The vibration of my phone on the pillow beside my head startles me out of a deep sleep. I croak out a “Morning” to my brother.
“Jolie! Are you okay? The police have been trying to reach you.”
“I just woke up.” Putting the phone on speaker, I scroll down the long list of missed calls from unknown numbers.
“The police need you to call them back. Any clue what they want?”
“I have an idea.” I return the phone to my ear. “Last night, after you crashed, I couldn’t sleep, so I went to Carrigan’s for a nightcap. I saw a report on the news about Nora Riley’s murder. I’m not sure how Lucas fits in. The journalist didn’t mention him.”
“But wh—”
“I can think of many possible scenarios.”
Jason lets out a sigh. “The homicide detective’s name is Calvin Ingram. Do you know him?”
“Never heard of him.” I scramble to sit up in bed. “Did you tell him I’m staying at your apartment?”
“Nope. I told him I would try to get in touch with you.”
“Good.” I rake my hands through my hair. “God, my head is killing me. Do you have any Advil?”
“In my medicine cabinet,” Jason says. “I’m going into surgery in a few minutes. But the procedure shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay. I’ll text you when I have some answers.”
I end the call and kick back the covers. I’m still wearing my jeans and blouse from last night. The memory of kissing Drew comes back to me. My body warms at the prospect of a future with him. But I shove the thought aside. My marriage just ended. I can’t jump into another relationship until I get my head on straight.
Rolling out of bed, I stumble down the hall to Jason’s bathroom and rummage in the cabinet for Advil, shaking three out of the bottle into my hand. I head for the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and down the Advil. Popping a K-cup into the Keurig machine, I watch the stream of steaming brown liquid fill my brother’s Yeti mug. I take my coffee to the wall of windows and stare out at the James River flowing through downtown Richmond. The sky is hazy, heavy with humidity after last night’s rain. As I sip the dark roast, I mentally replay last night’s events in slow motion. Two things place me at the scene of the murder. The photos I took of Nora and Jason having sex. And my muddy tennis shoes.
What if Lucas is dead? What if Lucas killed Nora? What if Riley hired someone to kill her? So many what-ifs. I need answers.
I text Mel, an old friend in the police department. Hey stranger. I’ve received several urgent messages from Detective Ingram. Any clue what he wants?
My phone immediately rings with a call from Mel. “Jolie, it’s been a long time. I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but Lucas is dead.”
My heart sinks. Lucas was my husband. Despite our problems and his infidelity, I never wanted him dead.
“Jolie, are you still there?”
“I’m here. How did he—”
“That’s what Ingram wants to talk to you about.”
I grip the phone. “Who is this Ingram person, anyway?”
“He’s new to the department. He transferred in from Chicago last year. He’s tough but fair. I lobbied hard for your case, but the chief considers our friendship a conflict of interest.”
“So, you finally got promoted to detective. Good for you! Congrats.”
“Thanks,” Mel says. “I’m at the station now. Catching up on some paperwork. I can hang around if you’re planning to come in. Ingram’s here. I’ll let him know you’re on the way.”
“I’ll be there within the hour.”
My brother has a massage head on his shower, and I stay in longer than necessary, letting the hot water beat my aching shoulders and neck while I try to wrap my mind around my husband’s death.
With hair still damp, I dress in jeans and a V-neck white T-shirt. I tie my muddy running shoes in a plastic grocery bag and drop the bag in my backpack along with my card wallet and cell phone. I take the elevator to the parking deck. No one is around and most of the spaces are empty. The majority of the building’s occupants are young professionals who have long since left for work.
I open my car door and toss my backpack onto the passenger’s seat. I’m sliding behind the wheel when a pair of large hands jerks me to my feet. My keys fly out of my hands, dropping with a clanking noise to the pavement. My assailant’s body is massive. His muscular arms are tight around my torso, his beefy paw clamped over my mouth as he wrestles me to the trunk. I squirm and kick, but my strength is no match for his. Of all the times for me to leave my weapon at home. Not that I could’ve gotten to it with him manhandling me this way.
He gags my mouth, zip-ties my ankles and wrists, and tosses me into the trunk. He bangs the trunk lid shut, and a minute later the car’s front door slams. I hear the beeping sound of the doors locking and his rubber-soled shoes moving away from the car, not toward the street but in the opposite direction. Toward the building.
Panic overcomes me. I scream and thrash about until I’m exhausted and gasping for air. Breathe, Jolie! I tell myself. I inhale and exhale, as best I can with a wad of cloth in my mouth. After a long minute, my breathing steadies, the panic subsides, and my mind clears.
