“If she was surprised, they said it didn’t show. Shock, maybe.”

Since Benton didn’t elaborate, Colin assumed no one had reported any other reaction that triggered more suspicion than usually fell upon the family of a murder victim; Benton was among the best at his job, despite that world-weary look in his eyes, and he wouldn’t leave out anything crucial.

“Canvas of the building?” Colin asked.

“We had patrol start it, but you’ll need to follow up.”

Colin nodded. “Anything else?”

Benton nodded. “There are security cameras in the lobby and in the hallways. The super, a guy named Carter, said the recording equipment is in the basement. We put in a call to the security company, they should be getting there about now. They’re sending a Mr. Bergen.”

“We’ll get on that right away,” Colin said; a videotape of the elevators and hallways could wind this case up in a hurry. But he knew better than to hope for such a tidy package; this was murder, and murder was almost always messy. Very messy.

Darien had to park so far from the address she’d been given on the Gold Coast that she should have changed to her running shoes. But she hadn’t wanted to delay, not when the district commander himself had given her this assignment.

After a dash to the right address, she paused for a few seconds to gather herself before she went inside. She knew she should be feeling appropriately solemn-someone’s loved one was dead in the worst imaginable way-but some small part of her couldn’t help being excited at working on her first murder case. She’d have to be careful that it didn’t show; she knew that much, that inappropriate rookie enthusiasm could brand her forever.

She also couldn’t dwell on the fact that the sexiest guy in the division would be her partner.

The March sun didn’t provide much warmth, but it turned the stone of the upper stories of the building a golden cream that nicely set off the amber tint of the windows. Thirty stories or better, she thought, and she was headed for the top. Of course. If the victim was the kind of high-roller the commander had said, it would only figure he’d live in the penthouse.

Telling herself that she hadn’t gotten this far to give in to doubts and qualms now, she straightened her spine and stepped inside. Still, the lobby caught her off guard with its expanse of gleaming marble. Springfield might be the state capital, but it had a population of about one twenty-fifth of Chicago and for a moment she again felt like the small-town girl lost in the big city.

No, she thought. That man lying dead upstairs is lost. And it’s my job to help find out who did this to him.

Steady now, she strode across the marble floor to the bank of elevators, trying to thaw her fingers as she went. A uniformed officer stood outside one of them, and she quickly found out it was the private elevator to the penthouse. She showed her ID and after the officer examined it as if he doubted it was real, she stepped inside the car. It, too, was elegantly appointed with gilt and marble, and she told herself to expect more of the same when she reached the penthouse. Considering the size of the building, she could guess how big the place must be.

The elevator doors opened directly into the foyer of the penthouse. She ran into a uniform the moment she stepped out, and had to produce her badge once more to get him to allow her in. Even then the man looked at her skeptically, and she wondered if that would ever stop.

“Look, I’m supposed to meet with Detective Waters. We’re partners. On this case,” she added as an afterthought, since she had no idea if the assignment would last beyond this case.

Something flickered in the man’s eyes, and she thought the corners of his mouth twitched. But all he said was “He’s in the kitchen.”

She tried not to speculate about the officer’s thoughts as she stepped past him. Now all she had to do was figure out where the kitchen was in this place. As she walked, she forced herself not to gape at the opulence evident in every square foot of the place, from huge Oriental carpets to a pair of matched sofas that had to be big enough to seat twelve people each, from sculptures on lighted pedestals to paintings on the walls that looked as if they should be in museums.

She walked until she heard voices. Stopping, she realized they were coming from two different directions, straight ahead and off to her left. She listened for a moment, then heard the low, rich baritone of Detective Colin Waters. Even after her short time assigned to this job she couldn’t mistake it. She turned left.

“-need the videotapes for the elevators for that time period.”

“I’ll get them right to you, Detective.” This promise was followed by the sound of footsteps, and she decided it was all right for her to go in.

“You do that,” Waters was saying. “I appreciate it.”

She was sure she imagined the slight break in his words as she stepped into a kitchen that looked more suited to a five-star restaurant than a home, because he didn’t even glance in her direction. The other man, a shorter, stockier man with a goatee, didn’t just glance, he stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

“About time, Detective Wilson,” Waters drawled pointedly, and Darien fought not to let color stain her cheeks. He knew how long it took to get here from probably anywhere in the city, so why was he-

“Detective?”

The other man almost squeaked it, and Darien stifled a sigh. And then stopped as the thought occurred to her that the statement might have been aimed at the other man as much as at her, letting him know who she was before he said anything embarrassing. She studied the tall, powerfully built man assessingly, wondering if there was indeed such tact and consideration hidden behind an exterior that had seemed, to her at least, decidedly gruff until now.

By the time she decided she had no way of knowing and that it wouldn’t make any difference anyway, the other man had escaped out another doorway. She also decided against making any comment about his unfair dig about her arrival time. If she was right, she’d look silly, and if he really was criticizing, he didn’t deserve a response.

Start as you mean to go on, her father had always said, and she meant to start this partnership on the right foot.

“What have we got?” she asked briskly.

There was the slightest of pauses before he answered, and she was very aware of his steady gaze. With those unusual golden-brown eyes, it was hard not to be. There was the slightest bit of emphasis on the first word when he finally spoke.

“We have a homicide case that could turn into the nightmare to end all nightmares.”

“Victim’s a big shot, I gather,” she said, as neutrally as she could.

“And then some. They’re more recognizable in this town than the mayor. And they’ve got friends in higher places than that.”

“I thought I heard eggshells crunching,” she said.

To her surprise, Waters grinned. “And very expensive eggs we’re walking on at that.”

She felt absurdly pleased. And decided to make it clear right away that she understood her position. “What do you want me to do?”

He gave her a look she couldn’t quite interpret. “You’re waiting for me to tell you what needs to be done, Wilson?”

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that, so she went with the truth. “I know what needs to be done. I know what my area of expertise is, so I would assume I’m supposed to tackle his computer. But I also know I’m the rookie here, so I was asking what part of it you want me to do.”

After a brief moment, he nodded as if she’d gotten the answer to some difficult test question correct. “Benton and Sutter have the evidence situation under control, and we should have their preliminary written reports by the end of the day. We’ll take the computer with us as evidence; it’s a laptop-at least it’s the only one I could find-so we don’t need to wait for transport, as long as one of us has it in our possession from the time we leave here until it’s booked in, for chain of evidence.”