Samantha sat rigidly in the back of the courtroom and did her best to push aside her fury at the imbecilic judge. Anger accomplished nothing. Having ground her teeth for the last hour, all she had to show for it was a massive headache hammering at her brain. She’d just completed her testimony and the judge had once again blatantly sided with the defendant. The defense attorney’s dramatics should have been stopped long ago. At the very least, the man should have been reprimanded. Instead, despite the prosecution’s numerous objections, the judge refused to stop the grandstanding.
The case wasn’t cut-and-dried … she knew that. Despite the numerous television dramas depicting clear-cut cases that were solved in an hour, few were so unambiguous and easily resolved. This one was no exception. A young woman with a questionable lifestyle had been murdered. Samantha had no doubts that the woman’s sometime boyfriend had done the deed. However, the judge had blocked so much of the prosecution’s evidence, it was obvious the creep was going to be set free. How she would love to get up and tell the jury all she knew about the young man who sat behind the defendant’s table with an innocent, injured look on his face.
How did her sister do this every day? Savvy was an assistant district attorney in Nashville and, from all accounts, thoroughly enjoyed her job. How could she work day in and day out trying to make sure justice was served and all too often watch the perps walk out the door, ready to commit the same crime or something even more heinous?
Being a cop was often frustrating but at least she could arrest the guilty party. The courtroom always seemed so arbitrary to her. Yes, there was justice, but it wasn’t black and white. Not like it was out on the street.
The vibration of her phone caused a welcome distraction. The judge had been adamant about no phones in the courtroom. Since he already didn’t like her, she wasn’t about to call attention to herself. Easing out of her seat, Samantha quietly and happily left the courtroom and its ridiculous drama behind.
In the hallway, she dodged and weaved through small pockets of people as she put the phone to her ear. “Detective Wilde.”
“Wilde, where are you?”
Her captain always sounded like he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. She was used to his gruff manner. “At the courthouse. I—”
“You need to get back here ASAP.”
“What’s up?”
“We just picked up a murder suspect. Says he knows you.”
“Who’s that?”
“Dr. Quinn Braddock.”
Before the captain finished saying Quinn’s name, Samantha was running down the hallway to the double doors leading outside. The phone still at her ear, she ran out of the building and down the stairs. “Who’s the victim?”
“His ex-wife, Charlene Braddock.”
No. No way. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Running with the speed of an Olympic sprinter, Samantha made it to her car in seconds. Her heart pounding with the dull thud of dread, she started the vehicle and took off with a screech.
This was a mistake, of course. There was no way Quinn would have committed murder. It was ridiculous to even consider him a suspect.
As she zoomed in and around traffic, her mind wouldn’t shut out the voices of doubt. And the one voice that shouted the loudest reminded her of the comment Quinn had made as he’d walked out the door this morning. She could hear his voice as clear as if he sat beside her. “I just hope I can get out of there without strangling her.”
Sick dread penetrated and began to wash away the denial. “Oh, Quinn … no.”
Quinn sat alone in the interrogation room. Charlene’s blood still covered his shirt. At least they’d allowed him to wash his hands, but the stench of death continued to fill his nostrils. He had been one of the lucky ones who’d never suffered from PTSD, but the smell of blood on his clothing was all too familiar and brought images to his mind he had worked like hell to forget.
Swallowing back the bile surging up his throat, he forced the horror of the past aside and concentrated on the here and now. They actually believed he killed Charlene. Sure, he knew the statistics. Knew that the largest percentage of murders were committed by family members or acquaintances of the victim. He wasn’t naïve. What he was, was pissed.
From the off-the-cuff comments that had been made around him, the cops were ready to bag, tag, and haul him off to prison. Hell yeah, he knew he looked guilty. They’d caught him standing over Charlene’s lifeless body, covered in her blood. And he had scratches on his face. His DNA would most likely be under her fingernails. Hell, if they hadn’t taken him in for questioning, he would’ve been disgusted with their ineptitude. But now he was becoming disgusted with their lack of investigation. They thought they had their killer; why look elsewhere?
He had wanted to contact Sam, but when it came time to make his one call, he’d done the sensible thing and called his attorney instead. His request that Detective Wilde be notified had been met with speculative interest. He knew she would come as soon as she heard. After having so many of the officers treat him as though he had already been found guilty, he looked forward to Sam’s unerring trust. She would be the voice of reason in this insanity.
He had no illusions or expectations that she could convince anyone he wasn’t guilty. The investigation would have to prove that. But she would make sure the investigation took place. Sam wouldn’t leave him hanging out to dry as her co-workers apparently wanted to. He couldn’t deny another reason he wanted to see her. She would soothe the raging rivers roaring inside him. Control was a vital part of his makeup, but he could feel it eroding as each slow minute ticked by.
