“Last night?” I was suddenly tense.

“Yes. Are you aware of what you did last night?”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes. Broward dismissed everyone early. I went home, changed and met my friends for drinks at nine. We stayed at the bar until about eleven.”

“I will need to speak with your friends and verify this.”

I sat back and folded my arms. “Are you verifying all of the staff’s alibis?”

Parks paused and looked at me appraisingly. “Alibi is probably too strong a word, at this point. But to answer your question, no. Not all of the staff.”

THE AIR HAD gotten hot in Brad’s office. He sighed. “Broward doesn’t, or didn’t, like me for a few reasons. The main one, and what I assume you are hinting at, is that I once slept with his wife.”

The man cocked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t move otherwise. “You seem awfully cavalier about that—sleeping with another man’s wife.”

Brad shrugged. “I sleep with a lot of women. I regret that specific experience, because he was my business partner, and because it complicated an already strained relationship.”

“Strained how?”

“He was...irritated by me. By my large income and what he considered to be lack of work ethic.”

“Did you dislike him?”

“You already asked that. No.”

“Hmmm.” The detective wrote something down.

“Where were you last night, Mr. De Luca?”

“At home.”

“When did you arrive home?”

“After work. I am unsure of the exact time.”

“Take a guess.” The irritated voice of the man had turned harder.

“I would guess six or seven.”

“And you stayed in your home all evening?”

“Until about eleven.”

“Where did you go at eleven?”

“Do I need to re-create my entire evening for you? I was told the time of death was before 10:00 p.m.”

“By who?”

“Hugo Clarke. Am I done here?”

“Just answer the question, Mr. De Luca. Where did you go at eleven?”

“To pick up a female friend, and no, I will not reveal her name.” He stared at the detective, a tic beginning in his cheek.

“Are you aware of any of Mr. Broward’s current projects?”

“That’s it.” Brad leaned back in his chair. “I’m not going to answer any more questions without a lawyer present.”

Wilkes snorted, then laughed softly, shaking his head. “I thought you were a lawyer.”

Brad said nothing, just stared at him over the desk.

“Fine.” The detective snapped the notebook shut and stood, scraping his chair backward. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Brad, a stern look on his face. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised.

Brad smiled and lifted his chin in response, but did not stand. Wilkes turned and stalked out of the office, and Brad watched him leave through the heavy glass. He frowned, then opened his center drawer and pulled out a cell phone that he kept in the back, behind paper clips and Post-its. He dialed a number and waited, listening to the ring in his ear.

With Broward dead, we milled like ants through the lobby, everyone unsure of their duties. CSI staff, police and detectives were everywhere, and it was whispered that Broward’s body still lay in his office. Finally, the police moved us all to the East Wing, Brad’s domain, to get us out of the way. We filled his lobby, the ornate room now a sea of black suits and boring neutrals. I felt a hand tug mine, and turned to see Todd Appleton, six feet of blond and blue-eyed concern. He tugged on my hand, pulling me into a hard hug, his arms wrapping around me and hugging me tightly to his chest, white shirt and black suit smooshing comfortably against my face. A sudden sob welled in my throat, an unexpected breakdown of the walls I had fought all morning to control. He shushed me, bodies and voices crowding us from all sides. “I’m so sorry, Julia. So sorry.”

I pushed gently on his chest, stepping back and wiping at my eyes, sniffing back snot and tears. “Thanks, Todd. I’m still trying to work it all out.”

He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd. “There were cops everywhere when I arrived, but we haven’t heard any updates over here—they’ve all been in your wing till now.” He looked a little too enthusiastic about the drama, the earlier concern replaced by excited curiosity. The wing doors opened and a new group entered, causing the room to go from crowded to packed. There was pure bedlam for about two minutes, and then Brad appeared at the head of the room, calling out and bringing the room to silence.

“Everybody, go home. Sheila and Beverly, you both stay and use Conference Room D to reach out to clients and reschedule appointments. Everyone else, please leave. We will email you tonight regarding tomorrow’s schedule.” He sought out and met my eyes but gave nothing away, turning and heading back to his office. There was silence; then the din of the room resumed, and we moved as one giant mass to the double doors that led to the elevator lobby. I met Todd’s eyes, moving away with the crowd as he stayed in place. I gave him a crumbling smile and waved, turning and looking to the exit. As nice as Todd’s embrace had been, I needed a stronger set of arms, the steadiness and security of Brad.

I avoided eye contact and conversations as I moved with the crowd. I wanted nothing more than to be at home and alone with my thoughts. What would happen with our wing? Who killed Broward? Was I a suspect? Was the Magiano family involved? Was I in danger? Most of my thoughts and questions were selfish, and I scolded myself as I moved with the crowd. Beside the elevator was one of the firm’s chauffeurs, and he tapped my shoulder lightly.

“Ms. Campbell. My name is—”

“Jeff. I remember. You took me to lunch one day.” Me and Brad, but I wasn’t about to say that in the crowded lobby.

“Yes. I’ve been asked to take you to your car. Or to your home, whichever you prefer.” He ducked his head toward the elevator, and I nodded, moving forward when the doors opened. My car. I had forgotten about it. It was, no doubt, still two blocks down from the bar, in a metered spot, the windshield littered with tickets.

We avoided the crowd and walked through the lobby. I looked at my watch as I stepped into the morning light. Only nine. The shortest workday on the planet. The town car was idling in one of the reserved spots in front of the building, and we moved toward it. I wondered what time they would email us. Brad would undoubtedly keep me in the loop.

“Ms. Campbell?” Jeff held open the car door, a questioning look in his eyes.

I murmured an apology as I stepped into the car, hugging my purse to my chest. I waited until he got in and started the car, then spoke. “I’d like to be taken to my car, please.”

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Okay. Where is it?”

I gave him the location and we moved, pulling up to the car before I had a chance to collect my thoughts. He was out of the car and opening my door, his pale hands gathering the two orange envelopes off my windshield as I stepped out. I winced, holding my hand out for them, but he shook his head, stuffing them in his pocket. “Mr. D said for me to bring any citations to him.”

I opened my mouth to object, thought better of it and smiled at Jeff. “Thank you for the ride. Please pass on my thanks to Mr. De Luca.”

He grinned in response and tipped his hat, walking jauntily back to the driver’s side. It was as if Jeff was completely unaware that anyone had died. I frowned, getting into my car, the familiar smell bringing a sense of normalcy back into my life. I started the car and headed for home.

THE HOUSE WAS quiet when I unlocked the front door, my roommates still asleep. Their social life didn’t accommodate waking before noon, a norm that I was grateful for this particular day. I took out my contacts and changed into sweats and a baggie tee from three boyfriends back, a giant soft number that advertised a fundraiser and would one day soon completely disintegrate in my hands. I crawled into bed, flipping on my TV and scrolling through the stations. I finally stopped on VH1, piling on blankets and adding pillows until I was completely surrounded, in perfect pity-party settings. Then I added a box of tissues and let myself go.