“So we can go?” Caroline said. “About bloody time.”
She got to her feet, her anger masking a tiny bit of relief, Jane imagined. “Just don’t go anywhere,” she warned. “And I mean, don’t even go smell the air outside the city. Understood?”
“My client knows to stay put,” Diaz said.
Jane looked at Andy, waiting for an answer.
“I won’t. Promise,” she said.
The door opened. Jane didn’t turn, locking her eyes on Bouchard instead.
A woman rushed in. Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw a flash of red hair and heard a vaguely familiar voice.
“Andy! Are you okay?”
The woman rushed to Andy’s side, her voice filled with concern, her hands doing a quick body check to see if her lover was okay.
Diaz froze, her eyes turning ice cold. Jane’s jaw dropped. It was the woman. The young woman who two weeks ago told them that she’d dreamed about Horace Gibson’s murder before it had happened. The crazy redhead with the beautiful eyes.
Jane watched as Andy got up and enveloped the woman in her arms. She looked surprised, pleased, but also slightly angry.
“I told you to go home,” she said in a low tone.
The woman—Isabelle, that’s right—now Jane remembered—shrugged. “I couldn’t leave you here. I had to make sure you’re okay.”
It was clear she wanted to say more, but turned, suddenly aware of the stranger in the room.
She stiffened when she saw Jane.
“Miss Templeton.” Jane gave a slight bow. “How nice to see you again.”
Finally, Jane got what she’d been looking for the entire night. She turned her gaze to see Andy Bouchard looking worried. Very, very worried.
* * *
Isabelle hadn’t been able to face the car anymore, the concern about Andy eating away at her, so she’d gone to Arlene’s building to see if the police were done interviewing her. Maybe Jam was lying to her. Maybe Andy had been injured and nobody had the guts to tell her that she was in the hospital. Or dead. Ma Soeur didn’t exactly have a great track record when it came to being honest with her.
The uniforms outside had made her wait, then let her in, much to her surprise. She hadn’t imagined getting beyond the front door.
And now this. Her mind searched for the policewoman’s name. Jane. Jane…Wright. Detective. Major Case Squad.
Andy was angry at her for being here, bordering on furious. The hand that gripped hers was strong, fierce, hurting her as Andy stared at Detective Wright.
“Andy, my hand,” she whispered.
Andy looked down at her, their intertwined hands. The white-knuckle grip she had on Isabelle’s fingers.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” She let go and smoothed over Isabelle’s hands in an apology.
Detective Wright looked at them with open curiosity.
The blond woman next to Andy suddenly swung into action, ushering them toward the door. “You can kiss and make up later. Let’s get going.”
Isabelle looked at her. She looked like a tougher version of Arlene Hampton. Smooth, groomed to a T. Angry.
The blonde pushed them toward the door.
Detective Wright stood up. “Wait just a moment. Is nobody in this room interested in how I know Ms. Templeton?”
“No,” said the blonde. “It’s late. My client is tired. Her girlfriend is tired. We’re all eager to get home.”
Detective Wright moved to the door and stood, arms crossed.
“Come on, Detective, you said we could go,” the blonde argued, clearly upset.
Detective Wright pointed to Isabelle. “Allow me one more question.” She turned to Isabelle. “Have you dreamed about any murders lately, Ms. Templeton? Perhaps like the one of Ms. Hampton tonight?”