The image of Charlene’s body wouldn’t leave his mind. Admittedly he had no affection toward the woman who had lied to him almost from the moment he had met her, but no one deserved the death she had endured. Had this been a random act of violence? Though blood had covered most of her body, he had noted that she wore a nightgown. Had she answered the door that way or had someone broken in and stabbed her? Had she planned to greet him in her nightgown and opened the door to her killer instead? Were there things missing from her home? If so, hopefully that would help the police see that he hadn’t been involved. Charlene had nothing he wanted, and since he hadn’t had any of her items on his person, if things were missing, then the killer or killers had them.
He amended the thought. There was one thing he did want—the Braddock necklace. He had given it to Charlene a couple of weeks before their wedding. Her lack of enthusiasm for the gift should have given him a clue. She had hated it. Even on the few occasions he’d asked her to wear the thing, she had scoffed and refused, yet she had declined to return it at their divorce. He hadn’t been surprised … that was Charlene’s way. Quinn had chalked it up to a lost cause.
A slight noise caught his attention. Sam came through the door like a small tornado on a mission. He had often marveled that someone so incredibly delicate-looking could work in such a tough profession. Samantha Wilde destroyed every stereotype he’d ever heard about homicide detectives.
Sitting at the table across from him, she asked softly, “What happened?”
The question didn’t strike him as odd. It was a reasonable one. “The door was partially open when I got there. I found her lying on the floor. She was bleeding out. I tried to save her but it was too late.”
“Did you see anyone leaving the house? Anyone suspicious?”
“No.” A memory hit him. “I do remember hearing squealing tires, like a car leaving in a hurry.”
“But you didn’t see anyone?”
“No. Just a dark blur.”
“A dark blur? Blue, black, brown? What color?”
“I don’t know. I just caught it out of the corner of my eye.”
“How do you know it was a car, not a truck or SUV?”
“I don’t … not really. Guess I just assumed it was a car.” He shrugged. “Sounded like a car.”
She silently stared at him for several seconds. Finally she said, “How did you get the scratches on your face?”
“Charlene scratched me when I was trying to help her … I don’t think she even knew who I was.”
She went silent again, her brilliant green eyes piercing and direct, as if she were trying to drill through his brain. The truth slammed into him like a giant meteor crashing to earth. Sam wasn’t looking at him as her lover, a man she totally trusted and believed in. She was eyeing him as a suspect. The lump of cement that had been churning in his stomach for the last hour solidified into a hard block and settled low in his gut.
“Samantha, I didn’t kill her.”
A pained and devastated expression flickered across her face before she replaced it with that of a professionally cool homicide detective interviewing a person of interest. “I didn’t say you—”
“Not another word, Quinn.”
He jerked his head up to see his friend and attorney, Bob Dixon.
Bob kept his steadying gaze on Quinn but his words were for Sam. “I’d like to confer with my client.”
“I’m not working the case,” Sam said.
“What’s she doing in here if she’s not on the case?” Bob asked Quinn.
“Samantha is my—” He caught himself. Was he risking her career by calling her his girlfriend? As hurt as he was by her attitude, causing her problems wasn’t something he wanted.
“Your what?” Bob asked.
“My friend.”
“Friend or not, she’s a cop. What’d you tell her?”
“What I’ve told everyone since I got here. The truth. Charlene was near death when I arrived at her house. I tried to save her but couldn’t.”
Bob nodded and turned to Sam. “As I said, I need to confer with my client.”
Nodding her agreement, she headed to the door. “Let us know when you’re finished.”
She didn’t say another word to him, didn’t even look at him before she left. Shit. Did she actually believe he was capable of murder?
Samantha made a beeline to the ladies’ room—one of the few places in this building that she could hide. She rushed to the last stall and locked the door. Finally she allowed herself to breathe, taking slow, even breaths. Feeling no better, she closed the lid on the toilet, sat down abruptly, and put her face on her knees. It had been years since she had fainted, but she recognized the signs. She had been seconds from falling face-first onto the floor.
She told herself that Quinn’s emotionless comments to her questions weren’t suspect. He was a very controlled person—that was his nature. And the scratches on his face? It made perfect sense that an injured victim would lash out, not knowing that someone was trying to help. The comment he’d made about strangling Charlene … people joked about stuff like that all the time. It didn’t mean they meant the words.
Insidious doubts once more drilled into her blind faith. Hadn’t she wondered if this man who seemed perfect for her was too perfect? Hadn’t she questioned if what he had shown of himself was just a façade, because it was what she had wanted to see? Just how well did she know Quinn?
She had thought her father to be flawless, too, only to learn that a monster had been lurking beneath the surface. She had loved her father, Beckett Wilde, with all her heart, believed him a hero in every sense of the word. He had proven how very wrong she could be.
Admittedly she had been ten years old when that happened. It was normal for a child to look at a parent as a larger-than-life, extraordinary person. She was an adult now. She knew people were all too human. Despite Quinn’s seeming perfection, he was as human as anyone. Had his fierce control finally snapped?