Think, Jolie. My phone is in my backpack in the front seat of the car. I try to get my fingers on my Apple Watch, but the zip tie cuts into my skin. I have no choice but to wait for someone to rescue me. Darkness envelops me. I close my eyes and imagine myself on a deserted beach with the waves lapping softly against the shore. I have no clue how much time passes. I drift in and out of sleep until the sound of tires screeching to a halt nearby jerks me awake.
My screams are muffled by the gag, but I don’t stop yelling until I hear someone prying the trunk open with a crowbar. I’m blinded by light at first, but when the little white dots clear, Mel is looming over me, lovely as ever with caramel skin and green eyes. Behind her is a man with wavy dark hair, cut close to his head, and chiseled features. His eyes are an intoxicating golden hue, the color of aged brandy.
He stands by and watches as Mel removes the gag from my mouth and cuts the zip ties from my wrists and ankles with her switchblade.
“Damn, girlfriend,” Mel says. “I don’t see you for years, and you come crashing back into my life like a wrecking ball. I’d forgotten how drama follows you around like a dark cloud. I’m not sure I’m ready to be your friend again.”
“You don’t have any choice.” I extend my hand to her. “Get me outta here.”
Mel hauls me out of the trunk to my feet. A wave of dizziness overcomes me, and I lean against the car until it passes.
Mel gestures at the man. “Jolie, meet Calvin Ingram. Calvin this is Jolene Hogan.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Jolene? As in the song?”
I shrug. “What can I say? My mother was a Dolly Parton fan.” I don’t know if this is true, but it’s my standard response when someone cracks a joke about my name.
“Who did this to you?” Mel asks.
“I have no clue.” I go around to the passenger side of the car and open the door. “But whoever it was stole my backpack.”
Mel comes to stand beside me. “What was in the backpack?”
“My card wallet, phone, and the shoes I was wearing last night.”
“Why the shoes?” Mel asks.
“It’s a long story.”
Calvin speaks for the first time. “I’d like to hear this story. Can we continue this party down at the station?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I just found out my husband is dead, and I spent two hours locked in a trunk. We can either have this conversation upstairs in my brother’s condo, or not at all. Your choice.” Without waiting for him to respond, I storm off toward the elevators.
Mel and Ingram follow me into the elevator cart, and we ride in silence to the eighth floor. When the doors open, I emerge ahead of them and start down the hall. I stop in my tracks at the sight of my brother’s open door. I can see inside. Someone has ransacked his apartment.
With weapons drawn, the detectives enter the condo ahead of me, clearing all the rooms before allowing me to enter. I survey the shambles—furniture overturned, trash littered on the kitchen floor, and clothes strewn about. Nothing appears to be missing or destroyed except my computer and camera body. Fortunately, he didn’t find my gun hidden inside the air register in Jason’s living room.
“Is this yours?” Mel asks, pointing at my backpack on the kitchen island.
“Yep.” I reach for it, but Mel brushes my hand away.
“Don’t touch it. We need to check the contents for prints.”
“But my phone is in there.”
Mel reaches for her radio. “I’ll have a unit pick it up and take it to the station. They’ll expedite it and have it back to you this afternoon.”
I roll my eyes. “You won’t find any prints. Whoever did this wore gloves.”
Ingram restores the sofa to an upright position and motions for me to sit down. “Start talking.”
I ignore him and turn to Mel. “I need some coffee. Want some?”
Mel waves me off. “I’m fine, but thanks.”
Mel sits down at the island with Ingram across the room on the sofa. After I brew my coffee, I stand at the counter facing both of them. “Laurence Riley contacted me three days ago. He suspected his wife was cheating on him, and he hired me to get the dirt on her.”
“How did he find out about your investigative services?” Ingram asks.
“He claims he saw my profile on LinkedIn. But he had an ulterior motive for hiring me. My husband was the one sleeping with his wife.”
“Maybe it was a coincidence,” Ingram says. “Maybe he didn’t know your husband was the one sleeping with his wife.”
“He knew. If you’ll stop interrupting me, I’ll tell you the whole story.”
“By all means,” Ingram says, settling back against the sofa.
“I staked out Riley’s house last night. Lucas and Nora arrived in an Uber around eight thirty. I didn’t recognize my husband at first. They were wearing raincoats. I followed them up to the house and peeked through the window. They were going at it in the center hallway. They didn’t even bother to close the front door.” A thought occurs to me. “She obviously wasn’t worried about her husband coming home. I guess maybe Riley told her he was working late.”
