25

“Anna? My nurse? The one who wiped my ass and changed my tubes?”

“It wasn’t a steady thing, you know? She’d call me, I’d call her, we’d get together—”

Lauren was disgusted. “You were on a booty call with my nurse when Joe Wheeler was beat to death?”

Reese was parked on the edge of her hospital bed, baseball hat turned backward, looking a little shamefaced. Dayla was back in the chair, listening in amusement. “When you put it that way, it sounds so dirty.”

“Leaving my house without telling me almost made you a murder suspect.”

He ticked off the list of unincriminating factors on his fingers for her. “The guy who killed him was taller than Joe, who was six feet, while I am five-eleven. I’m a righty, while the assailant was clearly a lefty. And I was engaged in consensual amorous acts with a lovely young woman at the time of the homicide, which was documented—”

Lauren held up her hand, cutting him off. “Stop. I don’t want to know.”

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” said Reese, about to speak ill of the dead, “but Wheeler was a known douche bag. If he used to beat you up, I’m sure he left a string of brothers, dads, and boyfriends who wanted to kick his ass.”

“Kicking his ass is not the same as bashing his brains out.”

“His chief went after the most obvious suspect, in his mind. Now, at least, I’m eliminated, and they can concentrate on the real killer. Wheeler was still a cop. His friends on the job are hurting, including Chief Ritz. After seeing those pictures, I would love to find myself in a dark alley with the bastard who thinks he can execute a cop like that.”

Lauren mulled that over for a second. “Do they really think my attack was related to his?”

Reese shrugged. “It’s hard to ignore that angle. You’re only alive because I found you in time. Our department is cooperating with Garden Valley in the investigation, treating them as if they’re related.”

“Joy and Ben are investigating Joe Wheeler’s murder too?” She wondered if Reese had told them about Rita Walton yet. She wanted to ask, but not in front of Dayla, so she bit her tongue.

“And Thorenson and Garcia, now. You should thank Tim Thorenson, by the way,” Reese added. “He’s the one who called the union as soon as he was ordered to go pick us up.”

“I should have known. Tim is a standup guy. But I still don’t trust Garcia.”

Reese turned his Yankees hat around on his head so it faced front, another of his nervous habits: rearranging his baseball cap. “Garcia is the least of our worries. He couldn’t find a haystack in a pile of needles. He won’t add anything to the investigation and he’s too lazy to mess it up, either.”

“I still can’t believe Joe’s dead.” Lauren’s voice came out almost in a whisper. As bad as it had become between them, she still remembered the man she had once loved. He hadn’t been the best-looking guy in their police academy class, but he had been the most confident. He had encouraged her, helped her study, ran with her, and supported her when she thought she was about to give up. He didn’t show his ugly side until later, after he was on the street.

She had been young, with two daughters she was sure needed a father figure and starting a new job she wasn’t sure she could handle. He played on her fears and turned his possessiveness and jealously into faults she thought she needed to correct. He manipulated her into forgiving the beatings because they were somehow, always, her doing. It had been a very dark time in her life, brought back to reality last year when they worked on opposite sides of the Katherine Vine homicide.

The old blame came bubbling up. Joe whispering in her ear that it was all her fault, she had caused this, if she were a better person, if she had only done what she was supposed to do, none of this would have happened.

Then Lauren pushed all of those thoughts aside. She remembered the beatings and the lies and the false promises he gave her while they were together. This time was always the last time, until the next time. The day she had finally thrown Joe Wheeler out the door, she swore she would never let him make her feel that way again.

Then last year he had punched her in that parking lot and she had done nothing. He took it to mean that she was still the same old Lauren. Still ripe for his brand of tough love.

When she had cornered him in her backyard and pressed her gun to his temple, part of Lauren had wanted to pull the trigger, but part of her had wanted to let him live. She wanted him to live and see how he couldn’t affect her life anymore. She wouldn’t allow it. She was the one in control now.

She had allowed him walk away that night.

So why was she upset now? Because he hadn’t lived long enough to see her happy? Or because someone else had done what the darkest part of her had wanted to do?

“Lauren?” The concern in Dayla’s voice brought her back.

She shook her head to clear the ghosts from it. “Sorry. I zoned out for a second. Maybe I do need to sleep.”

“I’ll call the nurse and have them give you something.” Reese punched the call button above her bed with his finger. She knew she had done more than zone out a little by the look on his face.

“Okay,” she agreed, but she didn’t close her eyes. She was afraid that the image of Joe sprawled on the ground would come back. Of his forearm, twisted and broken. Of brains and blood on the concrete. She was too exhausted to deal with it just now.

No, she’d wait for the pill and hope for a dreamless sleep.