Samantha raked her fingers through her hair, barely aware that it came loose from its knot and tumbled down over her shoulders. How could she even consider Quinn a killer? This was a man who’d held her in his arms when she had sobbed over a sappy, sad movie a few weeks ago. A man who made love to her with an intense passion intertwined with an aching gentleness. He had laughed at her lack of skills in the kitchen, joined her in singing an old rock and roll song she had been humming one day. He had told her about losing his first pet, Harry the hamster, and how he had buried it beneath his mother’s prized zinnias because he wanted his friend’s grave to be beautiful.
Quinn was a physician, saving lives daily. He would never take one. Yes, all right, he had served in the army, but that was war against the enemy. And he had been a combat medic, putting his life on the line to save others. He was everything heroic and brave. Just because he seemed too good to be true didn’t mean he wasn’t exactly as he appeared to be.
Everything they had shared over the past four months showed that he was exactly what she believed him to be. Quinn Braddock was not a killer.
But then why didn’t he talk about his past? The hamster story had been one of the few things he had shared. She knew his parents lived in Virginia, but only because she had asked him. He’d admitted he and his parents had never been close and that he hadn’t seen them in years.
After graduating from college, Quinn had joined the army, choosing to serve his country. When he’d left the service, he had pursued medicine. He had an excellent reputation as an ER doctor in one of the largest hospitals in Atlanta. All these things showed a man of honor, integrity, and caring. His decisions and career choices reinforced her faith in him.
But what if Charlene’s death hadn’t been cold-blooded murder? Quinn had made no secret of his hatred for his ex-wife. What if he had gone over there and lost his temper? Beneath the cool control were simmering passions she had yet to see unleashed. What if that control had snapped?
Why had he gone over there in the first place? He had never said—only that she had called and asked him to come. If Charlene had called, why hadn’t she heard the phone ring? His cellphone had been on the nightstand, right next to hers. Why hadn’t she heard it?
Samantha pushed her fingers through her hair again and stood. This merry-go-round of questions and suppositions was getting her nowhere. She needed to get the full facts. The only way to get to the truth was to investigate the evidence.
After washing her hands and patting her face down with a damp paper towel, she felt marginally refreshed. The instant she opened the door, she was wishing she had stayed inside the bathroom.
Larry Kennedy appeared in front of her; apparently he’d been waiting for her to come out. “Captain Mintz is looking for you.”
Larry was a fellow detective and one of the few cops who’d made it clear that he didn’t approve of her. His deep-set eyes gleamed with unhidden malice. It hadn’t helped that she had turned him down for a date her first week on the job.
With a silent nod to let him know she’d heard him, she turned away. She and Kennedy had already had several small altercations. The last thing she needed to do was get into another verbal sparring match. Not when her world was falling apart around her.
“Guess you should be more careful who you date,” Larry called out.
Samantha kept walking. She wouldn’t give the jerk the satisfaction of acknowledging his comment. His opinion meant less than nothing.
She knocked on her captain’s door, and when he called for her to enter, she took a steadying breath and opened the door.
“Wilde, have a seat.”
Stone-gray hair, military posture, and a fairness she admired—this man’s opinion meant a lot to her. He had taken a chance on her, gone to bat for her, and mentored her.
She dropped into the chair in front of his desk and took another deep breath. Her nerves were rattling inside her like sizzling kernels of popcorn. Hopefully, after her meeting here, she could gather more information and then find a quiet place to sort it all out.
“I understand you and Dr. Braddock are friends.”
There was no reason to hold back with the captain. “We’re more than friends. We’ve been dating for about four months now.”
“I see.”
“He’s not the kind of man who would do this.” She swallowed and added, “I believe in him.”
Bushy black brows arched, showing his doubt. She silently cursed her less-than-convincing endorsement. She’d never been able to lie worth a damn. She did have doubts, dammit. She hated that she had them, but they were there whether she liked it or not.
“It doesn’t matter whether you believe he’s innocent or guilty. The evidence will prove the case.”
“Who’re the lead detectives?”
“Murphy and Kennedy.”
She felt a little relief. Joe Murphy was one of their finest and would hopefully temper Kennedy’s ass-hat tendencies. And despite the unfriendly relationship she had with the man, Larry Kennedy was known to be a competent detective.
“I’ll help where I can.”
“No, you’ll stay out of it. Understand?”
She nodded. Yes, she would officially stay out of it, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t investigate on her own. There was no way she could just sit back and do nothing.
“Of course.” She put her hands on the arms of her chair as if to get up. “Was there anything else?”
His hard look told her he didn’t believe her, but thankfully he let it go. “That’s it.”
Samantha walked as sedately as she could from her captain’s office. First she would watch the interview she knew would be conducted soon. Then she would go to the crime scene. She had to see it for herself. She had to find proof that Quinn was innocent.
And if he isn’t? her mind whispered. Then she would deal with the fallout.