Ingram jots something down on a notepad. “How did you feel when you saw your husband having sex with another woman?”
I glare at him. “What’re you, a shrink now? I was furious. What do you think?”
“Furious enough to kill him?”
“Hardly.” I sip my coffee while I relive the moment. “I wasn’t surprised, honestly. Our marriage was already on the rocks. I wanted to get the hell out of there, as far away from them as possible. I snapped my photographs and took off. It was pouring rain, and I wasn’t paying attention. I stepped off the sidewalk into the wet grass, hence the muddy shoes. I got in my car and drove straight to my apartment and packed up my stuff.”
When there’s a knock at the door, Mel says, “That’ll be for me.” She grabs the backpack from the counter and takes it to the door.
Ingram and I stare daggers at each other while she’s gone. There’s something sinister about his golden eyes. He’s handsome in a menacing way. I would not want to encounter him in a dark alley.
Ingram asks, “Did you come here after you left your apartment?”
I shake my head. “I went to Riley’s office first. To confront him. I accused him of setting me up, and he didn’t deny it.” Mel returns and I shift my gaze to her. “Riley paid someone to kill Nora and Lucas. That someone just locked me in my trunk and ransacked my brother’s condo.”
“They’re obviously looking for something,” Ingram says. “Any idea what?”
“I don’t know. I already gave him the photos.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Mel says.
“Does this mean you’re on the case now?” I ask.
Ingram jumps up. “No! She insisted on coming to find you when you didn’t show up at the station. But she’s not on the case.”
I’m grateful for the distance separating us, otherwise I might strangle him. “Then you tell me, Mr. Detective, why isn’t the media reporting on Lucas’s murder?”
Ingram says. “Riley is an important man in this community. He’s protecting his dead wife’s reputation.”
I slam down my coffee mug. “He’s protecting his own reputation. He doesn’t want his rich friends to know his wife was sleeping with a lowlife like Lucas.” I look back at Mel. “Where is my husband’s body?”
“At the coroner’s office,” Ingram answers for her.
Mel nods. “We’ll have the report in a few days.”
“Can we be done here?” I ask my old friend in a pleading tone.
“Yep.” She gets to her feet. “Let’s go, Calvin.” She motions for him to follow her.
At the door, Mel says, “You can pick up your backpack from the station in a couple of hours.”
Ingram hands me his business card. “If you think of anything else that might be useful, don’t hesitate to call.”
Locking the door behind them, I turn to face the apartment. Jason will freak if he comes home to this mess. I get busy sweeping up the trash in the kitchen and straightening the furniture. I’m folding Jason’s clothes into a drawer when he arrives home from the hospital ninety minutes later.
He tosses his backpack on the bed. “Are you doing my laundry now?”
“Ha ha. No. We had an uninvited guest. He left a bit of a mess.” I fold his last pair of boxers and close the drawer.
“I assume this guest was here to see you. Did he take anything?”
“He destroyed my computer and camera, but as far as I can tell, nothing is missing. You should check your stuff, though. Just in case.”
Jason moves to his closet and begins poking around inside. “And where were you when this happened?”
“Locked in the trunk of my car. Lucas is dead, Jason. He was murdered by the same person who killed Nora Riley.”
Jason stops what he’s doing and turns toward me. “I’m sorry, Jolie. I hated the guy. But I never wished him dead.”
I lift a shoulder. “At least now I don’t have to get a divorce.”
Jason stares at me for a long minute. Sensing I don’t want to talk about Lucas’s death, he returns his attention to the closet. “I have homeowner’s insurance. I’ll replace your equipment and file the claim with the insurance company for reimbursement.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He removes his gun safe from the top shelf and punches in the combination. “Do you have money to buy a new computer?”
I stare at the floor. “No. But—”
“No buts. You need your equipment.” He checks his gun and returns the safe to the top shelf.
“Thank you,” I say in a meek voice.
Jason closes the closet door and comes to stand in front of me. “Are you ready to trade in your profession for something safer?”
I manage a weak smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He shakes his head, as if to say I’m beyond help. “Want me to drive you to the Apple Store?” he asks, his blue eyes twinkling.
I laugh out loud. “You just want an excuse to play with the toys.”
“Can you blame me? I have so few pleasures in my life.”
Jason and I spend longer than necessary at the Apple Store. Not because of me. I know exactly what I want—an updated version of my old laptop. But Jason, like a kid in a candy store, fiddles with every gadget on display. He’s still wearing his hospital scrubs, and the attractive young sales associate fawns all over him. He eats up the attention and ends up purchasing an expensive iPad Pro.
