And in disgrace, she mentally tacked on. The investigation of Franklin ’s murder had revealed a dark side to the man. He’d been involved in a horrendous operation that kidnapped pretty young girls and sold them to an overseas prostitution ring.

“Unbelievable,” Jennifer whispered, then flipped to the next page in the notebook.

How diabolically slick the whole thing had been, she mused. Gardner money helped support halfway houses and shelters in the city that Franklin often and understandably visited on behalf of his family.

It was there that he selected his victims, then arranged for Desmond Reicher, a business associate, to proposition the girls and bring them to the buyer. Franklin made certain that he selected only runaways, which resulted in the belief that the girls had once again decided to disappear.

Reicher had been arrested, was considered a flight risk and was in jail with no bail granted as he awaited trial. He adamantly denied any guilt in the murder of Franklin Gardner, and the detectives on the case believed him. Why would Reicher kill the golden goose in the form of Franklin Gardner? Without Franklin, Reicher’s steady stream of money would be cut off. No, Desmond Reicher had not killed Franklin Gardner.

The detectives had shifted their attention to Lyle, Franklin ’s older brother. His alibi at the time of the murder was flimsy…he was home alone watching television. Also, the medical examiner had determined that Franklin had been murdered by someone who was left-handed. Lyle was left-handed. Reicher was right-handed.

The detectives were also going on their gut instincts, feeling the smiling, albeit haughty facade that Lyle presented was phony, covering up the truth he refused to reveal.

They didn’t believe for one second that Lyle was surprised and devastated by the brutal death of his brother and the truth of what Franklin had been involved in.

The autopsy of Franklin ’s body had shown that in addition to stab wounds, apparently from an ice pick, Franklin had also received blows to his face. The bruises there indicated that he had been struck by a fist where a heavy signet ring was worn. His actual death had been caused by a blow to the back of his head when he’d fallen and struck it on the edge of a table.

It had come to light that Lyle Gardner wore such a signet ring. He claimed he must have lost it somewhere because he couldn’t find it. Nor had a police search of his home and office turned up the ring.

The detectives believed that Lyle learned of his brother’s activities, confronted him, and the pair came to blows. The wounds from the ice pick had been administered after Franklin was dead to give the impression that a botched burglary had taken place. Lyle had taken a few valuable items from the apartment to further that theory and had disposed of the incriminating ring.

“Oh, dear,” Jennifer said to herself, shaking her head. “It really is very circumstantial evidence. No wonder Evan is so worried about proving that Lyle killed his brother.”

Evan had a rough road to go, Jennifer thought as she set aside her work and sipped her tea. He looked so tired, thoroughly exhausted, and Belinda had told Jennifer that Evan was putting in very long days at the office as he prepared to go to trial.

Jennifer glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.

Was Evan still in his office at the courthouse? she wondered, poring over every scrap of evidence he had. What a lonely picture that painted in her mind. Evan would be in a small circle of light with total darkness and heavy silence beyond it. All alone. Thinking of nothing but the case he was determined to win. How stark, narrow and empty that was as it flitted across her mind’s eye.

But that was her reaction to the scenario she was creating. It might seem bleak and lonely to her, but to Evan? His career was his world, the focus of his existence. If he was still at the office he was probably relieved that everyone else had gone home so he could work in peace with no chance of being interrupted.

The telephone on the end table shrilled, causing Jennifer to nearly jump off the sofa from the sudden noise.

Who on earth would be calling at this hour? she thought, staring at the phone that continued to ring. She snatched up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Jennifer? Evan.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened. He’d read her mind. From wherever he was he’d peered into her brain, knew she’d been thinking about him. He… Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jennifer, you’re totally losing it.

“Jennifer?”

“What? Oh, yes, I’m here, Evan.”

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, no, I was working on my notes and…Where are you?”

“At the office.”

Of course he was, she thought. That was his favorite place to be. His home away from home, or some such depressing thing.

“And you called me because?”

“I’m going to stop off at Franklin Gardner’s apartment tomorrow morning before I come in here to the office. Your cameraman…what’s his name? Slates?”

“Sticks. He’s very tall and thin and has long legs, and he goes by the name of Sticks.”

“Whatever. Sticks can film the building from the outside, but the apartment itself is still considered a crime scene and he can’t go in there. I’ll take you inside with me, but no footage is to be filmed.”

“All right. Sticks can go by there whenever and get what he needs from in front or across the street.” She paused. “Why are you…we…going to the scene of the crime now?”

“I don’t know,” Evan said, sounding very weary. “I was called the night it happened because of the fact that a high-profile Gardner had been murdered, but I would have been in the way if I’d gone over then.

“I went the next morning so I would have a clear picture of things in my mind. Now? I’m just retracing my steps, going over everything again with a fine-tooth comb. I want to walk through those rooms once more. I figured I’d better include you in on this, or you’d pitch a fit.”

“My, my, how can I pass up such a warm fuzzy invitation to accompany you, Mr. Stone? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan said, then chuckled.

A funny little flutter whispered down Jennifer’s spine as she heard that oh-so-sexy sound.

“I didn’t phrase that very well, did I? Chalk it up to the fact that I’m so tired I’m punchy. But be honest, Jennifer, wouldn’t you have pitched a fit if I went there in the morning and told you about it later?”

Jennifer laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, I certainly would have. I’m supposed to be documenting your every little move, you know.”

“Believe me, I’m aware of that. Do you know where Gardner ’s apartment building is?”

“Yes, I have the address in my notes.”

“Okay. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in the lobby of the building.” Evan paused a moment. “What are you wearing right now?”

“Pardon me?” Jennifer said, sitting up straighter.

“I’m sitting here having put in such a long day that I feel like I’ve been in this suit for three weeks. I just wondered what someone who is home, relaxing, probably about to go to bed…is wearing.”

Jennifer glanced down at her less-than-fashionable robe.

“Am I allowed to lie?”

“Nope.”

“Well, darn. After a sinfully long shower I donned my favorite robe which is older than dirt and looks like it was given to me by a bag lady who decided it was too decrepit to be seen in.”

“Sexy, huh?”

“To the max,” Jennifer said, smiling.

“What color is this fashion statement?”

“I don’t think this faded shade really has a name beyond blah.”

“Got it. Okay, nice long, soothing shower, security-blanket type comfy robe and… Hmm…you’re curled up in the corner of the sofa with a drink. Something warm on this chilly night. Coffee? Hot chocolate? No, tea, I think. Yes, you’re having a cup of tea, maybe one of those fancy flavored kind.”