Chapter Two

Dayne stared at the lifeless, bloody body, pressing his lips together and willing the tightness in his chest to ease. He’d seen his share of homicide victims, but this was different.

He fisted his hands so tightly, his nails dug into his palms. I’ll find whoever did this, Becca. I swear it.

FBI Special Agent Rebecca Garman had been Dayne’s mentor when he’d graduated from Quantico and been assigned to the Newark Field Office. Becca retired several years ago and started her own private investigation firm in Tappan, New York. She’d been one hell of an agent, a tenacious PI, and a friend. Now she was dead. He still couldn’t believe it.

From a corner of the reception area, he watched the CSU guys methodically set out evidence tags around the body, the blood-soaked carpet, and then begin photographing every square inch of the office. As he looked into Becca’s lifeless eyes, the backs of his own eyes stung, and for a moment, his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly. No one deserved to die like this, especially not Becca. He’d find the sick fuck that did this to her.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, forcing himself to view the crime scene as a trained agent would, not as a friend of the victim.

Unfortunately, there were no surveillance cameras anywhere. People who hired PIs generally wanted their affairs to remain private. Peep cams would have cut Becca’s clientele in half.

Stacked on the desk were a few manila file folders. No laptop that he could see, but he didn’t doubt she had one. Several desk drawers were partially open, as if someone had searched them and hadn’t found what they were looking for. Other than that, nothing appeared out of place. Except for Becca.

She’d been stabbed multiple times in the chest, neck, and abdomen. That level of violence usually indicated either a crime of passion, or one of intense hatred. Becca’s relationship with her husband was solid, so he’d go with intense hatred.

He didn’t know Ted Garman well but was relieved Becca’s husband was in Seattle on a business trip. They had no reason to believe Ted killed his wife, but when a victim’s body was cut up by so many stab wounds the husband or boyfriend was always at the top of the suspect list. Thankfully, Ted had a rock-solid alibi by virtue of being three thousand miles away. The man was catching a flight home that evening, as were Becca’s adult children.

The CSU tech’s camera clicked and flashed. Behind him, the detective assigned to the case, Mike Paulson, took down information from the uniformed cop who’d been first on scene. Paulson was about to interview the witness who’d discovered the body.

According to this witness, the front door had been closed but unlocked. The entire office had already been dusted for prints. If they were lucky, they’d get a hit, but it was never that easy. They’d have to pore through Becca’s files, her laptop, and her cell phone, searching for clues. Then they’d interview all the neighbors in case they saw anything suspicious.

“I understand you knew the victim.” Paulson waved his pen in the direction of Becca’s body. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He cleared the lump from his throat. “Yeah, thanks.” He felt guilty for not staying in touch with Becca more after she retired. She’d seen things in him no one else had. She made me a better agent. “Mind if I listen in when you talk to the witness?”

Paulson hesitated, twisting his lips slightly and giving Dayne the clear impression that he did mind. “Sure thing.” The detective executed a stiff about-face and headed for the back door.

Early in his career Dayne figured out that a lot of PDs resented it when the feds crashed their party. The FBI didn’t normally get involved in straight-up homicides, but because the victim was a former FBI agent, they couldn’t be certain if her murder was connected to a case she worked as a PI, or something she did while employed by the FBI. Dayne had been directed to keep tabs on the case until a determination could be made.

He followed Paulson down the hall, sidestepping some dog toys and an overturned dog bowl by the back door, although he hadn’t seen a dog anywhere.

Patrol cars and dark sedans lined the road, their red-and-blue strobes flashing. Several reporters and videographers crowded the sidewalk outside the police tape.

It was a beautiful early-spring day, warm enough that he’d shed his jacket and lowered the windows of his Interceptor so Remy could get some fresh air. His K-9’s brown and black head stuck out the window, bobbing up and down as she took in all the scents in the air.

Flowerbeds with bright yellow daffodils and red tulips swaying in the breeze surrounded the house. Becca loved her garden. She’d once told him April flowers were a sign of rebirth.

Dayne nearly choked on the irony. Today, they were a sign of death and the funeral yet to come.

A white Escalade sat at the curb, its passenger door open. The woman on the seat held a squirming golden retriever puppy.

Dayne frowned. Whoa. “Is that Katrina Vandenburg?”

“The one and only,” the detective said over his shoulder as they took the last few steps down the sloped yard to the sidewalk. “Once it leaked out that she found the body, the press swarmed in like sharks at a feeding frenzy.”

Great.

