turned as I heard the low roar of the truck driving away. Sex with Sam had been everything I’d ever imagined and more.

It had been life affirming. For a few minutes I’d been wrapped up only in his essence and it had been good.

So good.

Chapter Ten

Monday morning I gingerly made my way from the parking lot into the office. That energetic session with Sam in the back seat of his truck had left me with more than a few sore muscles. However, the inner glow hadn’t faded. As I walked along the bank of offices, Carling stood outside hers, speaking with Maria.

“Good morning.” I gave them a bright smile and hurried on. If I was lucky…

“Not so fast, Sterling.” Carling made a fist and pounded on Kate’s door. “Rochelle, shake a leg in there. Nicole and Sam have done the dirty deed.”

Sighing, I entered my office and set my briefcase and purse on the floor by the desk. I sat in my chair and watched in resignation as my partners hurried in. “Do you mind closing the door?”

Kate paused only to tug the door closed even as several staff members began to gather outside. Then she hurried over to a chair, sat and neatly smoothed her skirt as she crossed her legs. Her sharp blue eyes studied me and she nodded. “Carling’s right.”

“What?” My voice croaked as I glanced down. “Am I wearing a blazing neon sign announcing I’ve had sex?”

Carling grinned. “No, but you’re wearing the expression of a woman who’s been thoroughly pleasured.”

As I thought of how thoroughly, my cheeks warmed. “Where’s Melissa?” Last thing I wanted was my half sister in on this conversation. She had left for the office early this morning to get set up under Carling’s supervision. I’d waited for Sophie before departing.

“I’ve set her up in a cubicle.” Carling waved her hand. “She’s already researching case law for a motion I need to file.”

“Now, no more delaying tactics.” She leaned back and stretched out her legs. “We want every last juicy detail.”

“There’s nothing really to say. Hassenfeld was killed last night—”

Kate looked puzzled. “As in Dr. Hassenfeld at Oceanview Medical Center?”

“One and the same. After Claire Whitman’s first appearance, I went over to the hospital to dig around again for the records. However, I was too late. When I arrived, someone with a car had mowed Hassenfeld down.”

“Don’t tell me.” Carling cocked her head. “Sam was one of the investigating officers.”

“Yes.”

“There goes your body count up another notch.”

I rolled my eyes. “Anyway. He came by later to check on me and one thing led to another.”

Carling waggled her eyebrows. “Living room, kitchen or bedroom?”

“None of the above.”

“None?” My partners exchanged glances.

“Nope.” I cleared my throat and dropped the bombshell. “Sam’s truck.”

I almost pumped my fist at the stunned expressions on their faces. Carling recovered first. “You had truck sex?”

“Yes.”

“Front seat or back?”

“Back.”

“At least there’s a little more room, but still kind of cramped for getting it on.”

Kate made a low humming noise in her throat. “Quiet, Carling. If you haven’t experienced truck sex, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

Carling grinned. “Likewise if you haven’t done it in a Lexus. The main problem is the leather road rash afterwards.”

“Not if you’re on top.”

“Ladies.” I clamped my hands over my ears. “Way too much information this early in the morning. How about discussing the shattered remains of my case?”

Carling said in a loud conspiratorial whisper to Kate. “Sam must have been off the Richter scales in the love making department.”

“We didn’t make love, we had brain-exploding sex,” I corrected. Liar.

Both women sat back with smug smiles. Before either could speak, I held up my hand. “Seriously, with both Depp and Hassenfeld killed, I’m literally at a dead end.”

Kate frowned. “But as horrible as the circumstances are, that’s actually good for the case. The two key witnesses who might have provided evidence against Claire are dead.”

“There’s something else you don’t know about Mom’s spell on Saturday.” I rose, rummaged in the purse and pulled out my cell that I had recorded the message on. “I found out someone threatened her.” I played it and watched the amusement flee from both my friends’ faces, only to be replaced by outrage.

When the recording ended, Kate shook her head. “That’s plain sick, Nicole.”

I placed the phone on the desk and crossed to the eraser board I had set up on a stand tucked in the corner of the office. “Hassenfeld had a sick sense of humor, but how did he find out about my mother’s condition? I never even told Sam about it until last week.”

Picking up a marker, I tapped it against the board. “If it was Hassenfeld trying to scare me off again—”

“Again?” Kate asked.

“I have to assume it was he who knocked me out at the hospital. He had the body strength to load me into the drawer.”

Kate shook her head. “I wouldn’t make that assumption yet, even though it might give you peace of mind. A woman with help could have managed it.”

A dim memory stirred. “You’re right. At one point I thought I heard voices raised in argument.” I drew a question mark under the column I’d made for the hospital. I had already listed the administrator’s and pathologist’s names.

“A diversion.” Carling straightened.

“What?”

“The call. What if someone did know about Annette’s condition? What better way to distract you than to push her mentally into the deep end?”

My fingers tightened around the marker. “All my other cases right now are pretty standard, your bread-and-butter thefts, assaults and DUIs. The only unusual case is the Whitman one.”

Kate shook her head. “Ladies, don’t go zooming in on one tree yet. Let’s linger on the forest for motive a while longer.”

“What else is there?”

She rose, walked over to me and grabbed the red marker. In big letters she wrote one word: Revenge.

“Your role in the discovery at the funeral home was all over the news, Nicole,” Kate said in a quiet tone. “Anyone you prosecuted in the past or was unhappy with your representation could have made the call.”

I stared at her. “Damn, the list of suspects could be in the thousands, and I can’t access my files at the state attorney’s.”

“We can have Melissa go through our files and compile a list of possible disgruntled clients since we started the firm. The court docket is gradually going online, so we can have her review and pull together the information on your prosecutions.”

“Besides,” Carling interjected, “if I know you, you’ve maintained notes on many of those cases at home.”

“Okay, so we set Melissa to Dumpster diving into my past files.” I turned my attention back to the board. “Now all I have to do is find a thread on the organ ring to follow. I read up on a few of the ones that have been busted in other states.”

I began making notes on the board. “The ring needs a source of supply, which are the hospitals, morgues, crematories and funeral homes. Normal incentive is financial. One ring paid a thousand dollars a body.” I drew another column.

“Then they recruit what are called ‘cutters,’ people who remove the tissue and bones. Those people would need some medical knowledge, but could be nurses or paramedics. By the way, it turns out the ice cream truck driver, Joe Poellinger, had been a medic in the military, discharged for dishonorable conduct. However—” I tapped the board, “—the organs would have to be removed when the person is alive or just expired to be viable. My bet is the ring has doctors on the take.”

Kate studied the board. “Doctors make a lot of money. I can’t imagine the pay being high enough to take the risk.”

I thought of Hassenfeld and his divorce. “Not all are plush and there can be other motivating factors such as blackmail.”

“Good point.”

“Then there is a collection and distribution point where the ‘merchandise’ is sold. They need refrigerators and freezers.”

Carling appeared beside us and grabbed a marker. She scrawled legitimate corporation? and then delivery company. “Unless they’re a strictly online or overseas market operation, they must be selling to medical research facilities and other places in need of bone and tissue. That means they’re dealing in the guise of a legitimate enterprise right under the nose of federal regulation.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. She grinned. “You’re not the only one who can research. If they’re shipping, then they have to be using one of the delivery companies.”

Kate drew a line from supplier to the distribution center. “We’re overlooking one thing. The transportation from the funeral home to the storage facility. What information do you have on that ice cream truck at the Depp Funeral Home?”

I shook my head. “The company reported it stolen.”

Kate drew a picture of a truck and circled it.

“Before or after the police band would have been carrying the calls about an ice cream truck involved in criminal activity?”

I opened and then closed my mouth. That was the beauty of brainstorming together. One of us always brought a different insight to the board, saw what another didn’t.

“Good question. One that I intend to find the answer to.”

That afternoon I drafted a motion in limine on the Whitman file to exclude any evidence of the death of their first baby. I didn’t need to wait for the prosecution’s preliminary lists of witnesses or evidence to know that the state would be sliding that insidious information into the trial one way or the other. I needed to make a preemptive strike to keep any reference out. If the judge ruled for me, the prosecutor would have a major hurdle to overcome in terms of circumstantial evidence and might drop the case. If the judge’s decision was unfavorable, then at least I could advise the Whitmans about the odds of prevailing once a plea deal was offered—and one would be laid out at some point.

I became aware of a spike in conversation outside my door in the main office. One staffer stood and craned her neck. We had a secured reception area with a panic button. Still…I rose to check out the situation.

Sam walked through the door followed by a breathless Maria.

“Good afternoon, gorgeous.” Absurd that even the sound of his voice could send a tingle through me, stirring my blood. I walked around the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“Nicole, I’m sorry.” Maria gave me an anxious look. “He flashed a badge and said he had to see you.”

“That’s okay. This is Detective Sam Bowie.”

Her eyes widened. “The Sam—”

I cut her off. “If you could please close the door…”

She nodded and shut the door.

Sam prowled around the room like a caged panther. I cast a quick glance at the board. Good, I had covered it before meeting with my last client. I leaned against the desk.

“What’s up? Has there been a development in tracing the phone call?”

He shook his head and stopped before the vase of faded roses sitting atop a built-in bookcase next to the window. The afternoon sun threw the craggy lines of his face into sharp relief. Abruptly, he turned his head and speared me with his keen gaze. “Are you feeling okay?”

For a second I wondered why I wouldn’t be and then the reason for his question hit me. I could feel my face warm. I cleared my throat, “I’m fine, Sam.”

He raked fingers through his hair. “I was rough with you last night.”

“I’m not fragile. I didn’t break.”

His mouth crooked. “I wouldn’t say that, Red. As I recall, you shattered in my arms.”

By now I was positive the tips of my ears were flame red. “How’s that gigantic ego of yours working for you?”

He stalked across the room, circled his arm around my waist and drew me close. I loved every delicious second of his movements.

Then his mouth came down on mine, and thoughts scattered. Didn’t matter I was in the middle of a work day. Didn’t matter I needed to find a replacement caretaker for my mother. My whole universe zoomed in on this man and how he made me feel.

As suddenly as he’d kissed me, he broke free, leaving me to grope for the edge of the desk for balance.

“How about dinner and then you could come to my place?”

I gulped in some air to give my brain cells a chance to coalesce. “I can’t. Sophie can’t watch Mom tonight.”

“You have Melissa.”

I shook my head. “Too much to dump on her so soon. The first weekend was a rough start, to say the least. Fortunately, Mom’s taking Melissa’s presence in stride. She’s got someone to sing along with her during The Sound of Music.”

“Next thing you know they’ll be on one of those reality talent shows.”

I winced at the thought. Mom would probably love it. “Don’t even think it.”

“Honey, sooner or later you’re going to have to share the responsibility. I think you’ll find Melissa’s cut from the same tough genetic cloth as you were.”

“Baby steps, Sam.” I wrapped my arms across my middle. “I’m used to handling things alone. Even brainstorming the case with Carling and Kate is not something I would have done several years ago.”

“I shudder to think of what the three of you came up with.” He cast a considering glance at the covered board. “How about dinner tomorrow night then?”

I stared at the wilted roses across the room. “I can’t. I have an engagement. How about Wednesday night?”

His eyes narrowed. “Engagement as in a date?”

“Engagement as in a drink with a potential witness.” While stretching the truth, Damian Quint, who had called this morning, could be a character witness for Claire down the road.

To distract him, I rushed on, “Was the ice cream truck at Depp’s reported stolen before or after the discovery of what it was carrying hit the police bands?”

Instead of answering he crossed to the vase. “Did your ‘engagement’ send you these?” Before I could answer, he reached out and plucked the card free from the clip.

“Damian Quint.” Sam spat out the name like it was bullets. “That sleazeball at the funeral home.”

“Yes.”

“I knew I should have roughed him up at the time. I can still roust him.”

“Chill the testosterone overdrive. He’s a friend of the Whitmans and I’m hoping to get some insights as to their background.”

“That’s not what he’s angling after, Red.”

“I can handle him.”

“I don’t want you going out tonight.”

My temper began to fray. Jealousy was one thing; possessiveness another. I stormed over and stood toe-to-toe with him. “You don’t own me, Sam Bowie.”

Sam rocked back on his heels. “Maybe not, but you should know Joe Poellinger bailed this morning.”

My anger eased. “The ice cream truck driver?”

“Yes. He could have just let you go at the funeral home. But his pursuit of you through insane traffic indicates he didn’t want any witnesses, and that motivation isn’t going to change after a few days in jail. He may come after you again.”

Disappointment slapped my silly heart. Sam hadn’t come to see me because of last night; he’d been doing his “protect the people” thing. I let the hurt frost my voice. “You’ve done your job. Consider me forewarned. Now if you would excuse me, I’m busy.”

He cursed. When he reached out, I held myself stiff, but he only cupped my face. “Nicole, being a cop is as much a part of me as being an attorney defines who you are. You may be a burr under my skin, but you’re the one I lay awake at night worrying about.”

I lifted my hand to cover his and rolled my eyes. “A burr? You say the most romantic things.”

“You’re the wordsmith. I prefer action.” He lowered his head and kissed me. A long, slow, sumptuous kiss that built a different kind of heat than I was used to with him. Rather than the wild flare of passion, this was a gentle simmer, stirring my heart.

When he raised his head, I let out a sigh. He ran his hands along my upper arms. “Promise me this much. As soon as your date with Quint is over, I want you to call me.”

“I will.”

He kissed my forehead and left.

Chapter Eleven

I wasn’t about to give Sam the last laugh, so I gritted my teeth behind a bright smile as Damian droned on about himself. At least the Clematis Street restaurant was reasonably busy for a weeknight. Space heaters kept the sidewalk area warm for outside diners like us. Strings of tiny white lights danced in the breeze that tunneled through the buildings on its way to the Intracoastal Waterway.

Although the restaurant constantly underwent ownership and name changes, Carling, Kate and I frequented it enough that I was a familiar face to the staff, which is why I named it as the meeting place. A safe, neutral ground.

It wasn’t that the man sitting opposite me wasn’t attractive—the number of women ogling as they passed by was proof of that. Nor was it he couldn’t make intelligent conversation. So far he had covered a wide range of topics from politics to his favorite, feet.

The reason Damian Quint was quickly damning any chance at a second date was the unrelenting “me, me, me” and “I, I, I” in every sentence. Moreover, there was a smooth sophistication about him that set me on edge. Almost as if a sheen of oil coated the slickness. Tonight he wore an exquisitely tailored navy blazer and tan pants. The way the light glinted on his nails when he raised his glass of cabernet sauvignon made me positive he had them buffed to perfection.

At the first sign of trouble, Damian probably would think “everyone for himself” and leave me in his wake. As I raised my glass to take another cautious sip of my favorite California chardonnay, I decided I liked men a little more rugged. Like the man dressed in worn jeans and a black crew neck sweater making his way to sit at the farthest table away…

Sam. I choked on the wine. I set the wine glass on the table with a sharp clink.

