In another instant, they’re both ignoring me because they’re sucking face again.

There’s a knock on the door. Loud. Insistent.

I arch an eyebrow toward the lovers. Neither makes a move to pull back or disengage. “Don’t worry,” I snarl. “I’ll get that.”

If I’m lucky, the place will be on fire. Which I may or may not tell David and Gloria. A good dousing from a fire hose is what those two need.

I yank open the door. There’s a man in a suit frowning at me. He’s flanked by two cops in uniform. He flashes a badge and looks over my shoulder at the lovebirds.

“Gloria Estrella?”

His tone is belligerent and hostile. It startles Gloria into breaking the lip-lock. It surprises me, too. I didn’t think anyone talked to her like that except me. Makes me take a closer look.

He’s about five feet ten, all planes and angles. Square jaw, stubborn, arrogant face, boxy physique under a ready-to-wear suit of charcoal gray. His mouth has a cynical twist that is vaguely familiar. When he looks at Gloria, it’s not the way guys usually look at her. There’s no drool dripping off his chin and his eyes reflect no admiration or lust. He’s sizing her up like a perp.

The same way he sized me up not too long ago.

“Detective Harris?”

For the first time his eyes disengage from Gloria and flick to me. It’s lightning fast. A camera lens focusing on an image, processing the shot, moving on to another. He doesn’t confirm or deny that he recognizes me.

Doesn’t matter. I certainly recognize him. What’s a homicide cop doing in Gloria’s office?

He shoulders his way past me into the room. The two cops with him crowd the door but don’t follow him in.

Gloria straightens and pulls back from David. She rounds on Harris, her eyes flashing. “How did you get back here? This area is not open to the public.”

He holds up the badge. “I’m not the public. You are Gloria Estrella.” Not a question, a statement.

“Yes.”

“You know Rory O’Sullivan?”

“He’s my business partner in this restaurant.”

“Not anymore.”

Gloria gives Harris a slow, brittle smile. “Who are you? Is this Rory’s idea of a joke? How much is he paying you to annoy me?”

She moves back toward David. One hand rests on his chest, the other on his waist. For his part, David’s expression is not so patronizing or self-assured. He’s looking at Harris with a mixture of alarm and concern. “Wait a minute, Gloria,” he says, stepping around the desk. “Anna called this guy ‘Detective Harris.’ You’re a cop? How do you know Anna?”

I wait to see how he’s going to answer—if he’ll remember. When Trish’s mother was killed, he was the detective on the scene. Asked me to identify the body. Williams took over the case, and I had no more contact with him.

Harris nods at David. “She was a witness in a homicide a few months ago. Not why I’m here.” He takes a picture from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Ms. Estrella, is this your partner?”

I get a glimpse of the picture as it passes from his hand to Gloria’s. A head shot of Rory. Not a glamour shot. The eyes are open, fixed, there’s a blood smear on one cheek and more blood up around his hairline.

Gloria sucks in her breath. She barely glances at the photograph before pushing it back at Harris. “What’s wrong with him? Has Rory been in an accident?”

“Not an accident. Mr. O’Sullivan was shot.”

“Shot?” Gloria’s face pales.

“Is he all right?” David asks.

“No.” Harris says.

David looks at Gloria. “Who would want to kill O’Sullivan?”

A smile touches the corners of Harris’ mouth. “Good question. That’s what I’m here to find out.”

David steps between Gloria and Detective Harris. “You’re questioning Gloria about a homicide?”

Harris lets a heartbeat go by before he says, “Who says it’s a homicide?”

David points to the picture. “He is dead, isn’t he? You said it was no accident.”

Harris slips the picture back into a jacket pocket. He moves around David. “Ms. Estrella, I need to ask you a few questions.”

David counters as quickly. He’s gone into defensive mode. Not unexpected where Gloria is concerned. He places his six feet six, 250-pound ex-football-player frame squarely between Gloria and the detective.

Harris has to step back to look up at him. A move he’s not happy to make. His expression darkens, his shoulders tighten. “Who are you?”

“I’m David Ryan. What’s your interest in Gloria?”

The color in Harris’ face deepens from irritated cherry to infuriated purple. “Are you her lawyer?”

“I’m her friend. Does she need a lawyer?”

This whole exchange has me watching openmouthed in astonishment. I know firsthand how crazy David is about Gloria, but I’ve never seen him so rabid in his defense of her.

Maybe a voice of reason is needed here.

I put my hand on David’s arm. “David? Detective Harris hasn’t accused Gloria of anything. Rory was her business partner. It’s reasonable for him to be here. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

David’s eyes don’t flicker for an instant from Harris. “I know how cops work. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t suspect something. Gloria is going to have her lawyer present before she answers any questions.”

As far as David is concerned, that’s that. I’ve known him long enough to recognize the signs. He’s planted himself like a big, dumb rock in front of Gloria, and nothing short of a bulldozer will move him.

I look over at Harris. He’s irritated. I half expect him to draw his gun and order David out. Instead, he throws up his hands. “Fine. Have it your way.” He yanks a business card from a jacket pocket and tosses it on the desk. “Ms. Estrella, you and your lawyer at SDPD headquarters in thirty minutes.” He looks up at David. “You’re not invited. If you advise Ms. Estrella not to appear or if I see you anywhere in the building, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.”

This time, David is smart enough not to argue. Harris leaves the office. He slams the door behind him. He slams it so hard the pictures on the wall bounce and rattle.

“That went well,” I say. “David, what the hell’s the matter with you? You just made things worse for Gloria. All she had to do was answer the cop’s questions, and it would have been over. She doesn’t have anything to hide.”

Suddenly I realize that Gloria hasn’t said a word. Now that Harris has left, she should be reacting in her usual prima-donna way—ranting against Rory and the cops. Blaming Rory for getting himself killed and Harris for inconveniencing her with a trip to SDPD in the middle of the night.

Instead, she’s not doing or saying anything.

I look, really look, at her, focusing my vampire radar at the pale, perfect face. She hadn’t acted surprised to learn Rory had been killed. Hadn’t acted shocked. Hadn’t asked how or why.

She barely glanced at the photo.

No. As much as I hate this woman, it isn’t possible.

Is it?

“Oh my god.”

David and Gloria do a half turn toward me. David says, “What is it?”

Gloria simply looks at me. Waiting.

“You already knew O’Sullivan was dead. How, Gloria? Did you kill him?”

THERE’S NO REACTION FROM GLORIA.

David, however, explodes. “Are you nuts?” he yells. “Why would Gloria kill O’Sullivan?”

Yells. Not at Gloria.

At me.

I swallow a few times to mollify my own temper. I really want to bounce his head off the wall. Instead, I count to ten before saying reasonably, “Think about it, David. She didn’t ask how or when or where Rory was shot. She didn’t so much as look at the picture. What is she doing now? Nothing. No temper tantrum, no tirade. Is that the Gloria you know?”

I shift my gaze to Gloria. Then there’s the trivial matter of O’Sullivan blackmailing you this afternoon for sex and suing you tonight for fraud. You can jump in anytime here, sweetie.