Dayne had only met Katrina Vandenburg once, a month ago when his best friend’s fiancée was picking out a dog at the Canine Haven. He and Katrina hadn’t exactly hit it off.

He couldn’t think of a single reason why the woman would be meeting with a private investigator. She had enough millions in the bank to buy her way out of anything. Actually, she’s got billions.

As they approached, Katrina Vandenburg looked up. If he’d had any doubt as to her identity before, there was absolutely none now. Nobody else had eyes like hers. Amethyst. Other than that, she looked nothing like the image he hadn’t realized until now had been seared into his memory.

She’d been wearing a glittery, silver evening gown and sporting enough diamonds to fill a display case at Tiffany’s. She’d whipped on a long silk wrap, practically smacking him in the face with it, then slid gracefully into a white limo.

Today, her attire surprised him. Jeans, sneakers, and a light blue sweatshirt. Deep chestnut hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The only jewelry were the small diamond studs twinkling from her delicate earlobes.

“Miss Vandenburg, I’m Detective Paulson with the Orangetown Police Department, and this is FBI Special Agent Andrews.” Paulson indicated Dayne with a quick nod. “I’d like to ask you some questions. I understand you discovered the body.”

He raised a brow at Paulson’s repeated use of the word I, instead of we, a not too subtle dig that this was Paulson’s interview, not Dayne’s.

“Yes, I did.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, calling attention to the fact that she wore no makeup and was still pretty as hell.

“What time did you get here?” Paulson asked.

“About ten this morning.”

The puppy, which Dayne guessed was about nine weeks old, wriggled like a worm on a hook. With long, graceful fingers she stroked the dog’s belly, calming him. Short nails, no polish, and no rings.

“Did you have an appointment with Rebecca Garman?” Paulson’s pen poised over his pad.

“No, I—” She stared at Dayne. “I know you. Don’t I?” The melodic timbre of her voice lowered. No doubt she was recalling their one and only meeting, which had been about as pleasant as a bee sting.

“We’ve met,” Dayne admitted. “At the Canine Haven about a month ago.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened, giving him an even clearer glimpse of the dark black rings surrounding the light purple irises. “Oh. I remember now. You’re friends with Jesse, Eric, and Tess.” Pink lips compressed, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. “You told me not to get my diamonds dirty.”

Yep, I did. The snarky comment had flown from his lips before he could stop them, but he’d felt like a dick about it afterward. “That was me.”

“Well, Mister Just Dayne,” she said, recalling the way she’d addressed him that day, “how…nice to see you again.”

No missing the sarcasm there. Not that he didn’t deserve it. “Nice seeing you again, too.” He gave her a stiff, subtle bow. He was, after all, a civil servant. Granted, one armed with a big-ass Glock and a partner with teeth sharp enough to bite through sheet metal.

“Miss Vandenburg,” Paulson continued, “if you didn’t have an appointment with Rebecca Garman, why were you here?”

“To return Angus.”

Paulson’s brows met. “Who’s Angus?”

“The puppy.” She nodded to the squirming ball of fluff on her lap. “One of the women who volunteers at the Canine Haven, Julia Hernandez, lives at the end of this street. Last night, Julia found Angus wandering through the neighborhood. She tried calling the number on the tag, but no one answered. She had to catch a flight to Florida with her family, so I agreed to care for Angus at the Haven until I could reach his owner.”

Paulson pointed his pen in the general direction of Piermont. “Are you talking about that dog pound on Tweed Boulevard?”

“It’s a rescue shelter,” she corrected. “We take in dogs and find good homes for them or train them to be service animals for the community.”

“I see.” Paulson scribbled on his pad. “I take it the number on the dog tag came back to Garman Investigations at this address?”

Katrina nodded. “I did a search and the number popped right up. I tried calling last night and then again, this morning. No one answered, and I had errands to run in the area, so I swung by.”

Errands? Wouldn’t someone else do those for her?

“The front door was unlocked, and I went in,” she continued. “That’s when I”—she swallowed, drawing attention to the graceful column of her throat—“found the body.”

Not many people discovered a dead body, let alone one that had been so heinously ravaged. He expected the waterworks to turn on any second, but she surprised him by keeping her shit together. She hugged Angus, as if the puppy could magically erase the ugliness of what she’d seen.

Katrina reached down by her feet and grabbed a chewed up rubber toy that looked like a tiny orange dumbbell covered with dark nubby bumps. “You’re teething, aren’t you?” She held the toy in front of Angus’s muzzle. “Here you go, sweetie.”

