Page 6 of Midnight Secrets

I glanced around, looking for the young cop who’d arrived in response to my frantic 9-1-1 call and was surprised to see that others were now on scene. When did they get here? I shook my head. No matter. Any of them would do.

Hurrying over to the first officer I saw, I waved my hands to get his attention. “Officer?”

The man turned, a curious dip in his brow. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Hi, Officer”—I glanced at his nametag—“Turner. I’m Claire Holmes. I found the—I found Mrs. Hammond. I had a thought. She and her husband were supposed to be out of town, house-hunting in Boston. If she’s here, where is he? Have your colleagues started a search of the property? He could be here.” I didn’t want to think that he was dead, too, but it was a possibility.

Officer Turner’s frown turned serious. “We have officers canvassing, yes. Are you certain they weren’t supposed to be here?”

I nodded. “Yes. That’s why my stager and I were here.” I pointed to Lynne, who sat in her van, the driver’s door open. “It was the perfect time to prep their house and take listing pictures.”

“Okay. Let me get Detective Quartermaine on the radio. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.” He lifted the radio mic off his shoulder.

I frowned as the officer’s words registered. “Wait. Is he already here?”

The man nodded.

My frown intensified. “How did I miss that?”

Turner shrugged. “Not sure.” Pressing the talk button on his mic, he had a short conversation with someone inside.

Hooking the small black square back onto his shoulder, he propped his hands on his gear belt. “He shouldn’t be too long. Would you like to have a seat in my patrol car to wait? I probably should have offered that sooner. It’s chilly out.” He gestured to the vehicle a few feet behind him.

“Oh. No, thank you. I’ll just—” I fluttered a hand and sighed. I didn’t know what to do.

“I think you should sit down. Come on.” He reached a hand behind my shoulder, not touching me, and guided me towardhis car. “I’ll leave the back door open so you don’t feel like a criminal.”

“That’s appreciated.” I offered him a tight smile.

“Of course.” He opened the rear passenger-side door.

I eyed the vinyl seat with trepidation. “Is it clean?”

He chuckled. “We wipe them down after every suspect. I can’t promise it’ll smell the best in there, but it is clean, yes.”

Lovely. Well, hopefully with the door open, it wouldn’t be too bad. I lifted a foot and placed it in the car, folding my long body into the seat. My knees bumped the seat in front of me. It was times like this I cursed my five-foot-ten-inch height. “Boy. You guys don’t give your suspects much space, do you?”

“No, ma’am. It’s safer if they can’t move around too much. Why don’t you swing your legs out? It might be more comfortable.”

I did as he suggested. The door frame cut into my leg, but it was infinitely preferable to being squished. Folding my hands in my lap, I tried to force my mind not to wander. I didn’t want to think that Mr. Hammond could be lying dead on the property somewhere. One dead body was enough.

Thankfully, the detective was true to his word and soon emerged from the house.

“Here he comes.” Officer Turner motioned to the front porch.

I looked past him. The man striding toward us was not what I expected.

Not at all.

For one, he was handsome as sin. Thick dark hair waved atop his head. A head that topped most of those around him by several inches. Dressed in black tactical pants and a black department polo shirt under a black coat emblazoned with the state patrol logo, he had a handgun strapped to his right hip. The whole package exuded male magnetism and confidence.

And danger.

A shiver went down my spine. I wouldn’t want to mess with him.

As he neared, I got a better view of his face. Fine lines bracketed dark brown eyes, set off by his tan skin. This was a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Though some of his coloring appeared natural. There was an exoticness about his features that said he had some Mediterranean heritage of some sort. And despite the lines, he was younger than I expected. Early-thirties at most. There was something familiar about him too. It was in the way he moved. But I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Turner.” The detective nodded at the officer. “This my witness?”

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