In his Lexus on the way home, I ask, “Do you really need that iPad?”
“Need is a funny little word, Jolie. Besides, I have so few—”
“Pleasures in life,” I finish. “Must be nice to have the money to buy whatever you want.”
He glances over at me. “You could too if you went back to school.”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but I have no interest in going to school for ten years to learn how to stick needles in people’s arms.”
“No one said you have to become a doctor. There are plenty of other respectable professions.”
“Saving lives and sending criminals to jail is respectable.”
“But you’re not a police officer anymore. You’re hiding in the bushes taking pics of rich men’s cheating wives.”
“Enough already, Jason. For the last time, I’m not going back to school.” I turn up the volume on his WideSpread Panic playlist, and we ride the rest of the way back to town without speaking. I’ve been too preoccupied to consider how Lucas’s death affects my finances. If word gets out I’m a suspect in a double homicide, my investigative career is over. With little money in the bank, I’ll need to consider a career move soon.
When we exit off the downtown expressway, I say, “Can you drop me at the station? I need to pick up my backpack. I’ll walk home.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll wait for you.” He drives several blocks and parks in front of the ugly gray building that houses police headquarters for the City of Richmond.
“I’ll be right back.” Jason stays in the car when I enter the station. I’m waiting for the rookie desk officer to track down my backpack when I encounter my old boss. I admire Captain Winnifred Byrd, known as Captain Winnie by her staff. She’s an ex-marine who served several tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. Never married, she’s devoted her life to fighting crime. She’s a no-nonsense straight shooter, and she has the respect and admiration of everyone in her department.
The captain comes from behind the counter to speak to me. “I hear your meeting with Detective Ingram went well.”
I scoff. “Depending on who you ask.”
Captain Winnie laughs. “He’s tough but fair.”
“That’s exactly what Mel said. I haven’t seen the fair side of him yet.”
“I trust you to set him straight.” The captain drops her smile. “Once you clear your name, which I have no doubt that you will, I’d love to have you back on the force.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
The captain places an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Jolie. Don’t you miss us a little?”
“I miss you a lot. But I don’t miss having bricks thrown at me and people spitting in my face.”
“The riots have stopped.”
I let out a snort. “For now. They’ll be back soon, now that the weather is getting warmer.”
She drops her arm. “That’s probably true. Will it help if I beg? I’m down fifteen officers. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Let me think about it. I have more pressing issues at the moment.”
The rookie returns with my backpack. “Everything should be in there.”
I unzip the backpack and check the contents anyway. “Gotta run. I’ll be in touch.” I wave at Captain Winnie as I hurry out of the building.
“Thanks for letting me crash last night,” I say to Jason on the way to his condo.
“Of course. What are brothers for?” He enters his parking deck and pulls into a vacant space.
I gather my belongings and get out of his Lexus. I’m heading to my car when he calls after me. “Wait! Where’re you going?”
“To my apartment.”
He follows me to my car. “Are you crazy? You shouldn’t be alone right now. The lunatic who locked you in your trunk and ransacked my condo is still on the loose. Never mind you just lost your husband.”
“I can take care of myself, Jason,” I say, rummaging through my backpack for my keys.
He sweeps an arm at the elevator. “But don’t you need to get your stuff?”
“I packed earlier. My suitcases are already in the trunk.” Our eyes travel to the trunk. The metal is bent where Mel pried it open with a crowbar. “I’ll need to get that fixed. For now, zip ties work for keeping it shut.”
He sighs. “You’re resourceful. I’ll give you that.” He opens the driver’s door for me. “Please be careful. And call me if you need me.”
“Will do.” I get in the car and close the door. I watch him disappear in the rearview mirror as I exit the parking garage. I’d much rather stay here with my brother in his condo overlooking the James. But it’s not fair to bring my danger to his doorstep.
Hunger pangs gnaw at my belly as I drive off down the street. I haven’t eaten since dinner last night, and I need comfort food. The thought of a cheesy veggie pizza makes my mouth water. When I stop at a stoplight, I access the app for a food delivery service and place my order from my favorite pizzeria. But when I enter my apartment a few minutes later, nausea engulfs me, zapping my appetite. Memories of Lucas are everywhere. His running shoes beside the door. The gaming controller on the coffee table. The bottle of Texas Pete on the kitchen counter.
I drag my suitcases to our room. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of the bed I once shared with Lucas. The photo of Lucas and Nora remains on his pillow. He never saw it. Never came home last night.
