figure out. Is there any way Steven Sadowski had a part in an illegal prescription drug business? That he was working with the man whose picture you just looked at?”
“No. I mean, I didn’t work with Mr. Sadowski for long, but he wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t prescribe medication. And there was never so much as a whisper of that.” Liza paused. “Is there evidence that that’s what was going on?”
“No. None. I’m just trying to develop a motive. I might be off-base, but I have to ask the questions.”
She nodded. “I understand. You might want to talk to Dr. Headley too. He’s a psychiatrist. He might have more insight on those particular medications, or maybe even the patients.”
“I went to see him first, but he was with a patient.”
“Oh.” Why did she feel slightly disappointed? The knowledge that he’d come to see Chad, and he’d sought her out merely as a default source of information? And was she really so self-involved that she was even thinking about that considering the reason Reed Davies was there was because a man had been brutally murdered? His eyes removed.
“I . . . do have another question.” His lips thinned and he looked torn. It made her feel suddenly wary.
“Yes?”
“We watched the tapes of you entering the building and finding Steven Sadowski’s body.”
Her hand went to her throat once more, and again, she quickly dropped it. “Oh. Yes? I mean, of course.” Nerves spiraled in Liza’s belly.
“You began entering the building and then left and came back a few minutes later. Do you remember why?”
I needed a moment to gather some courage. Liza cast her eyes to the side. “I probably left something in my car. I’m sorry, I don’t really remember what.”
Reed nodded. “All right. I’m also curious why it took you so long to climb the stairs. Seven minutes from the time you entered the building until you appeared on the third floor.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding. She felt a flush creeping up her neck. This is why, she told herself. This is why you cannot know Reed Davies. She let out a small laugh. “Avoiding work I suppose. Dragging my feet.” She attempted a smile but he didn’t smile back. Her expression slipped.
“That behavioral therapy you mentioned. Do you apply it to yourself sometimes?” His words were direct, but his tone was gentle.
“What?” The word came out breathy. Humiliation swept through her.
“You were testing yourself, weren’t you? In the dark.”
“I’m sorry, are my stair-climbing habits part of your investigation? I can assure you they have nothing to do with what happened to Mr. Sadowski.”
“You entered the building and I watched the light go off from beneath the doorway of the third floor. It went back on right before you emerged. You made it up the stairs, but it took you seven minutes because you were afraid.” He paused, leaned forward, his eyes, those beautiful, knowing eyes boring into her. “The same way you were in my apartment when I turned off the lights. It was just a moment, Liza, but I saw.”
She forced out a short laugh. “Well, there you go. That’s my big secret. I’m afraid of the dark. What a brilliant detective you are.” There was a waver in her voice and she hated him for it. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to see this part of her. It was intensely private. Her hands fluttered to her throat again and then away.
He scrutinized her for a moment and she was tempted to break eye contact. “Is that what you were doing with me?” he asked quietly. “Some form of therapy?”
She felt ashamed. She shrugged. “Yes. I was using you.” She lashed out because she felt hurt by him. Embarrassed. Small.
A fraud.
She saw hurt flash in his expression and it brought her no joy. None at all. “Why? Explain to me why.”
She shook her head. “Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I just want—”
“What? What do you want?”
“To know you. I still want to know you.” He stood up and moved around the coffee table separating them and sat in the chair directly next to her, angling his body toward hers.
She shook her head, forced another small laugh. “I think you have bigger things to focus on right now.”
“That’s my work. I’m good at my job and give it my all, but I’m allowed to have a life too. You’re not my work, Liza.”
“I am. That’s all I am. A witness in your investigation, Detective.”
“For