She heard him waiting, fidgeting. She refused to give him her eyes. And she certainly would not give him the absolution she knew Delaney would feel guilty without. Down below, cars began to fill the video-game slots, black and red and white, stopping and going.

“Maggie, we’re all just worried about you,” he said again, as if it should be enough.

“Right.” She didn’t bother to disguise the hurt and anger.

She waited for the soft slap of the door to close behind him. Then she crossed the room and turned the dead bolt. She stood with her back leaning against the door, listening to her heart pound, waiting for the anger and disappointment to leave. Why couldn’t she replace it with acceptance or, at least, complacency? She needed to go home to her new, huge Tudor house with her belongings stacked in cardboard boxes and her shiny new state-of-the-art security system. She needed to let this go, before she did slip so far over the edge there would be no return.

She waited, pressed against the door, staring at the ceiling and listening, if not for her heart to stop banging then at least for her common sense to return. Then making up her mind, she stomped to the middle of the room. She began stripping out of the clothes she had worn since yesterday morning. In minutes she was dressed in blue jeans, a sweatshirt and an old pair of Nikes. She slipped on her shoulder holster, shoved her badge into the back pocket of her jeans and wrestled into a navy FBI windbreaker.

Her forensic kit hadn’t been used in months, but she still didn’t leave home without it. She pulled out several pairs of latex gloves, some evidence bags and a surgical face mask, transferring the items to the pockets of her jacket.

It was almost 6:00 a.m. She had only six hours, but she wasn’t leaving this city until she connected Albert Stucky to Rita’s murder. And she didn’t care if that meant checking every last Dumpster and every last discarded take-out container in Westport’s market district. Suddenly feeling energized, she grabbed her room’s key card and left.

CHAPTER 24

“Hey lady. What the hell you looking for?”

Maggie looked over her shoulder but didn’t stop digging through the rubble. She was up to her knees in garbage. Her Nikes were stained with barbecue sauce, her gloved hands sticky. Her eyes stung from a smelly concoction of garlic, mothballs, spoiled food and general human crap.

“FBI,” she finally shouted through the paper face mask, and turned just enough for him to see the yellow letters on the jacket’s back.

“Shit! No kidding? Maybe I can help.”

She glanced at him again, resisting the urge to swipe at the strands of hair in her face, instead waving at the flies who regarded her as an invader of their territory. The man was young, probably in his early twenties. A scar, still pink and swollen, ran along his jaw and a purple bend in his nose indicated a recent break. Maggie’s eyes darted around the alley, wondering if the rest of his gang was close by.

“Actually, I have more help than I need. The KC cops are a couple of Dumpsters down,” she lied, pleased when the kid immediately began a nervous dance. His head jerked in both directions. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if preparing to run.

“Yeah, well. Good luck then.” Rather than decide which direction to risk, he found an unlocked door and disappeared into the back of a warehouse.

She tossed a bulging garbage bag to the side without opening it. Stucky would never leave it hidden inside a bag. In the past, his surprises had been left in plain sight, where they were easily discovered, often by unsuspecting citizens. Maybe she was wasting her time going through Dumpsters.

Just then she saw the corner of a white cardboard take-out container. Slowly, she stepped closer, lifting each leg high as if wading through water, ignoring the squish-squash sounds beneath her feet. The last two containers had yielded one green meatball sandwich and some moldy ribs. Yet, each time she spotted a new one her pulse quickened. She felt a surge of adrenaline as she swatted at flies and brushed off wilted lettuce, cigarette butts and wadded pieces of tinfoil.

She lifted the container carefully, keeping it level and setting it on the edge of the Dumpster. The box was about the size of a small cake or pie. It’d provide ample room for a kidney or a lung. Neither organ required much space. She had once found a lung from one of Stucky’s victims stuffed inside a container no bigger than a sandwich.

Sweat trickled down her back, despite the morning being damp and chilly. By now, she imagined she reeked as bad as the garbage she stood in. She steadied her fingers and sucked in her breath. The surgical mask clung to her mouth and nose. She slipped off the container’s tab and pulled open the lid. The smell made her turn her head and hold her breath. After a few seconds, she was able to look again. Who’d ever guess spoiled fettuccine Alfredo would curdle and stink like rotten eggs? At least that’s what Maggie thought the contents had once been. It was difficult to tell without lifting the thin film of fuzzy green and gray scum off the top. She closed and secured the lid.

“Find anything interesting?”

The deep voice startled her. Had the young gangster changed his mind? She grasped the Dumpster’s edge so she wouldn’t slip and fall backward into the trash. When she turned, she found Detective Ford staring up at her. Only this morning she hardly recognized him. Like her, he was dressed in street clothes, blue jeans, a gray hooded sweatshirt and a blue Kansas City Royals baseball cap. He looked much younger without the suit and tie and without his older partner.

She tugged off the surgical mask and let it dangle at her neck.

“I’m finding that we waste entirely too much food in this country,” she said, dropping the container and wading to the opposite side of the Dumpster where she had left a milk crate on the cobblestone to aid in her climb.

“I didn’t realize the FBI was trying to police that sort of thing.”

She checked to see if there would be a lecture. He smiled.

“So are you undercover or off duty?” she asked, pointing to the baseball cap as she peeled off the latex gloves.

“I should ask you the same thing.”

“I had some free time this morning,” she said, as if that should be explanation enough for her to be knee-deep, sifting through garbage.

“Hey, Ford, where the hell did you disappear?” a familiar voice called from around the corner.

“Over here,” Detective Ford answered.

Even before he came into view, Maggie felt the annoying flutter in her stomach. Nick Morrelli looked just as handsome as she had remembered, tall and lean with a confident stride. He, too, wore blue jeans with a red Nebraska Cornhuskers sweatshirt. He was at Ford’s side before he recognized her, and when he did, his smile revealed dimples in an otherwise strong, square jaw.

“Maggie?”

She tossed the sticky gloves and yanked off the surgical mask from around her neck, adding it to the garbage.

“Hi, Nick.” She pretended to sound casual while wading the rest of the way out, suddenly acutely aware of flies now attracted and interested in her. She swatted at them and tucked wild strands of hair behind her ears and away from her face.

“That’s right. I keep forgetting you two know each other.” Ford was smiling, too. “Maggie had some free time this morning,” he said to Nick.

“Jesus, it’s good to see you, Maggie.”

Immediately, she felt her face flush.

“It might not be so good to smell me,” she said, needing to stop any sentimental reunion.

She gripped the edge of the Dumpster and swung a leg over the side. Her foot dangled, searching for the milk crate. Before she could find it, Nick’s hands were on her waist to help. Her hip brushed against his chest on the way down. Despite being bombarded with smells all morning, she recognized the subtle scent of his cologne.