“Are you all right?” Damian leaned forward.

“Fine.” I coughed and grabbed my napkin to dab at my tearing eyes. Thank God Sam had taken his position behind Damian where the podiatrist couldn’t see him.

Since the night was going downhill, I used the break to seize hold of the conversation.

“So, you first met Brian in school?”

“Yes, I was a class ahead of him. Then of course, I went on to get my surgical fellowship. I was—”

“When did you meet Claire?”

He blinked. “Let’s see. When Brian and I were in practice together in Chicago.”

I lowered the napkin. “I didn’t realize you had worked together.”

“Oh yes.” Damian sat back in his chair and gave me a cool smile. “I take it he hasn’t mentioned it?”

“No, but it’s understandable. He has his hands full right now.”

“That’s true.” He swirled the dark red contents of his glass. “The practice didn’t last long. I decided a warmer climate would be better for business.”

“Excuse me?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “People up north wear boots for long stretches of time. In the south it’s sandals all year. Women and men, for that matter, want their feet to look nice so…” He shrugged. “Proved to be a profitable move.”

“Were you still living in Chicago when the Whitmans lost their first child?”

“No, but I flew back for the funeral. They were devastated by the loss of—” his brows knitted together as if he sought to recall the baby’s name and then smoothed out as he gave a slight shrug, “—of their baby. I urged Brian to consider a fresh start in Florida. Eventually he and Claire moved here and I sent him several referrals.”

He toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “This second loss, of course, is a major setback for them. How strong is the case against them?”

Over Damian’s shoulder I saw the waiter serve Sam a beer. He tilted it in my direction. Deliberately, I focused on Damian. “I can only discuss their case in generalities.”

“Of course, but I would like to help.”

“I learned the name of the lead prosecutor today. She’s not one of their top notch prosecutors which means the state’s not giving it highest priority. However, she’s not fresh out of law school so they are giving the case some weight.”

“I see. Will you need a neonatal expert?”

“Yes, I’ll need medical testimony to differentiate between SIDS and infant apnea.”

His gaze sharpened. “Apnea?”

“Yes, the paramedics were able to revive Rebecca before reaching the hospital, so we’re not dealing with sudden infant death syndrome.”

Damian reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gold pen. He grabbed a paper cocktail napkin. “I serve with Dr. Chang on the Oceanview board of directors—”

“Oceanview?”

Irritation pinched his mouth. “Yes.”

“Did you know Dr. Hassenfeld?”

“The over-aged hippy? Yes, he served on the board.” He studied me. “This is starting to feel like an inquisition.”

“Sorry, but I’m representing a very frightened woman.”

“I would think with Hassenfeld’s unfortunate death that Claire’s right to a speedy trial would work to your advantage.”

“Yes, that’s one of the things I’ll be discussing with the Whitmans later this week. The problem with a speedy trial is the inability to do adequate discovery. Surprises can work both ways.”

“Still without a proper autopsy, isn’t the case based largely on circumstantial evidence?”

“Yes, and expert opinion.”

“Here’s Dr. Chang’s phone number. Give him a call. He’s very busy but I’m sure he’ll give you a consult if you use my name.”

He flagged a waiter down. “Would you like another glass of wine? If you’re interested, there’s a contemporary art exhibit at a gallery that just opened next to City Place.”

I gave an apologetic shake of my head. “It’s been lovely, but I have several hearings tomorrow that I need to prepare for.”

With surprising speed his hand darted across the table and seized mine. “I don’t suppose your faithful little bodyguard over there in the corner has anything to do with your decision?”

I tugged but his fingers only tightened in a painful grip. “Stop it, Damian. You’re hurting me.”

He sneered. “Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. I made him the moment he crossed the street to slink behind me.”

Enough. I didn’t want to cause a scene because that would bring Sam breathing hellfire. However, I wasn’t about to be a pawn in whatever game Damian was playing. I gauged the angle and gave a swift kick under the table.

“Ow!”

His shin didn’t stand a chance against the pointed toes of the Bruno Maglis that had been a birthday present from Kate.

Damian’s grip loosened and I yanked my hand free. Grabbing my purse as I rose, I took a step back and almost bumped the table behind me. I turned my head slightly. “Excuse me…”

A man with a stocky build in his forties sitting by himself glared at me. Despite the chill he wore the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing a myriad of tattoos. His crew cut almost bristled with indignation. No, it couldn’t be my former client Trevor Jordan’s father.

Last I heard the father was still in jail. In the aftermath of his courtroom outbreak, the authorities had found an outstanding warrant for possession of firearms. Trevor’s maternal grandmother had taken him in like he said and hopefully given him the stable environment the young man so desperately needed.

Then I saw this man’s eyes and hair were dark whereas Tommy Jordan had been fair. “Sorry.”

I turned my attention back to the immediate problem at hand. During the brief period I had been distracted, Sam had materialized beside Damian and had his hand clamped tightly on the other man’s shoulder. The testosterone emanating from the two men almost steamed in the cool air.

Anger blazed in Damian’s eyes but he managed a tight smile. “I guess the party’s over. If you would be so kind to remove that beefy hand of yours, Detective, I’ll pay the bill. Unless you wish to take care of it.”

Sam released his grip and Damian flexed his fingers. Then Sam slapped the man between the shoulder blades, causing him to lurch forward. “Thanks, pal, for offering to pick up the tab.” He dropped a receipt on the table. “The lady and I will be on our way.”

Sam ambled toward me, draped an arm around my shoulders and urged me in the direction of the street. I cast a look at the next table but the burly man was no longer there. Didn’t like the free entertainment, I supposed.

Sam turned and headed toward Olive Avenue.

Because there were too many pedestrians around to make an even bigger scene, I asked tightly, “Where are we going?”

“You parked at the city garage on Banyan like you always do, didn’t you?”

Was I that predictable? “Yes, it’s well lit and there’s plenty of people at this time of the night…” Stop it. No need to defend my choice of parking.

“Then that’s where I’m taking you.”

When we reached a storefront closed for the night with no listening ears nearby, I dug in my spike heels. “Damn it, Sam. What the hell did you think you were doing back there? I got nothing out of Quint.”

A scowl replaced Sam’s normal good ol’ boy expression. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned in to me. “You have no sense at all, do you Red? Is defending every sob story that walks into your office worth your life?”

The light from the display window cast the harsh planes of his face into shadows. Anyone looking at the surface would view him as menacing. However, I looked past the anger and saw the concern in his eyes. I stepped into him and placed my hand over his heart.

“Not every sob story, Sam, but some. Justice is a two-way street and not everyone accused is guilty, you know that.” I narrowed my eyes. “This isn’t about my meeting with Quint, is it? What’s happened?”

The tension eased from his body, and he covered my hand. “I’ve traced the call made to your house.”

“Who made it?”

“I don’t know that yet. It came from the jail.”

“The ice cream driver,” I said without hesitation. “Joe Poellinger.”

“He’s at the top of the list, of course. We’re checking to see if he made any calls that day and when.” Sam’s fingers tightened around mine.

“But, honey, you’ve put a lot of criminals behind bars. Any one of them could have used the fact you were headline news to take a renewed swipe at you. We’re cross-checking names in the detention facility against those you’ve prosecuted.”

“That’s stretching it, Sam.”

“I agree it’s slim pickings, but it’s all we have at the moment.” He slid an arm around my waist. “Let’s get you to your car and I’ll follow you home.”

We started walking again and reached the corner of Clematis and Olive where we waited for the light to change. Traffic this time of night remained a constant flow as people trolled the restaurants and nightclubs. A group of pedestrians gathered on the corner directly across from us.

“So the only reason you skulked in the corner of the restaurant was you were worried about me?”

Sam kept his gaze fixed on the traffic signal. “Exactly.”

As the light turned and the opposite group surged forward, I managed to poke him in the rib cage with my elbow. “Jealousy had nothing to do with your spying on me tonight?”

“None whatsoever.” Sam stepped off the curb.

“Liar,” I muttered as I followed him.

An engine roared to life on the west side of the intersection, and a dark sedan pulled out from a parking spot. People screamed as it shot across Clematis and nearly missed a northbound car. Horns blared. The sedan swerved and then righted itself.

Sam spun even as he bent over. “Get back.” He drove his body into my middle section and lifted me over his shoulder.

“Oomph.” I braced my hands on Sam’s back as he jumped back on the sidewalk. I lifted my head in time to see the car take dead aim at our corner. Then I gripped the waistband of Sam’s pants and held on for dear life as he sprinted into the deep alcove of the corner front store.

Metal screamed as the car bounced up on the curb and then veered off again. Burning rubber filled the air as the unknown driver gunned the motor and sped down Clematis. Brake lights flared and then disappeared as the car turned toward Narcissus.

Sam shifted and lowered me until my feet touched the ground. Having jelly for bones, I wrapped my arms around his waist. Sam kept one arm around my shoulders as he unclipped the phone from his waist.

A young man wearing a backward baseball cap appeared in the alcove. “Are you two okay?”

I let out a breath and answered as Sam belted out directions in low, urgent tones. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

The man gave a low whistle. “Talk about being drunk. It was like his car had you two in its radar.” He smiled at Sam who closed his phone. “Man, was that some sprint you did with the lady. Did you use to play football?”

He nodded. “Tailback.”

“You still have some moves.”

Sam’s teeth flashed. “With proper motivation I can still haul ass.” He slid his hand down and gave me an affectionate pat on my rear. “Lovely ass that it is.”

The other man snorted, gave a thumbs up and moved away.

I didn’t know whether to hit Sam or kiss him.

“Lovely ass my foot.” I threw a quick jab into his upper arm.

Sam laughed and rubbed his arm. “Quint’s the foot pervert. Me, I’m partial to how your butt moves in those skinny skirts you’re always wearing.”

Then his expression sobered and he ran a reassuring hand up and down my spine. “Are you okay? It was nearly the death of me when I saw that bastard making a beeline toward you.”

The quick retort I was about to make died on my lips. “Me? You were standing right next to me. Besides, it was a drunk driver, wasn’t it?”

Sam shook his head. “When the car passed under the intersection lights I caught a good look despite the tinted windshield. The driver was wearing a ski mask over his face.”

It was cold for Florida, but not that cold. I shivered and Sam’s arm tightened around me. “Still, he could have been gunning for you.”

He brushed his lips against my forehead. “I think tonight is connected to Saturday’s phone call. They’re both personal. You sure have royally pissed someone off, Red.”

I lifted my face and kissed him. “I have a funny way with people.”

An hour later the adrenaline buzz had changed into an edgy hunger. A need to celebrate being alive. The moment Sam closed the door after we stepped inside his townhouse, I turned and pressed my body against his. Even as I hauled his head down with one hand to kiss him, I used the other to trace my fingers along the bulge pressing against my stomach. His erection grew, hardened.

“Umm. Nice.” I sucked gently on his lips, enticing his clever tongue to surge into my mouth. His kiss was deep, bone-melting hot. I released my grip around his neck so that I could use both to tackle his belt.

Sam broke off the kiss. “Christ, honey, slow down. The bedroom—”

“Too far.” Belt buckle undone. Waistband button next up. I attacked it feverishly.

“Sofa then.”

“Not if I get your pants off first.” The button popped loose and I went after the zipper.

With a groan, Sam fitted his palms to my butt and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and tried to hook my thumbs into the bands of both his briefs and pants.

He staggered into the living room. “I’m going to drop you if you don’t stop.”

Laughing, I nipped his ear. “I thought with proper motivation you could still haul ass.”

Sam drew me so close that my hands were trapped between our bodies. He strode across the room and dropped me squealing onto the sofa. He sprawled heavily on top of me. Passion whipped through me as the juncture of my thighs cradled his erection. He kissed me deeply as he reached down and hauled the skirt up to my waist. His callused hand moved on my thigh. The exquisite sensation was so intense that I cried out.

He paused and lifted his head to search my face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Don’t stop.” I shoved my fingers through his hair and dragged his mouth back down to mine. My eyes closed as the haze of desire filled me.

He groaned low in his throat and I heard something tear. The crotch of my panties I realized a moment later when his fingers parted me and I felt the broad head of his shaft. He entered me only slightly and paused.

I lifted myself against him, trying to take him deeper. “Now, Sam.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” he murmured. His back muscles strained beneath my hands. “Open your eyes, honey. I want to watch them glaze.”

I obeyed and, with a smile, touched his face. “Here’s looking at you, Sam.”

He surged into me and as our bodies found a rhythm only we shared, I allowed the sense of the connection to sweep me to completion.

Chapter Twelve

“Do you realize what you’re doing?”

Thursday morning, I sat in my office staring at Claire and Brian Whitman. The repercussions of the bomb they had dropped were staggering, and I knew exactly who was behind this maneuver—Damian Quint. Melissa, who was sitting in the corner to observe, stirred. With an effort, I kept my voice even.

“Demanding a speedy trial means the state has to try your case within sixty days. Claire, that means very little preparation time. I may not be able to depose all the state’s witnesses. I may not be able to complete the entire discovery that needs to be conducted.” It was sad but true. Justice didn’t always come before people’s schedules.

Her once vibrant face now only a strained mask, Claire looked to her husband for guidance. Brian gripped her hand. “You yourself said that two of the key witnesses are dead. Without Dr. Hassenfeld’s testimony and no autopsy performed at the hospital, the prosecution will have to rely on his bare bones report, which is favorable to us.”

If it was even conceivable, the stress was taking a far greater toll on him. Brian looked like he had aged twenty years, deep lines scored his face and shadows haunted his eyes.

“That means the state’s case is all circumstantial evidence,” he said.

“They still have the death of your prior baby.”

Claire visibly flinched and grew pale. Oh yeah, I was so not going to be able to put her on the stand. Not at the rate she was falling to pieces. I had Gabe Chavez, our firm’s investigator, working on what he could learn about the death of the Whitmans’ first daughter.

Brian leaned forward. “But you said you would move to exclude the evidence.”

“Making a motion and winning on it are two different things. Certainly the case law is strong in our favor, but admissibility is decided on a case by case basis.”

I took a deep breath. “If the judge denies the motion to exclude any evidence concerning the death of your first child, there may not be time to regroup.”

“We’ll take our chances. The way I see it, the state has a weak case. Why allow the prosecutor more time to shore it up?”

He had a valid point, but in the end, only one person’s opinion mattered in this room.

“Claire.” I looked directly at my client. “Are you positive you want to go forward with a speedy trial?”

She swallowed. “Yes, I’m certain. I can’t have this hanging over my head any longer than I have to. I need to be able to grieve alone, in private. I need to pull the pieces of my life back together and go on.”

Brian lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips against the back of hers. “We both need to put this all behind us and see where our lives stand. And whether we still want children.”

His quiet pronouncement sent a chill along my spine. Surprise flashed across Claire’s face, and she shook her head. “Brian, maybe it’s time we thought about adopting a child.”

