Page 12 of Vision of Justice

She pushed her chair away from the table and got to her feet. Instead of walking away from her, he stepped closer. She’d just laid out her flaws and secrets, and he was still looking at her like she was something special. Aside from Ted, Gus was the only person outside her extended family who knew what happened. It shocked her that she’d told him so much, but he made it easy. Listening, not judging, keeping her steady with the hazel pools of his eyes.

“Can I hug you?” The words popped out of her mouth unexpectedly, but when he held out his arms, she didn’t want to take them back. She circled her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his hard chest. The quick thud of his heart pulsed in her ear, and she drew in his masculine scent, strong and comforting. The weight of his arms pressed against her back as he held her. This was what her heart needed. A moment of solidarity, when her inner demons were blissfully quelled. His breath ruffled the top of her hair, and just like that, her insides became restless and achy, craving the feel of his body more intimately against hers. Maybe he felt it too, because he let out a shuddery breath and his arms dropped from her shoulders, leaving her longing for more.

Like the press of a button, Gus the man vanished and she was staring into the eyes of the detective. It surprised her that she wanted to know every side of him. Did he want to know her or was she still simply someone he needed to question? Later, when he walked out her front door, reminding her to engage the deadbolt, she couldn’t help but feel like something powerful and important had happened between them. Something that might change the path she was currently on. She could only hope whatever it was didn’t leave her more broken than she already was.

Chapter Eight

After Gus left Sasha’s house the day before, he’d knocked on the door of a few other neighbors in the area, hoping to get a lucky thread of information. He’d come up short, returning to the State Police barracks to check in with Rahimi. The only thing the victim’s body had told him was the manner of her death. No DNA under her fingernails, no fibers on her clothing, nothing. He’d gone home and ordered take-out with Jules, then got a blissful six hours of sleep.

Now he was back at his desk, revisiting this morning’s interview with Dorothy Bigelow’s son. He scrubbed his hands over his face and checked his voicemail. The daughter of the victim had finally gotten in touch, but she didn’t return from Arizona where she was working on an assignment until this weekend. He’d made a phone call to verify her employment and location before following up on his outreach to other family members. They needed to come into the barracks for interviews as soon as possible, and they weren’t moving as quickly as he would’ve hoped.

He was the lead detective on this case, and he wanted to solve it as quickly as possible. If the murder of Dorothy Bigelow was a crime of opportunity, and the killer was still in the area, there was another woman who lived alone that the perpetrator might think of as easy prey. His heart didn’t seem to care that he’d only just met Sasha. That it was too soon to feel such arresting, breathless emotions where she was concerned. She was smart and resourceful, but part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and hide her away where nothing could hurt her. His blood ran cold at the thought of Sasha being harmed. She’d been through so much already, and she was blind to how strong she was. To be able to create such beauty for others after experiencing so much ugliness impressed the heck out of him.

He couldn’t shake the sensation of how right her body was tucked against his. The scent and texture of her hair brushing against his face. The rise and fall of her chest with each breath. The way she’d wrapped her arms so tightly around his waist, pressing her cheek to his heart. In his fifteen years in law enforcement, it was the most unprofessional thing he’d done, holding her like that. Far tamer though, than the thoughts racing through his head. He’d wanted to kiss her soft skin, eyelids, forehead, cheeks, and lips. Show her tenderness and care until they both forgot every hurdle they’d ever faced. His career had been built on a reputation of fairness, hard work, and ethics. Getting involved with a witness could undermine his credibility, throw him off his game when he needed to be sharp to solve the influx of cases.

A yawn welled up inside him. At thirty-five, one all-nighter threw him off for days. He grabbed his coffee mug and walked to the break room. Detective Kinley Wright was cooking something in the microwave while scrolling through her phone. She lifted her head when he approached, slipping her mobile device into her back pocket. “You’ve had a busy forty-eight hours.”

“You haven’t exactly been kicking your feet up. Make any headway with that hit-and-run from last night?” He lifted the coffee pot, glad he didn’t need to take the time to brew it fresh. Didn’t matter that it probably tasted like sludge, it would give him the boost he needed.

“Remember how the tire tracks seemed to move forward, then in reverse at the crime scene? Well, the autopsy confirmed that’s exactly what happened. Now I have to figure out who would want to run down a ninety-year-old man on his own street. Never mind one who actually backed up to make sure they finished the job.” Wright grabbed her freezer meal for one out of the microwave, wrinkled her nose at it, then shrugged.

“Inheritance?” He took a gulp from his mug, the scalding coffee burning a trail down his throat.

“He was well-off,” she said, fork poised mid-air. “But it’s clearly stated in the will that all money and the liquidation of assets after his death were to be split between the library and local animal shelter. The manner of death just seemed personal, you know? He led a simple life. World War II veteran. Returned home and had a few construction jobs, then settled at a bigger company. No children, and a wife who passed away about two years ago.”

He leaned his hip on the edge of the counter. “What company?”

“Jefferson and Sons. One of the first commercial video monitoring and security companies in the state. Doesn’t look like it’s in business anymore.” The pink phone on the countertop started jingling, and Wright stuffed the last ravioli in her mouth, then tossed the white tray in the garbage. “Gotta go.” She sighed glancing at the screen. “Lieutenant wants to see me in his office.”

“Good luck,” he called, topping off his coffee. A drop of liquid sizzled as he returned the pot to the warmer.

She glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. You, too. Must be a full moon or something.”

Wright disappeared out of the break room when his phone beeped, notifying him of a text message. He glanced at the screen and frowned. Looked like the lieutenant wanted to see him, too. Taking his coffee with him, he strode down the hall after Wright.

“Wait up,” he called, passing a few troopers on their way to roll call at the change of shift.

Wright slowed her pace to allow him time to catch up. “You, too, huh? Any idea what this is about?” She lifted her fist and rapped on the door

“Not a clue. I can only assume we’re about to get a lot busier,” he said under his breath.

The lieutenant bellowed for them to come in, and they entered single-file then sat opposite his desk. His face was strained, nostrils slightly flared. Not good signs. Gus thought back through the week, trying to recall anything he might’ve missed sending to his superior.

“Before you fight me on this, I know you’re both up to your necks in work. You’re the most thorough detectives in the unit and I need you both to redirect to a new case. I don’t care if you have to reassign some of the grunt work on your other cases, so long as you can focus on this one. Might be some cross-over with federal. The vice president of finance at Haven Security Corporation was found murdered in his office.”

“The company Melissa Fletcher’s father operates.” Wright leaned in closer to the desk, brow furrowed.

“Adds another layer to Melissa’s disappearance,” Gus murmured, mind spinning over the possibilities.

“How so?” The lieutenant tapped his pen against the desk, glancing at the digital clock. The man had three more years tops before retirement, and it was easy to see he wanted out.

“Maybe she was part of an overall objective, not the goal. If she wasn’t rescued, then the first victim.”

The lieutenant threw his hands up. “Let’s cross our Ts and dot our Is on this thing before we start throwing around the word serial killer. If we get hard evidence that these cases are linked, then we’ll hand it off to the FBI.” The phone on his desk lit up with an incoming call. “The murder occurred at the Cambridge executive offices. I need you two on this.” He placed his hand on the receiver, dismissing them with a curt nod.

Forty minutes later, Gus stood hip-to-hip with Wright, looking at a man who’d died a gruesome death.

“Whether this was directed at the company as a whole or the man himself, this is personal.” Wright took a step back so the photographer would have more room to take mid-range shots.

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