Page 37 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

Chapter Thirteen

Grant

Fuck. Another day wastedchasing dead ends.

I toss the folder onto my desk and rake my hand across my face. A four-day beard scratches my palms, reminding me I haven’t shaved since that night. I haven’t had the heart to face her.

The moment I do, I’m bound to do something stupid or say something to set us off in a dangerous direction. I can’t afford to do either.

Every waking hour is spent chasing down every lead for Lionel Madison’s murder. Any possible cold case that could be tied to this has been combed through at least three times. There’s just nothing overtly tying the cases together.

Each one was a break-in turned deadly, but there’s not a single piece of evidence linking any of them. I might as well eat crow because my fellow cops will never let me live this down. I’ve made it abundantly clear I think they’re all connected.

Shit, can one thing go right for once?

“Richards. My office.” The captain stops beside my desk with a pointed look. “Now.”

Every eye in the room turns to us, hyperfocused on me. Shit, this can’t be good.

“Yes, sir.” I push away from the desk and follow him across the hall to his spacious office with a bright sunny window blocked with fading blinds.

He sits behind his oversized desk and leans back, studying me. “Have a seat, Richards.”

The tone reminds me of a frustrated parent about to lecture an errant child. I push the thought from my mind and sit down.

“Any leads on the Madison case?” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

I lick my lips, the lack of nicotine pulling at my nerves. I haven’t had any in two days, and it’s starting to wear on me. I shift in my seat, tearing my gaze from the cigarette between his fingers. “Not yet, sir. We’re working on it.”

His bushy brows furrow. “It’s been a week.”

“Exactly, sir. We’re still digging through the evidence, and there are no witnesses to tie the murders to...”

“Jesus, Richards, are you still thinking this case is part of that string of home invasion murders?” He shakes his head. “Those cases are unrelated. You’re grasping at straws trying to tie them together.”

“Sir, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you, they’re connected.”

“How?”

My vision clouds with frustration, and I blink, breaking eye contact. “I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know because there isn’t anything connecting these cases.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, and my irritation burns bright like its tip. “Those were home invasions gone wrong, Richards. Plain and simple. Let them go.”

“But—”

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