Brian’s mouth set. “We’ll talk later,” he said in a repressive tone.

Uh oh. He was the “children of my own loins” sort. I had no doubt that he would persuade Claire to try for another baby, but not on my watch. I planted my hands on top of the desk.

“Claire, Brian. Whatever you decide, use birth control for now. A pregnancy might send a very wrong message to a jury panel.”

To my surprise, Brian agreed. “You’re absolutely right.”

I reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a document. “Claire, I need you to sign this form. Basically it states that I’ve explained the legal implications of your options and you want me to request a speedy trial on your behalf.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward and, as she scrawled her signature, I fought through the myriad of things of preparation for trial.

Brian reached inside his jacket and withdrew a card. “I know a neonatal expert through business associates and met with him yesterday. He says he can help Claire, so I want to use him.”

I took the card he extended. To no surprise I glanced at it and saw the name Lee Chang, M.D. embossed on the heavy stock paper. My apprehension grew. Exactly who was controlling whom here?

While I was more than worried about Brian’s almost Svengali-like influence over Claire, it appeared Damian Quint was casting a long shadow over the defense of this case.

I gave Brian a neutral smile. “I’ll look into him.”

“You do that. He said he would give us a break on his usual fee because he was interested in the case.”

After I’d shown the couple out, I returned to my office, sat down and swiveled to face the board.

“Are you all right?” Melissa hovered in the doorway.

I waved her back in, propped my elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled my fingers as I continued to consider the cast of characters known so far in the case. “Anything about that conference strike you as strange?”

“I think Mrs. Whitman is about to break.” Melissa hesitated a moment and then continued, “Mr. Whitman is making all the decisions.”

I tapped my fingertips together. “At least he’s giving all appearances of doing so.”

Melissa glanced at a folder she was holding. “I’ve been researching on the internet and calling around about experts like you asked. The name Mr. Whitman mentioned did come up.”

“I bet Dr. Chang has a resume a mile long.”

She blinked and glanced down. “Actually, he does. Serves on numerous hospitals and boards.”

“Including Oceanview.”

“Yes.” She frowned. “If you don’t think Dr. Chang’s any good, I have other names.”

“Dad mentioned more than once you had a head for figures, which is why he always thought you’d join the business. You’re also handy with computers as I understand it.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “I was a double major in business and computer information systems in college.”

“Good. I want you to dig into every source of financial information you can on every name that’s listed on the board. If they stole their lunch money, I want to know about it.” I swung my feet down to the ground and stood.

“If you need me, I’m going to check out the super expert Dr. Chang.”

With a concerned expression, Melissa also rose. “Nicole, what’s wrong?”

I gave her a tight smile and grabbed my bag. “Lesson number one in criminal defense. There’s nothing more humbling than knowing your client is setting you up from the start for an appeal based on her attorney’s incompetency.”

Dr. Lee Chang gestured at a leather chair in his spacious office. “Ms. Sterling, please have a seat.” He went around the clean-lined modern desk and sat down in an executive-style leather chair. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands.

“I was absolutely thrilled when Brian approached me about my being an expert witness. I’d been following poor Claire’s case quite closely.”

I balanced a portfolio with a notepad on my knee. “I was wondering how I could show up and see you immediately.” I’d been so positive I would get in that I hadn’t even had the office alert him I was coming.

He gave me an unabashed grin. “Even as we speak, my secretary is moving several appointments. Normally I’m booked for months in advance.”

I glanced over at the bank of windows. Dr. Chang’s office was located in yet another medical complex that had sprung up on the western edge of Palm Beach County close to where a new hospital had been built.

“I appreciate your time. As you know, my client’s been charged with the death of her baby girl. Complications in our defense include the couple losing their first child to sudden infant death syndrome.”

Dr. Chang shook his head. “Not a rarity for a family to lose more than one child to SIDS. However, as I understand it, infant apnea caused the most recent mortality.”

“I was hoping you could help me there, Doctor.”

“I’ve conducted published statistical studies that I’ll be able to use and explain to the jury.”

“In our favor?”

His lips twitched. “Of course, Ms. Sterling.”

“It’s Nicole. If we reach an agreement about your being our expert, I will want to review those studies and go over all aspects of your testimony.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “You said ‘complications.’ Would the other one be the fact that the child’s organs were removed?”

“Yes.”

“Monstrous.”

Perfect opening. “Yes, it was. I understand that you serve on the Oceanview’s board of directors.”

“I have the honor.”

“Won’t that present a conflict for you?”

A small furrow appeared between his brows. “I’m not following you.”

“The baby’s organs were removed at some point between the Whitmans’ house and the funeral home. One of the suspected places is the hospital.”

His expression cleared. “Dr. Cruz has been reassured by the police that the desecration occurred at the funeral home.”

That would be nice and tidy, but somehow I doubted if that was how Sam viewed it.

“You have to be prepared in the event the prosecutor raises the issue.”

Dr. Chang leaned back in his chair. “I’ll have a ready enough reason, Nicole. I have privileges at every major hospital in the county. If it were true the child’s body was mutilated at Oceanview, I’d be properly horrified and would want the culprit brought to justice. With David’s unfortunate death, I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth.”

“How well do you know Dr. Damian Quint?”

He straightened and clasped his hands on top of the desk. “Not well. On occasion we exchange a few words at a meeting. Why?”

I spread my hands palms up. “It’s my understanding he was the one who recommended you to Brian. I’m trying to understand the relationship among the three of you…in the event the prosecutor asks.” Always blame it all on the prosecutor.

He chuckled. “Strictly professional. There may be an occasional referral, but you’ll find that to be true for all doctors. If someone has a mental or physical problem beyond our specialty, we’ll refer the patient out, often to someone we know.”

I made a movement to rise and then paused. “You mentioned your relationship to hospitals, Dr. Chang. Do you serve on any other boards?”

“Several charities. Here.” He picked up a thick folder in front of him. “I have one of my presentation folders to give you. It contains my resume, a list of cases for which I’ve served as an expert, and copies of articles I’ve written. I’m sure you’ll find the answer to all your many questions.”

I took the hint, stood and grabbed the folder from him. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ve taken enough of your valuable time. I’ll be in touch.”

He rose as well and escorted me to the door. “The pleasure’s all mine. I look forward to helping Brian and Claire.”

I managed a normal pace as I walked through the reception area, positive the doctor remained in the door watching me. The moment the heavy wood door closed behind me, I let out a sigh of relief and hurried to the bank of elevators.

Wasn’t it interesting that whenever he referred to the Whitmans his tone had assumed an air of familiarity?

The ride down was swift. As I exited the elevator, I spotted the large glass case by the entrance to the outdoor common area. Curious, I crossed the green marble floor and found it contained not only a diagram of all the buildings but also a directory. Loads of medical offices with an occasional attorney, most on the civil side of practice. I shuddered to think what the rent must be as I looked through the floor-to-ceiling bank of windows at the meticulous landscaping and massive fountain sparkling in the center of the industrial park. Too expensive for our firm and besides, I liked the character of our 1920s building.

As I scanned the surroundings, the name on a sleek one-story building directly caught my eye: OraGen. I pushed open the door and walked around the square. On closer inspection the building had no glass front and the door was metal with a sign stating Visitors By Appointment Only. Another sign indicated delivery access was at the rear of the building.

I didn’t catch the cameras hidden under the overhang until I was at the entrance. I kept strolling and ducked my head to look at my portfolio. Hopefully, I looked like someone who was lost.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed what few windows the building had were blackout tinted. While whoever was working inside could see out, no one could see in. When I reached the next office building, I cut around to the backside and found a parking lot bordered by a utility road that circled the complex.

At OraGen only a few cars occupied the lot. Either it maintained only a small staff or it had killer work hours. I completed the circuit of the commons and hurried to my rental. Instead of turning toward the main entrance, I drove the utility road, slowing slightly as I passed my target. Two doors, one atop a delivery ramp, stood closed. A truck with a familiar overnight delivery service logo sped by me and pulled into the lot of the medical research building. I kept going.

I headed back toward the city. From the size of the grant OraGen had given to Oceanview Medical Center, one would have expected a much larger operation. I tapped my fingers on the folder Dr. Chang had given me. Although I didn’t possess a photographic memory, I was certain OraGen wasn’t on his disclosure list of corporate involvements.

However, I knew who had been connected to the company. Time to check out a file at the courthouse. Nothing more interesting than a divorce case for illuminating reading.

Although it was only five-thirty when I arrived home, dusk was giving way to winter darkness. As I pulled up the drive, the car lights caught a square silhouette on the stoop. I collected my purse, exited the car and walked up the path. The dim porch light revealed a garden-variety white mailing box. Since I hadn’t ordered anything, I prayed Mom hadn’t gotten hold of the phone. The last time she’d watched one of the shopping networks, she almost maxed out her credit card. One more loss of independence for her. I’d had to take her cards away and hide them.

Sophie opened the door and smiled. “You’re home early.”

Light flooded the porch. Underneath the box was a dark stain. The young woman glanced down. “Oh, I didn’t hear anyone ring the bell.” She knelt to pick up the box.

“Sophie, don’t touch that.” I raced up and grabbed her arm. “Please get my mother and take her out through the back over to your place for now.”

“Why?” Confusion flashed across her face, but she obeyed and stepped back into the house. “Is it a bomb?”

“I don’t think so, but we’re not taking any chances.”

I pulled out my phone and punched my by now favorite speed dial number. He answered on the first ring. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Sam, I need you to get to my house like yesterday.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a box on my porch and it’s bleeding.”

Chapter Thirteen

“It’s an animal not a human heart,” Sam said as he sat next to me on the living room sofa. He braced his elbows on his legs and loosely clasped his hands.

A wave of relief swept over me, taking off the sharp edge of tension. The house was quiet now. Only the occasional click of Mom’s old clock on the wall had been my companion as I’d been forced to observe the investigation as a victim, not as someone who served the law. When Melissa had arrived home from the office, I had sent her protesting over to Sophie’s house.

Outside, the law enforcement activity was dissipating. Through the window I’d been watching people pack up their equipment. The throng of onlookers was thinner now. For the hundredth time I studied the face of any stranger. Tucked away in my pocket was a slim digital camera. While the crime scene photographer had taken pictures, I’d stood to the side snapping my own. Not of the package but of the crowd.

“Run me through your day. Who did you see and what did you do?”

I shrugged. “Spent the morning meeting with clients. Then I visited a possible expert and killed off the rest of the day at the courthouse.”

Sam’s mouth tightened. “Names and places, Nicole.”

“Are you going to contact them about this?”

He rolled his eyes up. “No, I’m going to sell them cookies. Of course I’m going to contact them.” He pulled out a notepad and pen.

“I’ll need to call them first but I will furnish you a list of names.” Idly, I wondered how many would drop me as their attorney. Police scrutiny was something most of my clientele wanted to avoid like the plague.

“What time did you leave the office?”

“Around noon. I drove out to the new medical complex off State Road 7.”

“Who did you see?”

I bit my lip. Chang’s name would be a clear arrow pointing to the Whitman case, but someone sinister had come on to my property. I shrugged. “Dr. Lee Chang, a neonatal expert.”

“For the Whitman case?”

I nodded and then thought about the only unusual thing I’d done that day. “When I was leaving I noticed the complex housed a company by the name of OraGen. The name’s come up with Dr. Hassenfeld’s…”

Disbelief flickered in Sam’s eyes before his cop’s immutable mask slammed down over his face.

“You know the company’s name,” I said slowly. “Is it part of the organ transplantation investigation?”

He reached over and snagged my wrist. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. The buildings bordered a square and are connected by walkways. I simply walked over to the one housing OraGen. When I spotted all the security cameras, I kept on moving. No one was around, except for a few cars in the back.”

The tension flowing from Sam’s fingers eased, but he thrust his face close to mine. “Listen to me. Your job is to defend the Whitmans, not to find out who’s behind an organ black market. You walked away from being a prosecutor, remember?”

“What about the fact someone’s trying to frighten me, to keep me from doing my job?”

He sighed and pressed his forehead against mine. “Honey, I think about it every damn minute of every damn day.” Frustration shimmered in his tone.

I tugged and he released my wrist. I touched the side of his face. “I need to learn the truth, Sam. You can’t stop me. Tonight a monster walked up to my house with two defenseless women inside. I’m going to find out who’s behind this. It’s my fault that this creep has brought Mom into this mess, and I’m going to get her out.”

He stared at me with incredulity. “You can’t believe you’re responsible for what happened tonight.”

“Who else could be?”

“Oh, let me think here. The slime ball who did it? People are responsible for their own actions, honey. In my world they get up in the morning, pull on their pants and decide to carry a gun. Or buy a knife. Or make any other number of decisions that lead them to commit a crime.”

My lips twitched. “If only it were so simple.”

“It’s your job to create all the excuses absolving people. Mine? Get the criminals off the streets and when the justice system dumps them back on, get them off again.”

Legal absolution of sins? Is that what I was doing? Wrapped in the concept of absolution was forgiveness. I rarely forgave myself, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to forgive whoever was behind the package. I lowered my hand and glanced out the window. Nearly everyone was gone.

“Are you done with the porch now? Is the scene of the crime officially released?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I need to get a bucket of water and bleach to clean off the spot before I allow Mom to come home.”

“I’ll help.” Sam stood and offered me a hand, which I declined. Somehow, even the act of standing on my own two feet without assistance was a small step in regaining control of my life.

He dropped his hand. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

Panic skittered through me. The vulnerability that had been threatening to overwhelm me since I found the package screamed for me to say yes. However, to concede to that weakness and ask Sam to stay would signify a new step for me in our relationship. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for unexplored territory, to accept that I needed him to make me feel safe again. So I opted for what I did best: push him away.

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood tonight.”

Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Damn it, Nicole. You mean more to me than sex, and you know it. This is what happened last year. When we start getting close, you threw the Archer screw-up in my face. I’m not going to walk out on you like your father did on you and your mother.”

Was I doing that? Holding up other men to Nick Sterling? “Sam…”

He spun and stalked toward the door. “If you ever decide you need me, give me a call. In the meantime, I’ve got a few crimes to solve.”

The door swung open followed by a burst of excited voices. Carling and Jared, Kate and Gabe, and finally Melissa poured into the foyer.

“Why didn’t you call us?” Carling was first up to bat. “Melissa had to let us know what happened.”

Sam gave the group a brusque nod. “Don’t you know? Nicole can shoulder the whole world’s responsibilities with no problem.” He brushed by them and left.

The other two men glanced at each other and followed him, leaving the three women to descend on me as a unit. Strange how Melissa was fast becoming part of our lives, I realized.

I gestured. “I was going to clean the front stoop.”

“Sit.” Kate wrapped her arm around my shoulder and with slight pressure drew me down next to her on the sofa.

“What happened with Sam?”

I shrugged. “He offered to stay the night.”

Carling flopped in the wing chair. “Sounds like a good idea to me, but I take it you didn’t?”

