The other night he’d asked Leah about the scars and she’d blamed it on an accident. He’d save the scar for another day. “You and Deidre see each other outside of the running group?”

“We did. I visited her at her hotel, and once here.”

“Hotel?”

“It was temporary, she said. Until she found something more permanent. She’d just signed a six-month lease on this place.”

“Do you know where the hotel was?”

“Yeah. Germantown.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and scrolled through the contacts. She rattled off the address. When he didn’t move, she asked, “Aren’t you going to write it down?”

“I’ll remember it.”

“You’ve got a great memory?”

“When I want to remember, I never forget.” The scars on Leah’s palms, her wrist, and the hair color change: details like that stuck with him.

“Look, do you mind if I go home? I’ve been here for hours and I’m exhausted. I gave my contact information to the officers.”

Alex hesitated, not wanting to let her off the hook so easily. “I may have more questions.”

“You’ve got my number.”

“At the clinic. Do you have a cell number?”

Hesitation, and then she rattled off the number.

He keyed it into his phone. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

He knocked on the window, and the officer came around and opened the door, which only opened from the outside. Once out, Alex walked around the car and opened Leah’s door. She rose, glancing back at the town house one last time and then tensing. “There was so much blood.”

“There was.” He watched her closely, wondering what other questions hovered behind those troubled eyes.

Her breath hitched. “She was stabbed, right?”

“Yes.”

For a moment she swayed, and he thought she’d fall down. “Right.”

He sensed weakness and wanted to push just to see what she’d do. Reactions under stress revealed so much. “Multiple times. Lots of defensive wounds. Hands, arms, chest.”

She raised her hands to her mouth and turned, as if she’d be sick again. He waited while she wrangled control of her body.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was a bare whisper. “I’m fine.”

“This is your first crime scene. The stress and nerves are understandable.”

“Yes.”

If he hadn’t been looking at her, he’d have missed how her gaze skittered away for an instant. She was lying. She’d been at another crime scene somewhere. The blood she’d seen inside Deidre’s house hadn’t been the first time she’d encountered destruction. The scars. Where had they come from? “You’ve seen this kind of thing before?”

“Seen? No. No. I’ve never found a dead person.”

He believed that. Somewhere along the way, she’d been the one who had been found. This crime scene—no, this stabbing—had rattled not just her but old memories loose. She’d been stabbed. “Let me get an officer to drive you home.”

She cleared her throat. “No. I don’t need help.”

Leah Carson didn’t like taking orders, real or imagined. He couldn’t fault her there. He’d never cozied up to direction either.

“Okay. But one of my guys will follow you. You’re rattled, and he’ll be hovering in the background, keeping an eye on you, just in case.”

“

“Is there a problem?”

“No. No. It’s okay.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Leah. And thank you for waiting to speak to me.”

She took his hand. Her scars scraped against his palm. “Thanks.”

Leah turned and, without another word, moved toward her CR-V. For a few beats, she simply sat behind the wheel. Finally, she slowly turned on the ignition and pulled away.

He knocked on the window to alert the officer. “Can you follow that CR-V home? She’s my witness and she’s rattled.”

The officer looked up. He wouldn’t dare argue, but there was defiance. “I’ll keep a close eye on her. Do you want me to stay outside her house for a while?”

“Maybe an hour. See if she goes back out.”

“Sure.”

The officer settled sunglasses over his eyes and, closing the window, followed Leah.

Alex stepped back, watching Leah drive carefully down the residential street toward the main road. The uniform stayed close behind.

“So what did you think of her?” Deke asked. His brother moved to his side as the two cars turned the corner.

Alex slid his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “She’s rattled as hell.”

“Understandable.”

“This struck a major nerve. Somewhere along the way . . .”

“What . . . ?”

“I don’t know.” In his pocket, he fingered a receipt for the tank of gas he’d bought that morning. “But I’ll figure it out.”

As the medical examiner’s van arrived, Leah Carson shuttled to the edges of his thoughts. The mystery of Leah would have to wait.

Alex and Deke stood outside the town house as the medical examiner’s technicians entered the house with the gurney. The crowd of residents ringing the edges of the crime scene tape watched as if they were on the set of a cop show. Out here, it was easy for a bystander to pretend it wasn’t all that real.

Twenty minutes later, the technicians rolled out the gurney carrying the body bag. A few startled gasps rose up from the crowd. A couple pointed. One or two took pictures with their cell phones.

Alex moved toward the crowd, wondering if the killer lingered to watch the chaos. At the edge of the tape he caught the gaze of a tall man with a thick stubble of beard, wide-set eyes, and short, dark hair. He wore plaid pajama bottoms, a UT sweatshirt, and a thick sheepskin-lined jacket.

Carefully, Alex pulled out his badge. “Alex Morgan, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Mind if I ask you a few questions.” A question that didn’t sound like a question but an order.

“Sure.” The guy lowered his phone and tucked it in his pocket.

“Your name?”

“Tim Rogers.”

“You know the resident of that town house?”

“Leggy tall brunette. Liked to run. She just moved in a few weeks ago.” He leaned in a fraction. “Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Seen anyone coming or going from her town house?”

“No.”

“But you noticed her.”

“I mean, I’d steal a look or two when she jogged. Hot. But I didn’t track who came and went.”

“Anyone around here who would have noticed?”

“You could ask Carol. She lives next door. She pays attention.”

“She here now?”

“No. Likely at work. She’s a lawyer.”

“Okay. Carol got a last name?”

“Rivers. But I don’t know the name of the law firm.”

Alex glanced at the town house next to Deidre’s and noted the address. “Are all the places here furnished?”

“No. The guy who owns that unit works for a bank. Got transferred to New York or Charlotte. He’s renting because he can’t sell. Left a few pieces of furniture, hoping it would rent.”

“Thanks.” He walked back toward Deke, careful to keep all trace of emotion from his face. The less fodder for the news crews and cell phone cameras, the better. They didn’t need footage ending up on the Internet or networks.

Only when he turned away from the crowd and stood shoulder to shoulder with Deke did he speak. “I’m going to nail the prick who did this, Deke.”

His brother’s face resembled chiseled granite, but his eyes sparked. “I’m letting you off the chain on this one, Alex. Good hunting.”

After the medical examiner removed the body, Alex took a few minutes to stand in the cold and allow his mind to inventory and process what he’d seen.

None of the furniture, drapes, or carpet appeared to have been disturbed in Deidre’s town house. Of course the killer could have taken something, but he had no way of knowing now. No signs of sexual assault. Whoever had come into her home appeared to have come with one goal in mind: kill Deidre and cover his tracks.