Angus bit down and the toy made soft whistling sounds.

“Was anyone else inside the house when you got here?” Paulson asked.

Katrina shook her head, and another wisp of thick, chestnut-brown hair escaped her ponytail, cradling her almond-shaped face. “No.”

“Did you touch anything or move anything?”

“No.”

“What did you do after you found the body?”

“I ran outside to my car and called 911.”

Paulson made a few more notes then reached into his suit jacket pocket and handed her a business card. “I think that’s it for now. I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

“Actually,” Dayne interjected as Katrina accepted the card, “I have a few more questions.”

Beside him, Paulson exhaled an impatient groan that Dayne ignored. It was obvious the man wanted to get the hell out of there, and Dayne couldn’t figure out why.

“After you came out of the house to call 911, did anyone else go inside?” he asked.

“No, I’m sure of it. I sat here the whole time and could see the door.” Again, she shook her head. “I suppose that was stupid. I should have driven away in case whoever did this was still nearby.”

Maybe so, but he gave her credit for having the backbone to stick around until the PD showed up.

“Let’s dial this back to when you first got here.” Twenty feet away, the press hounds eyed them like vultures scoping out their next meal. Only the uniforms prevented the reporters and their video guys from charging over. “Sometimes, a witness doesn’t realize they’ve seen things that are critical to an investigation. Try closing your eyes. Visualize everything from the moment you turned onto the street. Say anything that pops into your head, even if you think it’s not important.”

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Perfectly arched brows furrowed. “As soon as I turned onto Kings Highway, I saw the commercial sign on the front lawn then pulled in front of the house and parked.”

“Was there a vehicle in the driveway?” He glanced at Becca’s Toyota Highlander.

“Yes.” She nodded, smoothing her hand over the puppy’s head while he chewed on his toy. “A blue SUV. I didn’t notice what kind.”

“Were there any other vehicles parked in front of you or behind you?”

Again, her brows furrowed. “There was a gray car parked halfway down the street. When I came back out of the house and got into my car, it drove away.”

“Was the driver a man or a woman?”

“I think it was a man. Or a woman with short hair.”

“Could you tell what the make of the car was?”

“No.” She rolled her lips inward. “But there was something about the back of the car.”

“A bumper sticker?” he suggested. “Or a parking sticker?”

“No, nothing like that. I got it!” Her eyes flew open. “The bumper was dented pretty badly on one side.”

“Right side or left?”

“Left.”

“Could you read the license plate?”

Again, she closed her eyes. Angus dropped the toy onto his little belly and licked Katrina’s chin. “No. I’m sorry.”

“What state license plate was it?”

“New Jersey,” she said firmly. “Black on a beige background.”

“Good.” Might be nothing, but some murderers liked to stick around for that moment when the body was discovered or when the press showed up. “That’s all I have.”

“Detective,” one of the uniforms called out, holding up a cell phone. “The chief wants you.”

“Miss Vandenburg, thank you for your time.” Paulson beat feet to take his boss’s call.

“If you don’t mind, Mister Dayne,” Katrina said, standing and cradling the puppy in her arms like a baby, “I’d like to leave before Angus pees on my lap.” The dog toy fell to the sidewalk beside the Escalade.

Dayne scooped up the toy then held it out to Angus, who promptly clamped his jaws around it. The huddle of reporters closed in tighter, some photographers snapping shots.

“Oh no.” A tortured expression clouded her features. “I hate reporters.”

Dayne held back a snort. That might be the one and only thing they had in common.

Katrina twisted her neck in all directions, searching for an escape route. Patrol cars blocked in her Escalade. Dayne’s Interceptor, however, was in the clear.

She bit her lower lip, looking more panicked by the second. He could never leave a woman in distress. It wasn’t his way. Besides, if he did, his mother would smack him upside the head. When it came to courtesy, his mom was a drill sergeant.

“Hop in with me. I’ll give you a ride home and you can pick up the Caddy later when the horde of vultures flies away.”

She glanced again at the reporters then flashed him a wary but considering look, as if taking him up on his offer was the lesser of two evils. “Thank you,” she said then hastily followed him across the street.

At their approach, Remy stuck her head farther out of the open window. He opened the passenger door and swiveled the mobile computer aside to make room for her and Angus. Using his body as a shield, he stepped in front of the encroaching reporters while Katrina slid onto the seat, clutching the puppy to her chest.

“Oh, come on,” a female reporter with platinum blond hair and fire engine-red lipstick whined. “We only want to ask a few questions.”

