Page 31 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“The wife was with friends at the theater. The older kids were visiting family.”

“What about ex-wives?” I run my hand along my jaw as I check the mental list of family members and suspects.

“All clean and accounted for. I double-checked.”

“What about the oldest son?” A hazy image of the young man I interviewed yesterday pops into my mind. He seems pretty torn up about his father’s death, but since he stands to inherit a sizable chunk of his father’s estate, I don’t trust a damn word he says or those crocodile tears.

“Clear. The doorman puts him at Clubhouse 54 at ten fifteen. Staff saw him in the club until well after two a.m. Time of death is estimated at five after ten. There’s no way he made it across town that fast.” Mickey leans back in his chair. “As much as I want to pin it on the slimy little bastard, he’s clean.”

“Fuck.” I take a deep breath and run through the list again. “And you’ve already double-checked the staff?”

Mickey nods and throws his hands up. “The staff, the family, his business partners. It’s like whoever killed him is a goddamn ghost. Are you sure he didn’t just off himself?”

“The coroner said that’s unlikely. Knife went too deep, and there are no hesitation marks.” I know the truth thanks to Quinn’s testimony, but I keep it to myself for the moment. “Besides, no weapon was found.”

The captain is willing to entertain the possibility that this old man had the strength to slit his own throat down to the bone but not that a stranger could possibly have targeted him, breaking into the house to add another kill to his list.

“Too bad we don’t have any witnesses.” Mickey pulls a small flask from his pocket and takes a sip. “Did you ever track down the other maid?”

Conflict claws inside my chest. I didn’t tell anyone about Quinn’s run-in with the murderer or that the only murder witness is currently sleeping in my bed. Shit. There’s not a possible scenario in which I can explain this without looking suspicious as hell.

“Not yet, but I have a contact who might know where to find her.” I tap my pen on the desk. “Did you talk to her roommates?”

“Yeah, nothing there. Said they’d call if they heard from her.”

“I’ll do some digging on my way home after work.”

“Need me to come with you?”

“Nah, I got this. Get home to your wife at a decent hour, before she comes after me.”

Mickey chuckles. “She’s still pissed about last weekend. We had tickets to seeCATS, and I had to bail.”

“I know. I’ll never hear the end of it if I make it a regular occurrence.”

“Eh, she knew it was part of the deal when she married a cop.” He tidies up his desk and closes the drawer. “You need any backup, call me at home, okay?”

“Thanks, Mickey. Give Sue my best.”

“Will do.” He stands and pulls on his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With a nod, I turn back to the mess of papers on my desk and organize them into folders. I hate lying to my partner, but I can’t reveal I’ve been keeping our only witness in my apartment since she showed up on my doorstep a bloody mess.

Quinn. She’s a piece of work, that’s for sure.

The first night I met her, she was a ball of fire and vinegar ready to tear my head off for looking at her. But when she showed up covered in blood with my name on her lips...

Fuck. I’ve never been so fucking scared.

Seeing the red gashes against her pale skin sent me into a mindless rage. They’re healing, thank God. But the reminder only reignites my fury.

For how damned wounded she is, I would think she’d recoil at the thought of someone touching her. Her internal scars run as deep as the old marks marring her silky skin. I tried to ignore them, but they’re branded on her.

Who could do such a thing to another person? Her story broke me. No one should have to struggle and suffer as she has. We all have ugly pieces of our history, but they shouldn’t start when you’re still a kid.

If I ever get my hands on her stepbrother, I’ll fucking kill him. How could he take someone with so much potential and break her down into a petty crook? She might be a thief, but she’s an innocent. I can see it in her eyes. This isn’t the life she wants.

I wanted to ask her, to draw the truth from her full, tantalizing lips, but when she leaned into my touch and moaned, I lost all sense. I’m a gentleman, but damn it if I didn’t imagine tracing my fingers beneath the hem of that towel and peeling it away from her damp skin.

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