I stumble to the bathroom and empty the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet. I flush and sit back on my haunches. I need to get the hell outta this apartment. But I can’t afford to move. I’m not even sure I can afford to stay without Lucas’s salary. Panic constricts my chest, making it difficult to breathe. How did my life become such a mess?
I return to the living room and pour two fingers of Casa Noble Tequila into a glass, sans ice. I’ll need to cut corners. Which means a cheaper brand of tequila on the horizon for me.
The booze helps calm my nerves and settle my stomach. My pizza arrives, and I’m eating it straight out of the box while shopping online for digital cameras when there’s a knock at my door. Removing my gun from its holster, I slide down the wall to the door and peek through the peephole. Calvin Ingram is standing outside, wiggling his fingers at me.
I crack the door. “What’re you doing here?”
“The autopsy results came back from the coroner.”
“That was fast.”
“Riley pulled some strings. He’s eager to bury his wife.”
“I assume the report revealed something important. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come in person.”
He nods. “Can I come in?”
I step back, opening the door wider.
He eyes the pizza box. “Sorry for interrupting your dinner.”
“No worries. Want a slice? I can’t eat anymore.”
“No. But I won’t turn down a shot of tequila.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Liquid courage?”
“Something like that.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour him a splash.
He gulps down the liquid and sets the glass on the counter. “Nora Riley was pregnant.” Taking the bottle from me, he pours more tequila and kicks it back. “We ran a DNA test. Your husband was the father.”
My knees go weak, and I brace myself against the counter. “Do you think Riley knew this when he hired me to follow them?”
“He claims he didn’t. But we questioned Nora’s best friend. According to her, Nora was desperate to have children, but Riley insisted he was too old. She’s fifteen years younger than him.”
I knit my eyebrows. “I was wondering about that. Was she his second wife?”
“Nope. He married late in life. She was his trophy wife.” Ingram looks away from me, as though unable to look at me when he delivers the next blow. “According to Nora’s friend, she was going to leave Laurence.”
“For my husband.” A stabbing pain lands in my gut and I drop to my abandoned barstool. I did this. I drove my husband away by refusing to have children.
“Jolie? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I push thoughts of my husband’s bastard child away. I’m an expert at compartmentalizing my emotions, a skill I learned growing up in the foster care system. “So, Riley killed her to avoid handing over half his wealth in a divorce settlement.”
“That’s one theory. We don’t know for certain he killed her . . . them. The coroner marks the time of death between eight thirty and nine.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “I was at the Riley home at eight thirty.”
Ingram strokes his chin. “Riley was still in his office when you went to see him. What time was that?”
I’d been too frantic, too upset, to pay attention to the clock. My mind races as I piece together a timetable. “I’m guessing around nine fifteen.”
“Which means Laurence Riley could not have killed them.”
I thumb my chest. “I didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nora and Lucas were very much alive and screwing their brains out when I left.”
“I believe you. I checked you out. Your reputation is stellar. You’re off the hook. At least for now.”
“Ha. My reputation for saving kittens from crawl spaces and little old ladies from muggers.”
“Come on, Jolie. Don’t sell yourself short. Everyone I talked to sang your praises. Why did you quit the force?” His gaze is penetrating as he waits for my answer.
I squirm and look away. “It’s complicated.”
“Being a cop isn’t what it used to be.” Ingram circles the apartment. “Your brother’s condo suits you better.”
“How so?” I slide off the barstool and stand on the other side of the coffee table from him. He’s changed clothes since earlier. He’s now wearing a polo shirt that clings to his tight abs and skinny jeans that hug his muscular behind.
“Beige carpet and walls versus exposed brick and stainless appliances. The condo has style. Like you.”
“Wait. That sounds like a compliment. What happened to the arrogant Detective Calvin Ingram from earlier?”
“I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong about a person.” Ingram unlocks the back door and steps onto the patio.
Following him outside, I get a whiff of his spicy cologne. He smells delicious, and I yearn to have a taste.
Jolie! Down, girl. You’ve had too much tequila.
Ingram studies the burnt chicken breasts on the grill. “Looks appetizing.”
I close the grill lid. “Another dinner that ended in a fight. The story of my life with Lucas.”
Ingram turns to me. “Your husband was a fool.” His eyes are warm tonight, like liquid gold, and his touch is gentle when he fingers a lock of hair off my forehead. “You’re beautiful.”
Desire stirs inside of me. “So are you.”
“I should go before I cross a line,” Ingram says, but makes no move to leave.
“Are you sure? Won’t you stay for one more drink?”
“I can stay. But a drink is not what I want.”