Kristen swallowed hard and looked away. She picked up the sandpaper and began working a small section of mantel carving where decades of paint stubbornly clung. „I was bringing some papers to the precinct that day,“ she said. „I heard you, then saw you. You were watching me.“ With those piercing blue eyes she’d never truly forgotten. „Why?“

She heard him approach, felt his heat at her back. And wondered how she ever could have been cold. „I don’t know,“ he answered seriously. „I just looked up and there you were in your black suit with your hair pinned up. I was… stunned.“

Stunned. Kristen made herself laugh. „Oh, please, Reagan. ‘Stunned’ is a bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?“

„You asked, I told you,“ he answered tersely. „I wasn’t happy about it myself.“

He sounded positively grim and her stomach gave a nasty twist. That hurt. She renewed her efforts on the stubborn paint until she was sure her voice would be steady. „That’s good to know. I think I’m ready to talk about vigilante stalkers now.“

„My wife was alive then.“ The words cracked out, seemed to hover between them.

His wife. Slowly she turned around. He was standing too close, and she pressed back against the mantel to put a few more inches of distance between them. He’d noticed her when he was still married. She hadn’t believed him to be that kind of man. And that hurt even more. „Your wife?“ Her voice came out a whisper.

He was staring at her, his eyes intense. Challenging. „Yeah. Debra, my wife.“

Debra, whose parents’ coming to the christening on Saturday made him angry. She moistened her suddenly dry lips. „She’s no longer alive, I take it?“

„She died a year ago.“

Kristen waited a moment, but he said no more. „Of?“

His expression became angry. „I guess the official cause of death was heart failure, but after five years in a vegetative state, any failure would have been sufficient.“

Her breath caught in her throat as the enormity of his admission hit home. Five years. Five years of painful limbo. Her heart ached for him, for what he’d endured. Her first impression had been an accurate one, she thought, thinking of that night in the elevator. Desperate desolation. „You loved her, then.“

His eyes flashed. „Yes.“ He bit it out, the one little word that said volumes. She knew that if she wanted to know more, she’d have to ask. She wondered if she did want to know more. She had enough troubles of her own without taking on those of another. But he took on yours, Kristen, without a second breath. And in a flash of insight she realized what he was offering. The opportunity to share burdens.

A relationship. Something she’d longed for over the years. Something that terrified every bit as much as it beckoned.

He was watching her think, which was unsettling, as if he knew her thoughts. Maybe he did. Maybe he won’t care. The thought came, childish and hopeful, and she dashed it immediately. No, he’d care. It would make a difference. Later, it would. But now, he needed to talk and she wanted to listen. They would be friends.

But no more than friends. It would be his choice, not hers. He would be the one to walk away, not her. She knew it, even as she stared into his eyes. They’d be hurt, both of them. But not tonight She tore her sandpaper into halves and offered him one.

„Tell me about her. Debra.“

He took the bit of sandpaper that looked pathetically small in his large hand. He stepped away, moving down to the other end of the mantel and she took in a deep breath, filling her lungs. Then turned back to her stubborn paint.

„She was…“ His voice roughened, broke. „She was everything.“

Kristen’s heart cracked as she wondered what it would be like to be „everything“ to someone. Someone like him. She sanded harder. „What happened?“

„She and I were going to the store. She got out of the car, and she was shot“

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He just stood there, staring at the sandpaper in his hand. „Was it a mugging?“

His jaw clenched. „No. Just some punk retaliating against the just-promoted detective who arrested his brother.“

She closed her eyes briefly. He’d only been doing his job and somebody ruined his life. There was a parallel here, his past experience with her current situation, but she wasn’t going to touch it now. „Tell me about her.“

„She had brown hair and brown eyes.“ He was quiet for a moment, and she could almost feel him grappling for the memory of the woman who’d been his „everything.“

„She was tall,“ he continued, his voice steadier. „She was a preschool teacher, loved little kids.“

„She sounds like a very nice woman.“

„She was.“ She heard the rueful smile in his voice and turned to find it reflected on his face. Still he stood, just holding the sandpaper. „She put up with me.“

Kristen made her own lips curve. „A hardship, I’m sure.“

His smile dimmed, draining her energy with it. „You have no idea.“

Suddenly too weary to stand, Kristen abandoned the mantel. „I’m tired, Abe. I think I’m going to call it a night. You should sleep, too. Please.“

He turned only his head, studying her from her head to her toes and back again, his eyes hot and her weariness evaporated, replaced by tingling awareness. He’d been stunned, he said. So was she, she admitted.

„Do you ever plan to take those pins out of your hair?“ he asked and her breath left her in a hard exhale that left her head spinning.

Breathe, Kristen. Breathe. „Why?“

He shook his head and the spell was broken. „Never mind. Go to sleep. Morning will be here soon enough.“

„And what will happen then?“

He lifted a brow. „We dig up Trevor Skinner.“

Saturday, February 21,

7:00 am.

The press was a barely suppressed horde, led by none other than Zoe Richardson who was currently tempting fate by brandishing a microphone way too close to Abe’s face.

„The public has a right to know the identity of this victim,“ Richardson demanded. „You can’t keep this quiet.“

„We will until we’ve notified the victim’s family,“ Abe said in a warning tone, cognizant that his every move was being recorded for the public’s „right to know.“ He motioned to the officer assigned to crowd control at the scene. „Just keep them behind this line.“ He walked back to the scene, sheltered by some trees just off the main road.

Julia stood beside Jack next to the shallow grave that had been topped with a marker that read renee dexter. Mia stood next to Kristen who had quietly told them the details of the case. It was much as she’d described the night before in her kitchen. Dexter was a rape victim who Skinner had verbally eviscerated on the stand.

„I objected and objected,“ she’d murmured, staring at the woman’s name forever inscribed in marble. „But the judge let Skinner tear that woman to shreds.“

Jack’s team was bringing the body up now, under Julia’s watchful eye. Once Skinner was on the ground the five of them gathered close and Mia knelt next to the body.

„He’s got something in his hand,“ she explained. „His fist is wrapped with duct tape.“ Jack carefully slit the tape, opening the hand. With a look of revulsion on her face Mia looked up and met Abe’s eyes. „Looks like the proverbial cat our humble servant let out of the bag got Skinner’s proverbial tongue.“

„‘He died without saying a word in his own defense,’“ Kristen quoted from the letter. „You’ve told his wife?“

Abe nodded. „Spinnelli arrived at the Skinners’ house at the same time we arrived here. We didn’t want the press to tell her first“

Still kneeling next to the body, Mia looked up at Julia. „Can a person die from having their tongue cut out?“