“I hope you didn’t hurt his feelings because of me.” Melissa perched on the edge of the other chair. “I’m twenty-one.”

My mouth curved briefly. “No, hon, I didn’t turn him down because of your being here.”

“Then why the heck not let him stay? Someone left a pig’s heart—”

“Carling.” Kate interrupted her with a warning note in her voice. “I’m sure Nicole is very aware of what happened tonight.”

“Oh, right.” Carling subsided.

Kate turned her bright blue gaze on me. “The pending question is why did you turn him down? Until whoever is doing this to you is caught, it wouldn’t hurt to have extra protection.”

“Especially when that protection is a hunk and a half.” Carling grinned.

I glanced at Melissa and then stared at my hands clasped in my lap. “Sam accused me of having trust issues because of my father.”

“Abandonment issues.” Kate nodded. “Know that one well. It’s a real bitch.” Kate would, having grown up parentless, raised by her great aunt and uncle after her drunk mother managed to kill herself while skiing naked down a mountain slope.

“Mom told Dad he was a real dick for how he handled his break-up with Annette.”

We all looked at Melissa, who flushed. “I overheard her yelling at him on my fifth birthday.”

“What happened?” Carling asked.

“I was crying that day so Mom asked what was wrong when I should be happy. I told her that I didn’t want my daddy to leave like he did Nicole when she was five. Mom went ballistic and told him from here on out, he was going to make it right. No more separation of family.”

That’s why I started getting invitations to all the Sterling parties and other get-togethers. Melissa nibbled her lower lip. “I know your mother and my father didn’t work, but maybe it was because they grew too far apart. Mom and Dad have been together twenty-one years and although they fight here and there, I can tell they still love each other.”

She leaned forward, earnestness glowing on her face. “What I’m trying to say is please don’t let Dad’s screw-up keep you from finding happiness. He would hate that, I know it.”

I glanced out the window at the three men huddled together on the front yard. “What diabolical plan do you think those three are hatching?”

“Gabe’s going to take a second look at the list of people with possible grudges against you,” said Kate. “We all agree that this feels personal, beyond someone trying to warn you off from a case.”

“Even though you’re no longer with the state attorney’s office, Jared says you’re still one of them and he’s going to comb through your old prosecutions,” Carling added.

“How’s Mom holding up?” I faced Melissa.

“She fell asleep so Sophie told me not to worry about waking her. She’s going to spend the night there.”

I nodded and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

I walked outside to where the men were gathered. “Gabe, Jared, could I have a moment with Sam?”

They both flashed grins and peeled away. Sam stood with his hands propped on his hips. I took two more steps, wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his chest until I could hear the solid beat of his heart.

All the words I’d thought of saying fled and I simply said, “Stay.”

His arms circled around me and crushed me tighter. He rubbed his face against the top of my head. Then he pointed. “Look.”

Kate, Carling and Melissa had emerged from the front of the house carrying buckets, bottles and sponges. Melissa knelt with sponge in hand, hesitated a moment and then attacked the bloodstain with a vengeance.

I smiled. “This weekend would you take a look at the windows and doors and then go with me to buy whatever I need to beef up the security?” After all, commitment to do something together a few days away was no big deal.

He raised a hand and stroked my hair. “Sure thing, Red.” Then he kissed me. Not a hot kiss of passion but rather one filled with comfort and tenderness. I was aware of the others hooting but deep inside me the hard icy ball of insecurity melted.

The next morning I showered and dressed for work in record time. It had been a long time since we’d had a man in the house overnight and Sophie would be bringing Mom home soon. I entered the living room in a rush but the folded sheet and pillow were the only evidence Sam had been here.

Then I heard the low rumble of his voice and the modulated one of my mother’s from the kitchen. I leaned against the jamb. I would store the memory of this moment in my heart, and in the future I would take it out from time to time to cherish it. Cradling a mug of coffee in his large hands, Sam sat sprawled in a chair at the kitchen table while Mom stood at the stove frying eggs and bacon.

In the days before the grayness had descended over her, it had been Mom’s tradition to cook breakfast on Sundays. Eggs, bacon, French toast, pancakes, crepes. Whatever mood she was in, that’s what she would cook. However, the first time I had found a burnt pan smoking on the stove and Mom in the living room staring blankly out the window, I’d put a kibosh on her cooking.

Now looking at the sheer joy on her face, I wondered if I kept her wrapped needlessly in a batting of protection. Sam switched his watchful gaze to the door and gave me a broad wink before resuming his vigilance. Was I being too quick to ban activities because I was too busy, too impatient to give my mother room to be normal during her lucid periods?

I walked over, bent my head and kissed her cheek. Mom started and gave me a guilty look. She was cognizant today. Good. I gave a big smile to let her know everything was all right. “Smells great.”

“When I found your big, strapping man sleeping on the sofa, I figured he could use a good breakfast.”

“You would be right, ma’am,” Sam drawled.

I rolled my eyes, grabbed a mug and poured coffee. I took a cautious sip—Mom often equated a tablespoon to a cup. I gave an audible sigh. The brew was strong but drinkable. Sam grinned. “I made the coffee, Red.”

I mouthed the words thank you.

“By the way, your sister wins the early bird contest. She grabbed a quick cup to go and said she had to get to the office. Something about a ton of research.” Speculation gleamed in his eyes.

“One of the rude awakenings, I’m afraid.” I leaned against the counter. “It’s not all lively court scenes like on television.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mom hesitate with a tong full of bacon, as if she didn’t know what to do next. I took a plate from the three stacked on the counter and slid it toward her.

“Thanks, honey.” With renewed confidence she transferred the food, and I carried the plates to the table. Once she sat down, I gave the stove a quick survey to make sure all the burners were turned off.

We sat in companionable silence until Sam polished off the last bit of food from his plate. “Annette, that was delicious. You sure scramble a mean egg.”

My mother gave him the smile that used to light up the stage. “Thank you. I always did love cooking for men.” She gave me a sly look. “I keep telling my daughter that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

He reached out, gently took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Mine already belongs to you.” Mom blushed and giggled like a young girl.

I about had to scrape my jaw off the table. As it was, I had to clear my throat. “Did you sleep all right, Sam?”

“Not at first. I kept feeling something hard stabbing me in the back until I turned on the light and found this.” He fished in his jeans’ pocket and pulled out my camera.

I stared at it. I had totally forgotten about the photos I’d taken.

Mom clapped her hands together. “Let me take a picture of you two together.”

“I’ve a better idea. Let me take one of the two prettiest women I know.”

She scooted close to me and I put my arm around her too thin shoulders. “Smile, darling.”

After the flash went off, I held out my hand. “I’d like to download these onto my computer before I leave. Something I want to check out.”

Sam handed over the camera. “That’s the slickest way of getting out of clean-up detail I’ve seen.”

Glancing at my watch, I grimaced. By the time the dishes were loaded in the washer…

“Go.” He laughed. “I think I can handle these.”

I hurried into the sunroom where I had left my laptop. After quickly booting up, I connected the camera and imported the photos. I switched to a slideshow view and watched the crowd shots slowly scroll by.

There. I hit Pause and stared. His face was a bit blurred but…

“Sam, come here.”

A moment later, wiping his hands on a dish towel, Sam came in. “What is it?”

I pointed a finger at the figure in the shot and noticed with dismay that it trembled. “I took photos of the onlookers last night.”

He bent to study the screen. “Going on the theory that whoever did it might stick around to see your reaction? That’s my girl.”

His mouth thinned and his brows snapped together. “That’s Joe Poellinger.”

The ice cream trucker driver. I’d been right.

“Can you print out a copy? I’m going to haul his ass in for questioning.” Sam straightened, all business now.

“Yes, I can, but I have a better idea.”

He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like it.”

“Probably not.” The computer was already hooked up to a color printer, and I went to press Print but paused, spotting another face in the crowd. “Does he look familiar to you?”

Sam squinted and then gave a low whistle. “Yeah, but I can’t place him…”

I swallowed. “He was at the restaurant the other night, sitting behind me.”

“I recognize him now. Razor cut, stocky build, mean-looking cuss.”

I raised my head. “The kind who would try to hit us with a car, perhaps?”

“I’ll need a digital copy as well so I can have it blown up. I’ll run this through identification so I can get a lead.”

“Okay.” I undid the pause and another picture slid into view, the one Sam had taken in the kitchen.

A lump lodged in my throat. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’d say that’s one to join the others on the mantel.”

Unable to speak for the tears welling in my eyes, I nodded.

For once Mom wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, her face was turned toward me with an expression of exquisite tenderness. The way a mother loves her child, the way I had never known she’d felt.

Chapter Fourteen

“Would you care for some coffee, Ms. Sterling?” Gillian Hassenfeld gestured toward a high-end stainless steel coffee machine on the other side of the enormous kitchen.

“Thank you. Black, please.”

She poured a cup and set it in front of me. The kitchen, done in Italianate style with stone, granite, mahogany and hammered copper, matched the rest of the Manalapan estate. In good taste but with a definite “look at me, I’m expensive” quality. Mrs. Hassenfeld had clearly received the better end of the deal in her divorces.

When I arrived, the petite brunette had escorted me to the curving sweep of an island lined with bar stools and asked me to be seated. After putting an apron over her cream cashmere sweater and camel pants, she opened one side of the French door refrigerator and took out eggs, milk and butter. “I hope you don’t mind my cooking as we talk. The boys roped me into making cookies for a school bake sale.”

“I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, Mrs. Hassenfeld. First, let me say how sorry I am for you and your sons’ loss.”

“Call me Gillian, and David wasn’t the boys’ father. They hated him from the start. I guess I should have paid better attention to their instincts. Thank God I never made the mistake of getting pregnant by that bastard.”

I nearly choked on the sip of coffee I’d taken. I carefully set the cup down. “I take it there was no love lost between you.”

She opened a cabinet and pulled out two glass bowls. “None whatsoever. In case you’re wondering if I ripped him off in the divorce, this place was mine before we married. Got it as part of my first divorce.”

That confirmed what I’d read in the courthouse file.

“You’d think a cardiologist would be swimming in money, but no.” She measured dry ingredients into one bowl. “I had to marry one with a gambling habit, looking for some woman to bleed dry. Good thing I insisted on a pre-nup.”

“So you both walked away with what you brought into the marriage?”

A smug smile curved her mouth. “Wouldn’t say that. When I noticed signs that David might be having an affair—” she cracked an egg with a sharp snap of the wrist, “—I hired a shark of a divorce attorney.”

“Did you ever find out who she was?” A man often said things to his mistress that he would never disclose to his wife.

Gillian glanced up, her hazel eyes narrowed. “You know, that was the funny thing. My attorney never was able to locate her and David denied up until the decree was signed that he had been cheating on me. But then again, he never came clean about where he was.”

“He disappeared at times?”

She cracked another egg. “Sure did. Out late at night despite not being on call at the hospital. Poor excuses, couldn’t reach him on his cell.”

The diamond drop earrings Gillian wore danced as she positioned the bowl under the mixer. Somehow I doubted Hassenfeld would have been able to confide to his wife that he’d been cutting up bodies for money during those unexplained absences.

“On the phone you were curious about whether David was involved with OraGen.”

“Yes, his first financial affidavit didn’t list it. Later on, there was an amended filing.”

The sharp whine of the mixer cut off conversation. When Gillian turned it off, she grinned. “Damn straight David had to amend his financial information. My attorney uncovered he had under-the-table dealings with the company. The bastard was trying to shortchange me. I never knew why OraGen was paying him, although when I caught the news story about Oceanview, I figured the company was buying his vote on the board.” She poured batter into a baking dish.

“No indication that David had ownership interest?”

“No, at least none the attorney could find.” She set the bowl in the sink and cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to see what information I do have on David’s dealing with OraGen? My attorney gave me a copy.”

I grinned. “I would love to.”

“Come this way.” Wiping her hands on a towel, she turned and headed toward a hallway.

I had to give it to nasty divorces. They were a priceless mine of information.

“I should have never let you talk me into this,” Sam groused for the umpteenth time as he sat slumped next to me in my rental car. Hopefully, next week my insurance company would make payment on the ruined BMW and I could get a new car. The rental was adequate, but it wasn’t a smooth, quiet ride. Fortunately, its white color was a prevalent choice in Florida so it didn’t stand out.

After a quick drive-by survey, I had pulled into the parking lot next to Tropical Paradise Ice Cream. The dark, secluded spot I selected had an unobstructed view, but was not so close that we’d be readily observable.

“Quiet, Detective. You’re only along for the ride.” I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Sam and his partner had tailed Joe Poellinger from his apartment to here. Tony was maintaining a vigil in front of the business while Sam joined me in my car.

“Not that I had a lot of choice in the matter short of handcuffing you to a bed.” He cast me a long, considering look. “Not that the idea doesn’t have merit.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I would have followed Poellinger with or without your help.” So much, though, for my theory Poellinger would go to the medical research building. Instead, he had made a beeline to Tropical Paradise.

“I still prefer my idea of simply bringing him in for questioning.”

“What good would that do? When Tony called Tropical, the owner said she had a truck working my neighborhood late yesterday. It’s not as if I have a restraining order against Poellinger.”

Sam and I had argued about my getting one but we both knew restraints were no deterrent to someone bent on harming another. Graveyards were filled with people who had gotten such orders.

I shrugged. “Poellinger would have a legitimate excuse and it’s no crime to be a bystander.”

“It would have been fun to make him sweat.”

“There, there, big guy.” I patted his arm. “You may still get your chance.”

I returned my attention to the parking lot and frowned. When I’d arrived, a sole van had been in the lot. Then several brightly painted vehicles had returned from their rounds. After unloading their contents, the drivers had gotten into their own cars and left. My suspect had not been among them. In the sea of trucks, only a white SUV and Poellinger’s black Mustang remained in the dim glow of parking lot lights, barely holding the twilight at bay.

Finally at a little past five, the back door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She turned and locked the door before walking to the SUV.

“That’s the owner according to Tony’s description.” Sam sat up.

The woman paused, studying the Mustang. As she stood in the glare from one of the overhead lights, I could see her frown. The woman shook her head, turned sharply and hurried back to the building.

“Uh-oh. I don’t like the feel of this.” Sam was on his two-way. “Tony, I’ve got a situation back here. I’m leaving the car to check it out.”

“10-4.”

He opened the passenger door and pointed a finger at me. “You. Stay.”

I unlocked the driver door and scrambled out. “I’m coming with you.”

“God you’re stubborn—”

“No time to argue. I’m safer with you, and you know it.”

He muttered an oath, took out his gun and then grabbed my hand. I had changed into black jeans, sweater and running shoes. Even my heavy jacket and knit cap were black. Sam had cracked about my looking like a cat burglar, but with my hair covered, I didn’t feel so exposed as we dashed across the pavement.