“Not gonna happen.” Reporters and photographers surrounded the vehicle. As soon as he got in, he blasted the air horn, sending the press bolting to avoid being run down. A snide snicker erupted from his throat.

Katrina laughed. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“Yep.” He gunned the SUV down the road to the traffic light, which, thankfully, was green, then shot through the intersection.

She tucked Angus’s head beneath her chin. “They really are vultures.”

“I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” It wasn’t that he kept track of her in the newspapers or on TV, but he’d caught a few clips here and there of her being photographed and interviewed at charity events around the city.

“Well, I’m not used to it, so that’s the second incorrect preconceived notion you have about me.”

“The second?” He slanted her a sideways look, inhaling her subtle perfume. Roses. “What’s the first?”

“That I would ever allow my diamonds to get dirty.” There was no hiding the snark in her comeback.

He’d stepped right into that minefield like a rookie fresh out of Quantico. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.” This time, she was the one to snicker. “Do you remember how to get to the Haven?” she asked then gave a startled gasp when Remy shoved her muzzle through the kennel window.

“Sorry.” He reached over his shoulder and tugged the cage window closed, although that didn’t stop Remy from pressing her snout through the bars as she investigated Angus. “I usually leave it open.”

“Female?” Katrina eyed his K-9, as did the pup.

The puppy craned his neck to touch noses with Remy’s. “Yeah. Most people assume she’s a he because of her size.”

“I spend a lot of time with dogs at the Haven.” She surprised him by touching her fingers to Remy’s snout. “I can usually tell what sex they are by their facial bone structure. She’s beautiful.”

“That she is,” Dayne agreed, stepping on the gas when the light turned.

“What’s her name?”

“Remy.”

“That’s a fun name. Did you name her after Remy Martin, the French cognac?”

“No. Remington, the gun.”

Her laugh was more of a full-blown snort. “I should have guessed. And for the record, Mister Dayne, call me Kat.”

Not likely. To him, she would always be Miss Katrina Vandenburg.

Turning onto Tweed Boulevard, he gunned the SUV up the steep road that led to Clausland Mountain and the Canine Haven. Clausland Mountain was a mix of state park land and private property located on the Palisades cliff overlooking the Hudson River some five hundred feet below. Hell, even the dogs at this shelter had a better view than he did.

At the sign for the Canine Haven, he turned right into the heavily wooded property. Tall evergreens and deciduous trees lined both sides of the road. No fencing. Anyone could waltz right onto the property unannounced and armed to the teeth. At the main entrance, he slowed.

“Keep going.” She waved a finger. “The house is up ahead.”

Dayne stepped on the gas. “You’re not dropping Angus off here?”

“He’s so little I think he’ll be more comfortable at the house with me. Besides, I like his company.”

A large iron gate blocked the road. About ten feet before the gate stood a coded lock box attached to a pole. At least the woman had some kind of security system, although it was laughable at best. Even if the fence surrounded every square inch of the property, any lowlife could scale it and walk right in. He stopped and lowered the window.

“The code is four-two-six-five.”

After punching in the code, the gates slowly swung open with an eerie creak and he drove through. Trees gave way to low shrubs and Kat’s house came into view. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever refer to this place as a house.

A hundred feet ahead, perched near the edge of the cliff, sat a gothic castle, complete with pointed turrets and ivy-covered stone walls. The only things missing were a moat, drawbridge, and the Knights of the freaking Round Table.

Dayne drove onto a circular white gravel driveway, stopping in front of a wide stone staircase. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few more questions.”

“Okay, sure.” Briefly, she pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she had a headache. She got out and set Angus on the ground. “Remy can come in. She probably needs water.”

Well, there was an invitation Remy didn’t get too often. At all, really. Most people were afraid to go anywhere near his dog, let alone invite her in. “Thanks.” As Kat headed for the door, her face looked a little pale.

Angus peed then bounded around the front of the SUV, charging right up to his K-9. He wasn’t worried about Remy hurting the little guy. Remy might be a cop, but she was also one of the most maternal dogs he’d ever known. She never met a puppy she didn’t like, and Angus was no exception.

Dayne supervised while Angus yipped and nipped at Remy’s legs. Sure enough, his K-9 took it all in stride and stood there unmoving, content to let the puppy vent its energy. Kat waited on the top step, again pressing a hand to her forehead. Then she wavered unsteadily, staggering sideways like a drunken sailor.

“Kat?” He’d already started toward her when her eyes rolled back in her head. Shit. He bolted to the stairs.