a message on Adams’s cell phone—the same number Finn already had. At eight-thirty, he’d even borrowed another detective’s cell phone, hoping the unfamiliar number might entice her to answer.
“Still nothing?” Damon said as he returned from eavesdropping on conversations pertaining to last night and the case.
Finn shook his head.
“I hope she’s okay.”
Finn tried to look concerned. He had no doubt Hope Adams was okay. Just ignoring him, listening to each message and rolling her eyes. If that detective thinks I’m dumb enough to help him put my friend in jail, he can think again.
He knew Robyn Peltier wasn’t responsible for the deaths and he was quite certain he’d met the young woman who was, but he couldn’t leave that on voice mail or it could come back to haunt him in court.
Last night he’d rounded up a few witnesses who’d said they got a good look at the girl who’d killed Margie Damascus—the victim.
“We’ve got three similar sketches, Finn,” his lieutenant had said. “And none of them could possibly be your girl in the photo.” He’d laid a hand on Finn’s shoulder, his fingers damp enough to leave a stain. “It’s a common phenomenon. You saw the photograph. You were working through its significance as you followed Peltier to the fair. You saw this young woman acting suspiciously, and the three events merged into one—the girl on the phone was the girl in the photo, who was this girl at the fair.” Lieutenant Balough had squeezed his shoulder. “I didn’t get a degree in psychology for nothing. The mind is an amazing thing. Sometimes, though, it takes a few shortcuts.”
To his credit, Balough had put a rush on the ballistic. But the technician had taken one look at the recovered bullet, which had slammed into a stone monument after passing through Margie Damascus, and doubted he could make a viable comparison.
Finn pulled up the photo on his computer and studied it.
“So she’s walking with an older guy.” Damon moved behind Finn’s shoulder. “Looks like he has money.”
Finn glanced back at him.
“That suit.” Damon pointed. “Top drawer.”
Finn wouldn’t know, but he could tell that the suit fit the man better than his own fit him, so he supposed that was a good sign it was expensive.
“Top-drawer suit means a top-drawer executive,” Damon continued. “I bet he’d be a lot easier to identify than the girl.”
Finn agreed.
COLM
COLM FOLDED HIS HANDS behind his head and watched the morning sun dance across his bedroom wall. The breeze from the open window tickled his chest. He reached out and laid a hand on Adele’s bare thigh. She murmured something and snuggled into his side.
The house was silent, everyone off doing Sunday chores. A good thing, because he would have hated to be stuck out in the back woods where he and Adele usually met. She deserved better than to lose her virginity rolling around in the dirt.
That’s where they’d started—in the forest. She’d found him working in the vegetable garden. He’d caught her watching, and she’d said she liked to watch him work, his shirt off, sweaty and dirty . . .
They’d gone into the forest then. He’d left his shirt off. Maybe that had helped.
She’d pushed him against a tree and wrapped herself around him, kissing him so hard he’d been hard in seconds. She hadn’t pulled back, hadn’t slowed him down like she usually did.
They’d been going into the woods for almost a year now and he could usually get his hands up her shirt, but only twice under her pants, sliding his fingers into her, so hot and wet . . . He’d spent a lot of time in the shower with those memories, but they didn’t compare to the third, just a few days ago, when he’d shot that undercover cop for her. She’d forgiven him for losing Robyn Peltier, saying they’d find her and he’d been so brave, so strong, protecting her. She’d leaned against him, nuzzling him, breasts rubbing his chest. Then unbuttoned his fly, her hand sliding inside, stroking him, tentative at first, saying she hoped she was doing it right. When he’d assured her she was, her confidence had sprung back, stroking him, her grip so firm and hard that he’d . . .
But she’d said that was okay. It proved how much he loved her, how much he wanted her.
He only hoped he hadn’t taken advantage of her. She’d been so excited, the way she’d clung to him, kissed him, the heat of her mouth, her