Sam released his grip and gestured me to the side as we reached the partially opened door. With his back to the door, he glided around the edge, gun raised. Then he motioned me to follow. I’d barely crossed the threshold when he pulled me down behind a stack of boxes. Despite the layers I wore, I shivered.

Living in an igloo had to be warmer than working inside this place. I peeked around the corner of the boxes and saw the warehouse was compact. What looked to be walk-in freezers lined each wall. In the center were more stacks of tubs and coolers and several tables where the drivers put together the stock for their trucks. Only the hum of machinery filled the space.

At the far end the owner stood in front of a solid steel door. She glanced around and I shrunk behind the box. When I next leaned sideways, the woman was wresting the door open. Light flashed on and she stepped inside.

A terrified scream split the air.

Even as he was calling for Tony into his radio, Sam leaped out and raced down the corridor formed by the tables. I kept close on his heels. When we reached the room, he halted so abruptly on the threshold that I bumped into him. He held out a steadying arm. The owner stood swaying in the refrigeration unit. The overhead light reflected off the metal siding like dazzling diamonds and rubies. Not rubies, I realized. Blood.

Joe Poellinger lay crumpled on the floor, the better part of his head splattered across the unit. Gross as the scene was, it was the contents on the shelves that grabbed my attention. “Sam, look.” Ice cream containers lined the wall. “It’s not cold enough in here to keep ice cream frozen.”

Sam nodded and with care stepped across to the shelves. The owner suddenly snapped to attention. “Hey, what are you doing? You have no right—”

Sam flashed his badge. “Police, ma’am.”

A different kind of fear pinched the woman’s face. She threw up her hands. “No!” She turned, too quickly, and skidded on one of the congealing streams of blood. She righted herself and lurched toward the door. I stuck out my foot, catching her leg, and she fell forward, crying out when her knees struck the door sill. She sprawled like a rag doll on the floor. Whimpering, she curled up but made no more attempts to escape.

Breathing heavily, Tony appeared by the door. “Cuff her,” Sam said. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. He opened one of the tubs. His expression hardened as he looked inside. “Then call the medical examiner and roust everyone available in the crime lab.”

He looked at me. “What we have here is an ice cream shop of horrors.”

Gladys Black, the owner of Tropical Paradise Ice Cream, didn’t look like a trafficker in body parts. Except for the bloodstains on her slacks, she could have been anyone’s mother or the good neighbor who handed out treats every Halloween.

She wore her graying dark brown hair in a simple bob. Her diamond stud earrings and ring weren’t extravagant but good quality. Smeared mascara lined her eyes.

After reading her rights in front of witnesses, Sam had escorted the woman out to the car. Gladys sat quietly handcuffed in the back seat. Beyond the parking lot I could hear voices as the investigators worked the crime scene.

Sam knelt by the car. “Do you have any family, Gladys?”

“A teenage boy and girl.” She sniffed.

“Is there someone you can call to stay with them? Your husband?”

“I’m divorced.” She lifted her hands and swiped at her eyes. “You could say that’s how I got in this mess.”

“How’s that?”

“The bastard ran up the credit cards to the hilt while driving this business to the ground before he took off.”

She pressed her lips together. “I want an attorney. The state has to give me a public defender if I can’t afford one, don’t they?”

I shot Sam a warning look. “Yes, they do.”

“Then I can use my call to contact my sister to stay with my kids, can’t I?”

“You can do it now, if you give me her number.” I pulled out my phone. “I’ll call her for you.”

After she gave me the number, I reached the sister and placed the phone over Gladys’s ear. She hunched her shoulder to secure it. I motioned for Sam to move and give her privacy. When he scowled, I jerked my thumb.

He rose and followed me for only several steps. “That’s far enough, Red. Privacy is one thing. Giving her an opportunity to pull something stupid is another.”

I glanced at the burly patrol officer leaning against the driver’s side. “Somehow I doubt she’d get very far.”

“You’d be surprised what a desperate person is capable of.”

“True. Sam, I doubt if she’s the ringleader. I suspect her role is even smaller than Depp’s was. A collection point rather than a processing center.”

“You may be right.” Someone called out his name, and he touched my elbow. “Stay here and see if you can keep out of trouble.”

I folded my arms across my chest and raised an eyebrow. He grinned and moved away.

“Miss,” Gladys called out. I walked over to her. “I’ve made my call.”

I grabbed the end of the phone as she lifted her head. “Thanks for letting me use it.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Say, I recognize you. You’re the attorney that Joe so stupidly tried to run down.”

“Yes.”

“I fired his ass for that. Lost me a truck. It’s still impounded as evidence. I may even lose my insurance. But when Danny failed to show for work after that day, I had to let Joe back on the property…”

Suddenly it clicked. “Because on the day he chased me, he left those containers in the cooler to be delivered.”

Gladys’s mouth thinned.

“Gotcha.” I looked at the gaily painted trucks. “I imagine the gas bill on these trucks can be high.”

“You bet. I used to let the drivers have a gas credit card until I caught several using the cards for personal use. After that I switched to expense reports.”

“So the drivers would have to track their mileage.”

“Yes, they keep clipboards in the trucks to log their routes along with beginning and ending mileage except for…” Once more Gladys fell silent.

“Got it.”

“Ms. Sterling.” The patrol officer stood by the driver’s door. “I need to take the suspect in.”

“All right. Gladys, the public defender’s office has a number of good attorneys.” She was going to need one. I moved so he could shut the door.

With a resigned expression, she stared out at me as the officer drove her away. I turned and studied the trucks again. I looked around but at this point the investigation was in full tilt, and no one was paying me any attention.

I crossed the lot to the first truck we’d seen and opened the driver’s door. With all the spotlights that had been set up, it was light enough for me to see the interior. Whoever drove this one was a pig. Garbage littered the floor and cigarette stubs filled the open trash drawer. I clambered in so I could shift through the debris.

Beneath one crushed paper bag, I found the clipboard. Handwritten at the top of the sheet of paper was the name Danny Lopez. I flipped through the pages and whistled softly. Every Thursday Danny was logging over one hundred miles where for all the other days he put down ten to twenty.

It wasn’t that far of a trek to OraGen so where was he going? Printing on the paper bag caught my eye, and I smoothed out the paper. St. John’s Health Clinic. I lay both the clipboard and bag on the floor.

“Nicole. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I gave Sam a sheepish smile. “I think Joe Poellinger recruited one of the other drivers to transport the containers. Gladys let slip that a ‘Danny’ skipped after Joe was arrested.” I gestured. “One Danny Lopez drives this truck and it was the one still in the lot when we arrived.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Find anything of interest?”

I pointed to the clipboard and paper bag. “Once a week Danny’s been driving about one hundred miles—the distance of a round trip to this clinic in Belle Glade.”

Sam held out his hand and helped me out of the truck. He cupped my elbow and started in the direction where I’d parked the car. “I’m going to be here a while, so rather than you giving me even more white hairs, why don’t you go to my place? I’ll pick up something to eat and then fill you in on what I can discuss when I get there.”

I stopped at the edge of the lot. “First, I don’t have a key to your townhouse—”

“Got one right here for you.” He fished a key out of his jean pocket and extended his palm.

I looked from his face to the key and back again.

“What? It’s only a key, Nicole.”

“Isn’t this the part where most men run a finger under their collar and have palpitations over giving a woman entrance to their sacred cave?”

Sam rocked back on his heels. “It makes sense. With our crazy schedules, I thought it would be easier if you could let yourself in rather than waiting outside for me.”

My heart twisted. This wasn’t a snap decision. This was something he’d been considering for a while. Another step forward for both of us.

I curved my fingers around the offered key and took it. I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Thanks. But since I really should get home, why don’t you come over when you’re finished, no matter how late, and I’ll fix dinner?”

He wrapped his hand around my neck and took the kiss deeper. When he finally raised his head, I answered the question I saw shining in his eyes. “And I’ll give you a key but we’ll have to have a few ground rules, such as calling ahead. With three women in the house…”

“Don’t want to walk in on the wrong one walking around naked.” He grinned.

Chapter Fifteen

On Saturday Sam and I were at a home improvement store selecting new door locks when Gabe Chavez called me on my cell.

“Hi, Gabe.” Sam continued to debate the clerk over the merits of locks so I moved a few steps away. “What’s up?”

“Rumor has it that tall, dark and ugly is with you.”

I flashed Sam a smile. “That’s right. He’s helping me beef up security at the house.”

“That’s easy. Buy a big dog.”

“Yeah right.”

“Or put Sam out front on a leash. Nothing like a cop with a gun to scare off a burglar.”

I chuckled. “Great visual.”

“Listen, I’ve been checking into that clinic for you. I found a woman I think you should speak with. Why don’t you and Sam meet me at his place in thirty? He’s going to want to be in on this.”

“We’ll be there.” I disconnected and looked at Sam. “All right, it’s decision time. Gabe wants us to be at your place in a half hour. I think he’s turned up something on that Belle Glade clinic.”

Sam gathered several packages and dumped them into the cart. “Thanks, we’ll take these,” he said to the visibly relieved clerk.

An hour and a half later Gabe parked his truck in front of a dilapidated house in Belle Glade. He’d chosen to play mysterious as to where he was taking us so for the better part of the drive he and Sam, who’d sat in front, had debated college football and the bowl games.

I didn’t blame them for passing the time debating sports. From my position in the back of the cab, there wasn’t much to see between West Palm Beach and Belle Glade. The agricultural community squatted on the edge of Florida’s heart blood, Lake Okeechobee. For years sugar had been king, but now land was set to be turned into the Everglades restoration effort. However, for the most part the region still consisted of endless miles of flat land covered with crops and crisscrossed by endless canals.

Many migrant workers, who followed the seasonal crops, lived in Belle Glade. Other than the lake, the community’s other claim to fame was killer high school football teams. Something to take pride in and ease the bite of poverty.

Along this poor excuse of a road the houses were little more than shacks. However, here and there several were already decorated for the holidays. Sam opened the door and held a hand out for me. “Okay, Gabe,” I said. “Why are we here? I thought you had a lead on the clinic.”

“Patience. You’re about to find out.”

Sam snorted. “You try to get her to wait for anything. Mission impossible.”

I bumped my hip against his. “Not true.”

Amusement glinted in Gabe’s eyes but his expression grew somber once he led us up a thin, worn path through the tall weeds in the front yard. He rapped on the door. “Señora Cabrera? I brought the people I told you about.”

A woman of indeterminate age answered, and he spoke rapidly in Spanish. She nodded and motioned us inside. At Gabe’s gesture, Sam and I moved past him to enter the house.

In the cramped living room three young children popped up over the edge of the battered sofa and regarded us with dark, serious eyes. Mrs. Cabrera led us to a wood table scoured clean and we sat down.

She said something to Gabe and he interpreted. “Would anyone like coffee?”

Sam and I glanced at each other and shook our heads. “No, pero graciás,” I said to her. She smiled shyly, folding her chapped and callused hands on top of the table. Up close I could see the woman was in her early thirties, but a life spent working in the sun hadn’t been kind to her. Despite being obviously poor, she wore a clean T-shirt and jeans. Her kids, two girls and a boy, who had ventured from the sofa, were also in mended but tidy clothes.

Gabe leaned toward her and braced his elbows on his knees. “I’m going to ask Lucia to repeat her story and I’ll interpret for you.” He spoke softly to her.

She took a deep breath and began to talk, haltingly at first. I kept my gaze on her, and with his smooth translation Gabe faded into the background.

“My husband Guadalupe and I worked the fields. We saved what we could, but there never seemed to be enough. Then I had Margarita, our third child.” She paused as the toddler, hearing her name, scrambled off the floor and came to her mother holding out her arms. Lucia scooped her up and settled the girl on her lap. As only a child can, Margarita immediately zeroed in on me as the source of her mother’s upset and frowned.

Lucia continued. “The bills were large. We had no insurance and public health care covered only a portion of them. The creditors began to call day and night. Guadalupe found a night job but it still wasn’t enough.”

She dropped a kiss on the toddler’s curls. “Then one day my husband came home all excited. Several men he met in the field told him how he could make a lot of money. I was afraid he would get into drugs like his older brother, and I told him that was not the answer.”

Lucia drew in a breath. “He said it wasn’t drugs. He said rich people who were sick would pay to get a healthy kidney. Someone at the clinic knew the right people and would pay Guadalupe a thousand dollars for a kidney. I didn’t want him to do it, and finally he promised he wouldn’t.

“But the bill collectors got worse, and one frightened my oldest. One Sunday Guadalupe went out without telling me where he was going. I waited all day. No one knew where he was. That night a truck pulled up, and some man dumped my Guadalupe’s body in front of the house like he was no better than a dog.”

Tears began to stream down her face. “He was bleeding, all cut up and the stitches…” She put her lips together and made a spitting sound. “I could sew better than that. A neighbor drove us to the hospital but it was too late. My husband died.”

Lucia looked straight at me, and I saw the anger in her eyes. “They took both of his kidneys and paid him nothing. There was no money in his pockets. Guadalupe lost his life for nothing.” She buried her head in her child’s hair.

After a while, when her shoulders had stopped shaking, I reached out and touched her arm. “Did you know either the man who left your husband that night or who he spoke with at the clinic?”

“Sí,” she said when Gabe translated. “One man. His name is Danny Lopez.”

With an intent expression Sam leaned forward. “Does Danny live here in Belle Glade?”

“He used to, but his mother told me he moved to the city because he was making so much money. He certainly loved to show off by driving around in that shiny truck on those big wheels.” She gestured to indicate the large size of the tires.

“Did you confront anyone at the clinic?” Sam continued to question her.

Lucia shook her head. “No, the clinic has been closed. The nurses are local and were told the doctor who ran it left the state. He ran out without paying their salary for the last month.”

“Have you ever heard of or met a man named Joe Poellinger?”

“No.”

“What about a company called OraGen?”

“No.”

In terms of the Whitman case or the threat to my family, the Belle Glade connection was not critical. It simply was another link that might lead back to OraGen, another opportunity for Sam to bring down the black market. I let him continue asking Lucia more questions.

Yet, when I met Gabe’s intense gaze as he continued to interpret, I knew why he’d thought my meeting Lucia had been important. She’d been robbed of her husband, but it wasn’t right she should also be robbed of the money he died for. The Cabrera family needed legal help.

I rose and moved away from the table to make a call. When I returned, Sam wrapped up his interview and raised a brow. I pointed to my phone. “Lucia, I’ve called an attorney.”

Alarm appeared in her eyes. “I don’t want any trouble with the law.”

“You’re not going to be in any trouble. This attorney is with the migrant workers’ assistance office. She’s going to guide you to resources to help you through the loss of your husband. You said others here have done this, sold a kidney?”

“Yes.”

“Then there could be others who haven’t been paid. When Sam catches whoever is responsible—” I touched his shoulder, “—claims for damages could be made against the company. This attorney could bring a lawsuit on behalf of everyone here who has been harmed. She might be able to get money for you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Sterling.”

