THREE
Trent wished he’d handled things with Amanda a bit differently, offered some reassurance, said something that might make her feel better. But he didn’t know Logan, beyond being aware that Amanda had dated him for a while, and as far as he knew, they’d broken things off a long time ago. Whatever the case, it would appear their relationship had heated back up. That’s if her mussed-up hair and missing buttons were any indication.
He did his best to respect her privacy, but there might come a time he’d have to push a little more. That was if Sergeant Graves didn’t send him back out the front door on his ass.
He slipped some plastic booties over his shoes before entering the home, striving to preserve what he could of the crime scene. He heard Graves talking and followed the sound of her voice down a hallway. He found her just inside the door of the primary bedroom, holding her cell phone to an ear. She barely passed him a glance and ended the call.
“Detective Stenson,” she said coolly.
“Sarge.”
“Did Steele update you on the circumstances of this discovery?”
“She did.”
“Then you know that she’s likely sleeping with the man who owns this house.”
“I wouldn’t know.” And, God, he hated to think about Amanda and Logan together.
Graves angled her head as if she wasn’t buying his response. “Any good detective could put two and two together here. Steele’s too close to this, and by extension, so are you. I’m going to assign this investigation to Detectives Ryan and Hudson.”
Some called Ryan “Cougar” around the department, a rather juvenile nickname in Trent’s opinion. Hudson was a good guy and rather new to the Prince William County Police Department, but not new to the badge. Like Hudson, Graves was a transplant too, but she came from the big city of New York. Trent could understand why Graves would desire the peacefulness offered by a smaller community, but Trent had a feeling her reasons for moving stunk to high heaven.
He stepped into the room and noted the scene. Dead woman supine on a king-size bed, dressed in scanty lingerie, shot to the chest, female clothing scattered on the floor. Trent scribbled these details in his notepad. There was a nightstand next to the bed, a lamp on it. A length of its cord was coiled up on the tabletop.
He moved farther into the room, looking up at the victim from the base of the bed. Her left arm was slightly curled over her torso. She had long fingers, and there was a gold band on her ring finger.Oh, Amanda…
At the far end of the room, there was a window, the curtains drawn. He swept his gaze right.
Graves stepped in front of him, but she didn’t block everything, even though she was almost as tall as him. He could see over her shoulders. A long dresser, a match to the single nightstand, dark wood, chrome hardware.
“Detective Stenson, did you hear me? This isn’t your case. You’re excused.”
Trent was about to turn and leave when his eyes landed on the corner of the dresser. A handgun. He couldn’t tell what make and model, but it was all black.
“Detective,” Graves said sternly.
“Ah, yeah”—he folded his notepad shut and tucked the pen in its coils—“I’m leaving.”
He led the way back out of the house, but took in the layout as he went. It was like Amanda’s place, with another bedroom on the right and a bathroom. The kitchen was at the rear of the home. Moving toward the front from there was the dining room, with the hallway shooting off to the right, the living room next to the entry.
He walked slowly, deliberately, even though the sergeant was right on his heels. He saw a button on the floor, but from what he’d quickly seen of the victim’s clothing, it didn’t belong with her. He had a feeling he knew where it had come from, and he didn’t care for how the realization had his stomach turning to lead and his chest squeezing with something resembling jealousy.
“Detective, could you move any slower?” Graves urged him.
He picked up his pace. Guess that was the problem when someone transplanted from the city to the country—they hadn’t yet clued in that life didn’t need to be lived as a drive-by.
He stepped outside and took a deep breath, trying to cleanse his mind of what he’d just seen and the situation. Amanda was back together with Logan. One night, dating him regularly; it made little difference. He was happy for her. Or he should be.
She was standing next to Logan, but her body language was rigid, and she kept space between them. They were with two uniformed officers, and Detectives Ryan and Hudson. They certainly got there fast enough.
Amanda turned, met his gaze, and closed her eyes slowly. Silent communication—something they had worked out, given that they’d been partners for a year and a half. In this moment, he read she was pissed by the way everything was playing out. While he understood her point of view, he also could appreciate Graves’s.
He went to Amanda. “Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Yeah.” She gave one look to Logan, who was watching her with these pleading eyes. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him, touching his forearm just before walking away.
An intimate touch…