Margarita sensing the change in her mother blew me a kiss.

After getting Lucia to agree to make a formal statement, we left. Not wanting to ride in the back alone, I sat squeezed between the solid, reassuring presence of both men.

Sam stared out the window as we made our way through the streets. “Thanks, Gabe, for finding Lucia and getting her to talk. We knew the operation included more than desecrating corpses but this community is tight-lipped. Many are illegal and don’t want to be within a country-mile of anyone wearing a badge.”

“You’re welcome. I knew this wouldn’t help Nicole’s legal case, but I couldn’t let it go.”

Gabe turned onto the two-lane highway and sped up. Sam reached over and laced his fingers with mine. We rode in silence for a while. As we came out of a sweeping turn, we saw blue lights flashing ahead and a long line of traffic backed up.

Since it was obvious we wouldn’t be going anywhere soon, Gabe switched off the engine. “I’ll walk up and find out what’s going on.”

Sam also got out and then held up his hands. I scrambled down. Sam leaned against the front fender, drew me against him and wrapped his arm across my chest. The sun rested low in the sky, casting a haze across the land. A canal that ran along the highway glimmered like a gold ribbon.

Sam lowered his head and lazily nibbled at my ear. All he had to do was touch me and I was primed and ready. “How about I grill us a couple of steaks when we get back to my place?”

“Sounds good.”

“Then maybe we could sit outside and watch the stars.”

I felt his arousal press against me. “Are you sure you want to watch the stars?”

“Well, ma’am. Where I come from, there’s nothing sexier than seeing the night sky frame a pretty lady while she’s naked and riding you.”

I reached around, grabbed some rib flesh and pinched hard.

“Ow.” His chest shook with laughter. “What was that for?”

I folded my arms and stared at the investigation scene. “How many ladies did you have such a memorable experience with?”

He blew a breath in my ear and drew me even tighter against him. “Up until now, none. But I can see that hair of yours, with the moonlight shooting flames through it.”

Mollified, I relaxed once more against him. “Better, Bowie. Much better.”

Where the lights flashed, a tow truck backed up to the water. “Oh God. Someone took a header into the canal.”

“Sure looks that way.”

Two dark forms emerged from the water—divers—who gestured at the truck. There was a whining sound and the cable turned. Soon the water bubbled and the tailgate of a black truck popped up. The chrome on monster tires glistened in the sun.

“Oh no, it couldn’t be…”

Sam cursed and set me apart from him. “Make yourself comfortable, Red. We may be here a while.”

“You don’t think that’s Danny Lopez’s truck?”

He stalked forward. “With my damn luck and the way this case has been going, I’m willing to bet you that steak it is…and that he’s inside it.”

Chapter Sixteen

On Monday following court I entered my office and saw the red folder on my desk, signaling an urgent matter requiring my immediate attention. I sat down and flipped it open. Inside was a pleading in the Whitman case, “Notice of State’s Intention to Use Evidence of Other Crimes, Wrongs or Acts.”

The folder also contained the state’s preliminary list of witnesses and documentary evidence. I scanned it, frowning over several names. One was a Dr. Truman McGill in Chicago, Illinois. I jotted down a note to ask the Whitmans if he had been their pediatrician.

Then I reviewed the notice of the state’s intent to use the following evidence: Sarah Whitman, a seven-month-old infant daughter of the defendant, Claire Whitman, died while in the sole care of the defendant.

I flipped to the attached brief containing the argument. The prosecution proposed that Claire’s knowledge about the circumstances of the first death should be considered by the jury in determining whether her actions in regard to Rebecca were culpably negligent.

Negligent? I skipped over the string of case law citations to read on. The Defendant having the knowledge as a result of the death of Sarah Whitman should have been expected to act differently in her care of and action toward Rebecca Whitman, to wit: The Defendant should have been aware of the risk inherent in not utilizing the apnea monitor on the infant Rebecca and that her disregard of that risk constituted a gross deviation from ordinary care.

Damn.

I punched the intercom. “Maria, get the Whitmans in to see me at once.”

As I sat back, I spotted a thick folder with a sticky note in Melissa’s precise handwriting. Whitman Financial Research. I glanced at my calendar and saw that I had a new client interview appointment in five minutes. No time to look at it now. I tucked the folder into my bag to review later.

An hour later Brian helped his wife into one of the chairs and then took the other. Claire’s condition alarmed me. It was as if some psychic vampire had drained her very life force. She was only an inanimate shell of her former self.

God, I hated what I had to do, but the couple hadn’t been truthful from the start.

I tapped one of the documents spread in front of me. “Who is Dr. McGill?”

Claire gasped, but it was Brian who answered. “He was our first baby’s pediatrician in Chicago.”

“Did he recommend you use an apnea monitor if you had another child?”

“Yes—”

Brian reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand. She subsided. Brian finished for her. “He may have discussed using a monitor, but I don’t believe he went as far as recommending one.”

I opened a folder of photos and flipped one to face them. “Here is a picture the investigators took of Rebecca’s room. You didn’t use a monitor for her, correct?”

“No, Rebecca was a full term baby unlike Sarah. Becca was healthy and strong and perfect. She didn’t need any machine to be attached to her.”

Because they hadn’t listened to medical advice, they had lost another child.

A tendon ticked along Brian’s jaw. “Why is this important?”

I took a deep breath to keep my tone even. “I’ve received the state’s brief. Rather than focusing on the intentional homicide charges, the prosecutor is seeking to introduce evidence of the circumstances surrounding Sarah’s death in order to show that, given Claire’s knowledge of how Sarah died and her medical training, she’s criminally negligent.”

“That’s prejudicial.” Brian pounded the chair arm. Claire didn’t even flinch. “They can’t do it.”

“I’ve drafted a motion to exclude the evidence, but while waiting for you, I’ve researched the case law and it’s not favorable. Although I think the state’s brief frames the argument wrong, the issue the judge will be deciding is whether Claire’s knowledge about Dr. McGill’s medical recommendation is relevant circumstantial evidence.”

“So?”

“So, I think the judge will have sufficient basis to find that, based on her prior experience with Sarah, Claire was aware that an infant, if not properly attached to an apnea monitor, as previously recommended by your pediatrician, could die from asphyxiation. In other words, that she consciously disregarded the risk and negligently caused Becca’s death.”

Claire wasn’t even looking at me anymore. She stared dully through the window. In contrast, Brian’s face had turned so red that I was afraid he would have apoplexy.

Spreading my hands wide, I said gently, “I know this is a lot for you to take in right now, but I needed to warn you of the latest wrinkle in the case. Once more I want to discuss my approaching the prosecutor about a possible deal.”

Brian surged up and planted his hands on my desk. I gave him a look that could freeze hell over. “Sit down.”

“You’ve been afraid to try this case from the start. I heard about how you froze during your last case as a state attorney. Rather than working on my wife’s defense, you’ve been too busy getting your picture plastered all over the news. Dr. Chang tells me you haven’t returned his calls.”

It was never good to escalate an argument but I was tired of his aggressive stance. I stood as well and braced my hands on the desk.

“Speaking of Dr. Chang, the two of you forgot to mention one little detail. Your pal Damian didn’t need to recommend Chang, did he? Not only were you, Quint and Chang all in college together but also in the same fraternity.”

“So?”

I was really getting tired of that word today. “So, when each side discloses experts, we also furnish resumes. The prosecutor will pick up on the connection immediately and hammer away on the fact that Chang isn’t impartial.”

“Lee can handle himself. He’ll be able to brush off the apnea monitor argument by testifying the machines aren’t effective.”

A chill gripped me. “You knew this would be an issue. And you and your buddies have already mapped out a counter attack.”

Brian shrugged. “It seemed like the prudent thing to do.”

“I can’t defend like this. I can’t work in the dark only to be spoon-fed vital information on occasion.”

“Well, you won’t have to. You’re fired.” Brian turned and took Claire’s arm. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.” She rose in a stilted movement like a doll. As he escorted her to the door, he shot the closing salvo over his shoulder. “You’ll be receiving a formal termination letter in the mail.”

My legs suddenly too weak to support me, I sank into the chair. I didn’t even have to count to ten before my partners rushed into the room.

“We heard the yelling,” Kate confirmed. “I was getting ready to call the police. Are you all right?”

I nodded.

Carling narrowed her eyes. “The Whitmans fired you.”

“So?”

“I thought a perfectionist like you would be taking the news harder than you seem to be.”

“So?”

Carling and Kate gave each other worried looks. “Nicole, honey,” said Kate, “are you going to cry?”

“Nope.” I reached down, grabbed my bag and stood. “What I’m going to do is track down a hunk of a detective and see if he’s available for a little afternoon delight.”

“Huh?” Carling gaped. “Who are you and what have you done with Nicole Sterling?”

I hugged her. “I gave the Whitmans good legal advice and they threw it back in my face. You know what? I’m happy they fired me. I was going to terminate my representation if they didn’t come clean. They didn’t, and I don’t have to hear the word so again for the rest of the day.”

Kate stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Soooo, what do you plan to do to Detective Bowie exactly?”

“Handcuff him to the bed.”

I heard the door close and Sam called out, “Nicole, where are you? Are you all right? I got here as quick as I could.”

“In here.” I quickly braced my elbow on the pillow and draped my legs to the side.

He appeared in the bedroom door and the flash of heat in his eyes steadied my sudden nerves over the seduction scene I’d staged. Red lipstick slicked my lips and dark gray shadow turned my eyes to those of a smoldering enchantress. Every inch of my skin had been powdered, creamed and scented with ridiculously expensive perfume.

White candles flickered all over the room. Soft music drifted from his media player. After brushing my hair into a loose style, I had changed into a sheer black nightie and tugged the tiny ruffled sleeves over my shoulders. A black silk bow was strategically tied at the V of my breasts.

My whole body hummed with anticipation.

Sam crossed to the bed, removed his gun, slapped it on the nightstand and put one knee on the mattress. I would never, ever get used to his lightning moves.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of finding one gorgeous attorney in my bed?” His gaze raked my body, leaving a scorching path. He reached out a blunt fingertip and touched my taut left nipple. The exquisite sensation shot to my core and I arched back, thrusting my chest in a silent appeal.

“Now that’s a pretty offer that I can’t refuse.” Sam lowered his head and flicked his tongue over the nipple several times before drawing it into his mouth. I speared my fingers through his silky hair.

“I was fired today,” I managed to gasp out, almost lost in the raging sensations.

The cool air swept against my left breast as Sam raised his head. “And?”

“And I’m not upset. Nothing I could do to help.”

“No regrets?”

“None.” I shoved aside the niggling pangs of guilt I felt for Claire.

“Good.” Sam turned his head and suckled the right nipple. The rough texture of his tongue rasped and teased the sensitive flesh. He shifted, crushing me back into the mattress. The heat of his body enveloped me as his erection pressed into my thigh.

My body ablaze, I lifted my hips, desperately needing to be connected to him. Sam stilled me with his hands. “Easy, honey, easy. All in good time.”

His knuckles brushed then lingered on my stomach, causing the muscles to contract. Then his hand was gone. Sam’s dark gaze captured mine. “I want to make love to you, Nicole.”

I shivered at the raw desire in his voice. With the pads of his fingers, he stroked along my temples to my jaw. Everywhere he touched, he placed light almost reverential kisses. I felt cherished and wanted.

For a moment his lips nibbled at mine but before I could deepen the kiss, he shifted, trailing his fingers and open-mouth kisses along my neck. He followed along the collar bone and then down my front. With a slight tug he untied the bow and the material slid away, exposing my breasts. There he stopped with a wicked grin.

“No.” I tried to hook a leg around him but he stood. Propping myself on my elbows, I watched with heavy-hooded eyes as he pulled his black T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. His skin, golden in the candlelight, stretched tight over his rib cage. Next he stripped off his jeans and briefs. His erection sprang free.

“Now we’re talking.”

Sam half choked on a laugh. “We aim to please, ma’am.” He reached into the table’s drawer and pulled out a foil packet. I lay back, anticipating his return.

“Oh,” I shrieked in surprise as he gripped my ankles and bent my legs. Then he knelt between them. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. He cupped my knees and spread them wide. He lowered himself so he sprawled on his stomach. His beard roughened face abraded the sensitive skin of my inner thighs at the same time his hair tickled me. Then his hot mouth kissed me intimately. His tongue teased my clitoris even as he penetrated me with his fingers.

I twisted, my hips lifting as waves of pleasure ripped through me. His fingers thrust and withdrew in syncopation with his clever tongue until I thought I could bear no more.

Fire consumed me, freeing me of all bonds.

Even as I trembled in the aftershocks, Sam slid into me at the same time he hungrily found my mouth. As our bodies fell into rhythm, the pressure deep inside once more coiled and mounted. He stiffened and let out a hoarse exultant cry. The tension inside me shuddered and then released, and once more I fell.

Sometime later, I emerged from a delicious sensual lethargy to find Sam stretched out next to me, his arm draped over my middle. Drying sweat gleamed across his shoulders. When I shifted, he opened his eyes.

“Hey there, Red.” He lifted his head and brushed his lips against mine. The kiss was so soft, so tender that it almost undid me. He rubbed his thumb along my rib cage and I jerked at the sensation.

“Stop that.”

“What’s this? Are you ticklish?” He dug his fingers into my side until I squirmed and giggled. His penis stiffened and nudged my hip.

“No fair.” I reached between our bodies and slid my fingers around his shaft, caressing the velvety skin masking its rigid strength. With a moan, Sam pressed against my hand, once, twice. I pushed against his chest and he obligingly rolled on to his back.

I reached over the edge of the mattress and found the item I’d hidden earlier. Then I mounted him. He ran his hands along the front of my body until he cupped my breasts. I gripped his wrists and leaned over, extending his arms over his head. Even as his hot mouth tugged on one nipple, I held his wrists with one hand as I slid on the handcuffs.

Click. Then a second snick as I fastened the other end to the metal spoke of the bed’s headboard.

Sam froze. “Honey, what did you do?” He tugged his hands but the cuffs held.

“We’re going to play a little game.” I slid down along his body, causing him to groan, until I reached my destination. I studied his erection. “It’s called voir dire. I ask questions and you answer them.”

“What kind of questions?” The strain in his voice was palpable.

“Do you like this?” I blew lightly on his penis.

“Oh yeah. That’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth so—”

I took him in my mouth.

Chapter Seventeen

Tuesday night I sat up late working in the Florida room. Mom was sound asleep and Melissa was out with friends. I heard the front door open and a few seconds later my sister wandered into the room, yawning.

I glanced up from the notes I was reviewing. “Good movie?”

“Yeah, but I’m whipped.” She flopped down beside me on the sofa. “What are you still doing up?”

“Sam’s working tonight so I’m trying to figure out a few loose ends in the Whitman case.” I had the entire file spread across the cocktail table.

She frowned. “But they fired you.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want answers.” I lifted a shoulder. “One of the flaws of being anal. Besides—” I studied the new framed photo of Mom and me, “—the police haven’t gotten the person responsible for the phone call and package.” Sam’s frustration on that front was evident. The black market case had also hit yet another snag when the body inside the truck pulled from the canal had been identified as Danny Lopez’s.

My sister sat next to me and picked up the financial research folder. “I never got a chance to discuss what I found with you.” She pulled over several pages. “I’m thinking of going to medical school now. I never realized it was so profitable to be a podiatrist.” She pointed to a column. “I discovered some offshore bank accounts.”

I stared at the paper trail of names and accounts she had constructed. The connections were all there. “That bastard. Did he think he would get away with this?”

Although what I held in my hand was privileged and confidential information developed during the course of representation, somehow I would make sure the owners of OraGen would come to justice.

The phone rang. Setting aside the documents, I got up and hurried to the stand. “Hello?”

“Nicole, this is Claire Whitman.” The woman’s voice was a like a ghostly whisper, lifting the hairs on the nape of my neck.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“They’re all evil. I found out that Brian’s done despicable things all for the sake of money. I know where they took Rebecca’s organs and, tonight, I’m going to set her spirit free.”

Her voice broke on a sob. “You were being kind to me so they tried to hurt you. You won’t have to worry anymore. I’ll make sure they can’t hurt you again.”

“Claire, wait—”

There was a buzzing sound. I replaced the phone, raced into the bedroom and grabbed my purse and jacket. When I emerged, Melissa stood in the hall. “What is it?” she whispered.

I took her arm and drew her to the front door. “Lock it after me and check all the windows to make sure they’re secure as well. That was Claire Whitman and she sounded like she’s going to do something crazy.”

“Did she tell you where she is?”

“No, but I have a good idea where she’s going.” I grabbed my car keys and raced outside. Sliding into the front seat, I started the engine and grabbed my cell. I punched in Sam’s private number.

“Hi, honey. I’m in the middle of something—”

“I just had a call from Claire Whitman. She’s snapped. Talked about making sure I wouldn’t be hurt anymore and releasing her baby’s spirit. I’m positive she’s at OraGen and going to do something crazy.”

“Why OraGen?”

“Because if I’ve connected all the dots, OraGen is the company her husband—along with his buddies Quint and Chang—founded as a front for their black market organ racket. I’m heading out there now.”

“Nicole, don’t you dare—”

“I’ve got to try to stop her, Sam. Don’t ask me not to.”

I heard the resignation in his tone. “I’m on my way.”

At this time of night, traffic was light and I made good time to the complex. I entered as I had before and pulled into the parking lot a building away from OraGen. Although the medical research facility was dark with no signs of activity, several cars were parked behind it, including a SUV, the same model as the Whitmans’. At the delivery ramp sat a small white truck similar to those of Tropical Paradise Ice Cream.

I exited my car and pulled out the black knit cap still tucked in my jacket from the other night. I gathered my hair, twisted it up and jammed on the hat. Black ops Nicole Sterling. Maybe I should consider a new career. I took one step before realizing my cell was on ring. Nix that career change. Pulling it out from my jacket pocket, I set it on vibrate.

Keeping to the shadows as much as I could, I ran bent over to the back of the OraGen building. Cautiously, I made my way to the door next to the delivery ramp. The thinnest line of light showed beneath it. I paused, wrinkling my nose. Gas. With my eyes adjusted to the night, I could make out a can lying on its side a few feet away. Damn.

I gripped the doorknob and turned it easily. Taking a deep breath, I opened it partially and slipped inside. I blinked against the light. When my eyes adjusted and I could make out the contents of the room, my stomach lurched.

The large space almost mirrored the Tropical Paradise warehouse, except at the other end I could see through a window. A surgical table glistened in a brightly lit room.

Elsewhere refrigerators lined one wall, freezers another. Rows of tables fanned out with stacks of overnight boxes and ice cream tubs. Here and there bones that could only be human lay scattered across a table.

I caught the glint of metal on another and moved closer. Teeth were scattered across its surface as carelessly as marbles, their fillings gleaming under the industrial overhead lights. The sour taste of nausea filled my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” a familiar male voice demanded.

I spun to face the back of the room where Damian Quint stood by a steel cart packed with tubs. Rather than his usual Palm Beach look, he wore surgical scrubs, and a mask hung around his neck. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun.

I held up my hands to show I wasn’t carrying anything. “Take it easy, Damian. You need to evacuate everyone in here.”

“Right.” He advanced down the aisle. “And run straight into the arms of the police? I don’t think so.”

“Can’t you smell the gasoline? Claire Whitman thinks the organs of her baby are here. She plans to set the building on fire.”

“Claire’s home safe and sound under heavy medication.” Damian reached me and pointed the gun at my head. “What have you done with Chang?”

“I haven’t done anything with him.”

“Bull. He was out here readying the next shipment.” Then the man’s nostrils flared. “What the hell? That is gas.”

From behind I heard a swish and a draft of cold air rushed past me. “Drop the gun, Damian.”

I turned. The door of a walk-in unit stood wide open. Brian Whitman held a gun. Anger darkened Quint’s face, but fear also flickered in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, Brian? Where’s Lee?”

Brian stepped away to reveal the crumpled form of Dr. Chang lying inside the cooler. Obviously responding to the greater threat, Quint swung his revolver toward Brian and away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another cooler door open. Claire stepped out. “Look out,” I cried, but she fired.

Quint screamed, dropping his gun. Raw flesh and blood blossomed across his upper arm. Clutching the wound, he sagged to his knees. I stepped toward the pistol, but Claire pointed her gun at me. “Don’t move.”

Quint peeled his lips back at Brian. “You two-timing son of a bitch.”

Brian wore a glazed, feverish expression. “I tried to tell you two, but you wouldn’t listen. Then you savaged Rebecca’s body.”

Claire whimpered but maintained her stance.

Sam had once said you could tell when someone is about to kill. You sense the person getting ready to squeeze the trigger, and that signal was coming loud and clear from Brian.

I spoke in a calm tone. “You killed them all in revenge, didn’t you? Depp, Hassenfeld and the two truck drivers.”

“Yes. They all denied being the one who removed her organs, but I knew it had to be one of them that did Damian’s dirty work.”

“Make Damian tell me where Becca’s organs are, Brian, so I can set her free,” Claire said in a low, fierce voice. I didn’t know what kind of medications her husband had used on her, but his wife clearly was beyond any bonds of sanity. Her fragile grip on reality had snapped.

“Why did you want me here, Claire?”

Her eyes darted to me. “Brian said we needed to make it look like you did it.”

“For God’s sake.” Despite his gray pallor, Quint managed an arrogant smile. “Didn’t you know your attorney is sleeping with the cop investigating the organ operation? She probably called him before coming here.”

I merely nodded. Claire hesitated and then strode toward him, striking the gun against his good shoulder. “Tell me where Rebecca’s heart is or I’ll keep putting bullets into you until you do.”

I stepped in front of the automatic Quint had dropped. Claire bared her teeth. “Don’t take another step or I’ll blow out your kneecap.”

“Brian’s using you, Claire.”

Tears streamed down her face. “No, he’s not. He’s been avenging our daughter.”

“Have you asked him why her body was mutilated in the first place?”

“You shut your mouth.” Brian started toward me but a low groan from the cooler drew his attention. Chang shifted slightly. Brian brought the butt of his gun down on Chang’s head. The doctor subsided.

“Damian, do you want to tell Claire what her charming husband and his frat buddies have been up to?”

The man swayed. “Since you’ve figured it out, why don’t you tell her?”

Hoping not to push her over the edge, I kept my tone even, conversational. “Brian and his college pals have been running OraGen as a black market organ business. My guess is their little enterprise began in Chicago but when things got too hot, they moved it down here.”

Like a kaleidoscope the pieces of information fell together. “You suspected something was wrong even in Chicago, didn’t you? That’s when you started drinking.”

A tear streamed down her face, but she didn’t move.

“You actually filed for divorce, but Brian convinced you to make a fresh start here.”

She flinched. “He said it would all be better.”

“All three partners moved to Florida within a year of each other and struck pay dirt. They pay morgues and funeral homes for access to the dead so they can harvest tissue, skin and bones. Then they bring in hospitals so they can reap the biggest money maker of all, organs and other viable tissue.”

I dropped down to my knees as if I wanted to look into the wounded man’s eyes. “Isn’t that right, Damian? You got your hooks into Hassenfeld because he’d been wiped clean in a divorce and had a gambling habit. What weakness were you blackmailing Depp with?”

“He was a kleptomaniac. Stole jewelry off the bodies.” Quint grimaced. “Thought it was a real joke when he stole the rattle out of the kid’s coffin.”

“Her name was Rebecca,” I said sharply. “Where did Depp hide the items he stole?”

“There’s a false bottom in one of the display coffins.” A dark shadow moved through the delivery entrance. I kept talking.

“Brian wanted out, didn’t he? He had a new baby and his wife was getting better. But you and Chang wanted to expand the operation and he got scared. You used poor Becca’s death as a warning.”

I looked at Brian. The sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. “I bet Hassenfeld even faked an autopsy report in case you needed even more pressure to keep him in line. Was that report what you were looking for the day you knocked me out in his office, Brian?”

Quint closed his eyes. Claire moved her gun away from his shoulder. “Brian?”

The shadow had crept to the first row of tables. I moved my hand slightly until my fingers could grip the automatic by my feet. “Think about it, Claire. Podiatry’s good business but how do you explain the bank account in his name only that contains close to a million dollars?”

She wailed and swung toward her husband. A crack exploded. Brian spun to the side and collapsed. Sam sprung up from his concealed position and sprinted toward us. “Police. Drop your guns.”

Like a wind-up toy Claire slowly turned toward him. I grabbed the automatic and rose. “Don’t do it, Claire. I can get you help. You’ve been pumped so full of drugs you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Tears continued to stream down her face. “I have nothing to lose.”

“Yes, you do. Think of all the lives you’ve saved as a paramedic. You didn’t kill Rebecca, and now you’re free to truly mourn her loss.”

I reached out and touched her shoulder. “She’s at rest now and she wants her mommy to be okay.”

Sobs racked Claire’s thin frame as she sank to her knees, letting the gun drop. Sam crossed to her and kicked the revolver clear. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and looked up at Sam, who was dressed head to foot in black SWAT clothes and bulletproof vest. The rest of the SWAT team swarmed the room.

“Tell Tony that was a nice shot.”

“Better him than me. I was so scared for you when everyone was playing ‘who’s going to shoot first’ that I wouldn’t have been able to hold a steady aim.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. Last time you took me shooting, you landed every bull’s eye.”

He knelt beside me and gently covered my right hand. “Honey, why don’t you let me take that gun from you? As I recall, at that same target practice, you came close to putting a bullet in my ass your aim is so bad.”

I released my death grip and leaned my head against him. “Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to such a nice ass.”

He planted a kiss on my head. “Damn, I’m glad this case is over. I’m tired of having to chase after you.”

He stood and reached down to help me up, then glanced over to where a paramedic was working on Quint. “Hey, pretty boy. Guess you’ll be too busy fending off other felons to be sending pigs’ hearts to women.”

Quint curled his lips back in distaste. “What are you ragging about?”

“That nice present you delivered to Nicole’s house.”

The man’s eyes drifted closed and he mumbled, “The only thing I ever sent your bitch girlfriend was a bouquet of roses.”

Chapter Eighteen

As was the way with news, after a few days all the brouhaha over the organ operation died down. Although everybody connected with OraGen had gotten attorneys, it was only a matter of time before one would break and make the first deal. My money was on Dr. Lee Chang. Claire had committed herself, and all the poison that had been pumped into her system was slowly being countered. I’d already found another attorney to represent her.

Armed with a new warrant, Sam had searched the coffin in the funeral home and found Depp’s stash of stolen personal effects. Eventually, a silver rattle would be returned to Claire. Once she was well enough, she planned to divorce Brian. A first step of many to regain her life and identity.

The organ harvesting ring had been dismantled and my former client was getting the help she needed. I should be satisfied.

Still… I pushed away a stack of office mail and braced my elbows on the desk. I felt restless. No arraignments, no motions—nothing was on my calendar for the rest of the week. Even Mom had completed her last voiceover session, so no more trips to Miami. Sitting at a desk was definitely not my style. I wanted…action. I needed to be in court again.

I groaned and lowered my face into my hands.

“Nicole, are you all right?”

I looked up at Maria standing in the door. “Shoot me. I think I may have become an action junkie.”

“I may have a cure for that. I have a Mr. Cook trying frantically to get an attorney to stop a petition before it’s too late. He saw you on the news and thinks you’re just the lawyer who can do it.”

“Put him through.”

When the phone rang, I picked up. “This is Nicole Sterling.”

“Ms. Sterling. I’m Marvin Cook. I’m at the Atlanta airport with my wife Ellen. We can’t get there in time so we need your help.” His voice cracked. “They’re going to mutilate our baby girl.”

“Try to stay calm, sir. Who’s going to hurt your daughter?”

“Oceanview. Maybe I should back up. Our daughter ran away from home a year ago. We tried everything but never found her.”

“Go on.”

“Then I happened to catch a story last night about a Jane Doe in West Palm Beach. She had overdosed on drugs and was comatose. No identification had been found. The news flashed a photo and I swear she’s our Rachel. However, when I called the hospital this morning, the administrator said I was too late. The woman had been declared brain dead, and the hospital was petitioning to take her off life support and to use her as an organ donor.”

In the background I could hear a woman sobbing. “They won’t even wait for us to make identification and say goodbye to our baby.”

“Did they say what time the petition was going to be heard?”

“At eleven. The first available flight we could get won’t land until twelve-thirty.”

I glanced at my watch. Nine-thirty. It was going to be close. “Here’s what I want you to do. Do you have Rachel’s photo on you?”

“Yes, I have it on my cell phone. I also managed to download a photo of the Jane Doe from the internet.”

“Good. I’ll give you an email address to send them to me. Then I need you to find a business center. I don’t care if it is handwritten, but I need a notarized statement from you. State who you are, where you live. That you believe the Jane Doe to be your daughter Rachel and are not giving Oceanview permission to take her off life support or remove her organs. Also write that you are authorizing me to appear on your behalf. Okay?”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Mr. Cook, I’ll prepare a pleading for a temporary injunction, but I can’t guarantee what the judge will do. The hospital has had time to prepare its case.”

“I understand, but we had to try.”

“That we will, Mr. Cook. Now here’s my information…”

Eighty minutes later I entered the chambers of the judge on call for emergency motions. A man in a banker-gray suit stood at the front by the podium. He turned his head and his brows drew together. I held out my hand.

“Good morning. I’m Nicole Sterling.”

He shook hands. “Nick Taylor.”

“You represent Oceanview Medical Center in the matter of Jane Doe?”

“Yes.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a sheaf of documents. “I represent the interests of Marvin and Ellen Cook. Here’s a copy of my notice of appearance and request for a temporary injunction.”

“What?” As he scanned the pleadings, the bailiff entered the room followed by Judge Kay Fanning. She sat and swung toward me. “Ms. Sterling. I was just apprised of your notice of appearance.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I took a deep breath. Although my pulse was humming in anticipation of argument, there was no sign of hyperventilation. Nothing like flying bullets to cure panic attacks.

“I represent the Cooks, who contacted Oceanview this morning. As the affidavit I filed indicates, they believe the Jane Doe to be their daughter Rachel Cook. They requested a chance to identify their daughter but were told they were too late. On their behalf, I am requesting a temporary injunction on the hospital’s petition to use the Jane Doe as an organ donor until the Cooks have had a chance to verify they are her parents.”

I pulled out the color copies of the photographs. “As Your Honor will note from the attached photographs, the resemblance between the women is striking. The estimated age of the Jane Doe also approximates that of Rachel.”

Judge Fanning studied the photographs. “Yes. I see the resemblance.” She looked at the other attorney. “Mr. Taylor, I know you’ve just been presented with the opposition. Any response?”

“Yes, Your Honor. As the petition indicates, the Jane Doe has been pronounced irreparably brain dead. Although the hospital has her on life support, every minute counts in terms of organ viability. When the story broke, numerous people contacted the police and the hospital, claiming to know the woman. None of those stories panned out and several people were associated with a radical group opposed to organ transplantation. I have to question why the Cooks waited so long to step forward.”

“Ms. Sterling, that’s a valid question.”

“Judge, the Cooks live in Atlanta, Georgia. Their daughter ran away from home a year ago and they hadn’t been able to find her. Last night Mr. Cook was watching a news program when it aired the story about Jane Doe. They contacted the hospital immediately and are scheduled to land in West Palm Beach at twelve-thirty.”

I paused to marshal my thoughts. “The Cooks should be allowed a chance to be with their daughter one last time.”

“Your Honor, this woman is an empty shell—”

I whirled on Taylor but the judge held up her hand. “Counselor, that will be enough. I find that asking the hospital to wait a few more hours to allow the Cooks to identify the woman in question is not unreasonable. I’m granting the injunction for the forty-eight hours requested.”

She rose.

After the judge exited, I gave Taylor a nod. “The Cooks will head straight to the hospital. I’ll contact you later today. If it’s not Rachel, I’ll advise the judge and you immediately.”

“We would appreciate it.” He turned and walked out of the room.

I turned on my phone and left the Cooks a message. Then I rushed out of the room. Next stop, Oceanview.

A short time later Dr. Rosa Cruz stood next to me at the window to the room where the lifeless Jane Doe lay in a hospital bed. Machines that kept her heart beating hummed and beeped. “We’re not monsters here,” the administrator murmured. “What David Hassenfeld did was reprehensible. The hospital is reviewing procedures to prevent anything so heinous from ever happening again.”

“Good.” I continued to watch the woman caught helplessly between life and death. More than anything else, I wanted a resolution for her. Whatever mistakes she had made in her life, her spirit deserved to go on to the next leg of her journey.

“We really did try everything possible to save her.”

I saw the sincerity in Dr. Cruz’s dark eyes. “I believe you.”

“Let me show you something.”

I followed her down the hallway to another room. She stepped inside with a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Jennifer.”

A waif of a blond-haired, blue-eyed teenager lay in bed with an ereader. She glanced up and smiled. “Hi, Dr. Cruz.”

The administrator motioned toward me. “I’ve brought someone to meet you. This is Nicole Sterling, she’s an attorney.”

Delight pushed aside the shadow of pain in the girl’s eyes and her grin went up in wattage. “Oh wow, I want to go to law school.”

I crossed over to the bed. A sickly pallor marred her fair skin. I didn’t need a medical degree to realize she was seriously ill. I perched on the edge of the bed.

“Do you?” I gestured at the digital device she held. “You’re on the right track. Law involves a ton of reading.”

“I know. I want to be a children’s advocate.” She pleated the edge of her sheet. “I’ve been in hospitals a lot so I understand what they’re going through.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out the card holder from a side pocket. “Here’s my business card. It has my email address. I’d love to hear what law school you get admitted to.”

“Wow, thanks.” Jennifer took the card but I saw her fingers tremble.

Dr. Cruz stirred. “We’ll let you rest now, honey.”

“All I do is rest,” she grumbled.

However, after I stood and looked down, the girl’s eyes had already drifted close. Quietly, I said, “Good luck, Jennifer.”

Once we had moved into the hallway, I stopped and said in a low voice. “What’s wrong with her?”

The administrator’s mouth thinned. “Her heart. She’s been on the transplant list for nearly a year without success. When the Jane Doe came in, we thought we had a miracle—they’re a blood match. Since Jennifer is now critical, we were able to arrange for her to be the recipient of the other woman’s heart. We had a helicopter standing by to transport Jennifer and the heart to another hospital that specializes in transplants.”

“I see.”

“Do you? Ethical issues continue to plague organ transplantation, and every time there’s a scandal like the one you’ve just uncovered, there’s renewed moral outrage. Donations cease and people waiting for a life-saving organ die.”

“Rosa, I understand.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll speak with the Cooks when they arrive. With your permission, I’ll introduce them to Jennifer. Ultimately, if the woman is Rachel, it’s their decision.”

The administrator let out a sigh. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask. The rest will be left in God’s hands.” She walked away. Behind me, the machines in Jennifer’s room beeped and whirred.

Satisfaction hummed in me as I pulled into my driveway and parked by Melissa’s sub-compact. Tragically, the Jane Doe had been the Cooks’ daughter. Although they had immediately identified her when they entered the room, the dental records they’d brought had been the clincher.

After allowing them privacy to be with their daughter, I had taken them to see Jennifer. Marvin had gripped his wife’s hand and they had looked at other. With tears in their eyes, they had agreed to the transplant. They would have all the time they needed to say goodbye to their daughter before she’d be taken off life support. By tomorrow if all went well, Jennifer would have a new heart and chance at life.

A good day—and hopefully, later, a good night with Sam. For the first time in a long while, I could see into my own future. When we’d initially dated, he had mentioned going away for a long weekend, but I’d shot him down, panicked by the idea of being a couple. Now I was ready for the next step.

I walked up the front path and opened the door. “I’m—”

Hard metal pressed into the back of my head. “It’s about time you got home, bitch.” The hate-filled voice chilled me.

Mom. Melissa. Were they all right? Earlier Melissa had mentioned taking my mother on a walk around the block. I prayed they hadn’t returned.

A beefy, tattooed hand seized my arm and spun me around. I plastered a thin, arrogant smile on my face. “Jordan, when did you get out?”

Rage contorted the face of Tommy Jordan, Trevor’s father. “This morning, no thanks to you.”

Since he had a nasty looking automatic clutched in his hand, it was probably not the best time to remind him he ended up in jail due to his own actions. Culpability would not be a word in his vocabulary.

“Drop your purse.”

I let it hit the tile with a soft thud. A faint sound came from the living room. My heart pounding, I turned and rushed from the foyer, heedless of Jordan. With duct tape over her mouth and arms tied behind her, Melissa sat in one of the chairs.

Relief and fear twisted inside me. I had to get her out of here. I rounded on Jordan, who stood there with a satisfied smirk on his ugly face. “Let her go. She’s only a neighbor. She has nothing to do with whatever gripe you have against me.”

He lifted a hand and slapped me, the force of the blow sending me staggering back several steps. My head rang and tears stung my eyes, but I managed to remain standing. “You lying bitch. All you lawyers can do is lie. She’s your sister, which makes her the same filth as you are.”

He made a slight gesture with the automatic. “We’ve got your whore mother in the kitchen.”

Fear wound tighter. “We?”

“Yeah, my brother. He’s the one who has been keeping you entertained until I could get out.”

“The pig’s heart. Charming.”

“Don’t worry about your loony mother and sister. They won’t suffer the way I’m going to make you suffer for taking my son away. They’ll both get a quick bullet to the head after you’re dead.”

Melissa squirmed and Jordan glared at her. “Don’t move, bitch.”

I needed to distract him. But how could I overpower him and his brother?

A small cry of pain came from the kitchen. A muscle flexed along Jordan’s jaw. “George, are you all right?”

Silence. Jordan’s pig eyes darted back and forth. “George, answer me.”

Mom appeared in the doorway and dramatically draped herself against the jamb. She lifted her hand and pressed the back of it against her head. “We must flee to the hills, my darlings. The Nazis are coming. The Nazis are coming to take us away.”

“What the hell?” Jordan’s thick brows drew together. “What did you do to my brother, you crazy old bitch?”

I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the nearest object in the hutch. Mom suddenly stood tall, threw out her arms and sang, “‘The hills are alive with the sound of music.’”

“That’s it.” Jordan pointed the automatic.

I lifted the heavy metal object and swung. The trophy struck the man on the side of the head. His eyes rolled back as he fell. The gun clattered to the floor and I grabbed it. I turned and saw the man from the restaurant staggering behind my mother. He pointed a gun at her.

“Mom, play dead.”

She gracefully dropped to the ground. I aimed, prayed to God and squeezed the trigger. Jordan’s brother screamed and dropped to his knees before keeling over. He shuddered and then lay still.

I scrambled to my feet and kicked the brother’s gun into the far corner of the kitchen. I knelt by my mother’s side. “Mom, are you all right?”

She popped up with a wide smile on her face. “I’m fine, dear. Did I take your direction well?”

“You played dead magnificently.” I hugged and kissed her. “I’ll help you up but first let me call the police.” As I dashed across the living room, I heard my sister mumbling. “Hang on, Melissa.”

While keeping the automatic aimed toward Jordan in case he came to, I used my free hand to grope around the contents of my bag until I found the phone. After pulling it out, I dialed 9-1-1. The second number I called was Sam’s but got his voice mail. I left him a terse message and disconnected. When I looked over, Mom was using a pair of scissors to cut the binding on Melissa’s wrists. My sister brought her arms forward and massaged her hands.

“Did they hurt you?”

She raised a hand to take off the tape covering her mouth and hesitated.

“Best to give it a quick rip, dear.” Mom reached out and did just that.

“Ow.” My sister covered her mouth. “That hurt.”

“Sorry.” She leaned down and kissed the top of Melissa’s head, then walked toward Jordan’s body.

“Mom, stay away from him. He may come to.”

She studied the body and shook her head. “I don’t think so. He took quite a whack from Tony.”

Melissa still rubbing her wrists frowned. “Tony?”

Mom knelt and picked up the statuette. “My Tony for that avant-garde musical I starred in. The play only lasted long enough for me to get nominated.”

She replaced the award in its place of honor in the hutch. “You know, Nicole. As much as I’d loved that role, I think today I gave my greatest performance…as an old, senile woman.”

Tears filled my eyes. “You were the best.”

She turned and gave Jordan a mean kick. “And that’s for threatening to harm my girls.”

Melissa and I stared at each other with our mouths open. Mom drifted over to her chair. “I shall make coffee as soon as the trash is removed from the kitchen.”

“I can’t believe you nailed that guy with a single shot.” Sam shook his head as he massaged my neck. We sat together on the sofa in the living room. The police and paramedics had come and gone, and as directed by Mom, the riffraff had been removed.

“A few inches lower and he would have been a goner.”

For that I was relieved. I didn’t want the shadow of another’s death to hang over me. Not even that of George Jordan. Kate, Gabe, Carling and Jared had also descended to help out until I firmly shooed them home, but not before I’d extracted a promise from Jared that this time Jordan would stay in prison for a good long time.

“Nicole.” Tapping a cell phone against the palm of her hand, Melissa hovered near the foyer. “Dad called and I had a long conversation with him.”

I got a funny knot in my throat. “He’s ordered you to come home, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah but—”

I stood up and spread my hands. “I don’t blame you for leaving. You never signed up for all that’s happened. I never would have forgiven myself if you’d been hurt today.”

“Stop it.” Melissa tilted her chin up. “Nothing today was your fault. There are bad people in the world, and you can’t stop them all.” She crossed the distance between us and gave me a hug hard enough to crack a rib.

“I’m so proud that you’re my sister.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “Ditto.”

“I told Dad if you would have me, I’d like to continue interning for you all.”

I stepped back so I could look into her eyes. “Funny you should mention that. Kate, Carling and I had a little discussion before they left. When you graduate from law school, we would be honored if you become an associate of Dent, Rochelle and Sterling.”

Her face beamed with joy. “Oh man. Do you mean it? Of course, I’ll join the firm.”

I gave her a quick hug. “Don’t be so happy about it. The hours are long and forget about having holidays.”

“Yeah, right. I’m going to call Dad and tell him.” Melissa practically skipped down the hall.

I returned to the sofa and dropped beside Sam. “As for you…” I placed my hand on his thigh.

“What about me?”

“I’m thinking two workaholics deserve a vacation. What about going away together for a long weekend?”

Sam caught my hand and nibbled on my fingertips. “I like how you think, Red. Where would you like to go?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not planning to let you out of bed the entire time.”

Desire flared in his eyes. “Some place with excellent room service, then.”

I heard my mother clearing her throat and looked over. She posed in the doorway, wearing bell-bottom denims, a red-and-white striped midriff top and a white sailor cap. I grinned. “Mom must really like you, Sam. She only performs South Pacific for special gentlemen callers.”

Melissa reappeared, slipped around her and curled up in the chair.

I leaned back into Sam’s embrace and pressed my head against his shoulder. “Hit it, Mom.”

She bowed and then raised her hands to her head. “‘I’m going to wash that man right out my hair…’”

Sam reached for my hand. We linked fingers and I experienced a sense of completeness.

I didn’t have to be perfect and I definitely wasn’t alone. Wash him out of my hair? Nope, he was a keeper. I titled my head up and kissed him.

About the Author

Award-winning author and attorney Carol Stephenson keeps the light burning well into the night. Originally a Midwesterner, she learned to love books at an early age because of her parents’ nightly reading ritual.

Best known for her emotionally drawn, hard-driving romances, Carol’s first book, Nora’s Pride, won the 2002 National Readers’ Choice Award for both Best First Book and Long Contemporary. Her legal thriller Courting Danger won the 2006 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence in the Long Contemporary category. Shadow Lines, an international thriller, is the fourth book in the Madonna Key series about seven women, unthinkable danger and a lost history waiting for those who dared. Chasing the Truth revved as a thrill-a-minute Harlequin NASCAR story.

Carol lives in southeast Florida with her beloved Shih Tzu. As her five basic soul food groups are romances, movies, photography, travel and a good cup of tea, into her nonexistent spare time Carol crams travel with her trusty 35 mm camera in one hand and tea bags in the other. Points of interest include Alaska, Canada, the Grand Canyon, Great Britain, Italy, Napa Valley and Nova Scotia. She’s also on a trivia team that competes weekly all in good fun.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9155-7

Copyright © 2011 by Carol Stephenson

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