An eyebrow rose. “Ranger here. We’re stealthy and shit.”
“Ha. Ha.”
“Bruised your detective’s ego?”
“Not really. Maybe it’s the concussion.”
“Maybe.” He frowned at the binder in front of her. “What’s that?”
“Dad’s murder book.”
“I thought it wasn’t your jurisdiction.”
“Captain pulled some strings, got the RHD detectives on the case to make me a copy.” She patted the box beside her. “These are Peter’s files—papers. Or what’s left of them that was in his home office.”
“What’s left? What do you mean—thieves took them?”
“His laptop, back-up drives, discs. They made sure to take the television and sound system, but the detectives are puzzled.”
“How so?”
Gabby showed him the crime scene photographs. “They didn’t touch any of the artwork. Fair enough—maybe they didn’t know its value. But they didn’t touch his bedroom either, where he had his watch collection and that’s worth a mint. But they ransacked Theo’s room and targeted very personal stuff.”
Declan stiffened. “How personal?”
“His bedsheets, sneakers, his toothbrush?” She turned to the page that showed the toppled tumblers, a stripped mattress, and an empty trashcan. “One theory is that it’s a deranged fan or stalker. A very deranged fan. Nothing new in this part of California, but it still gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”
“Nothing on surveillance?”
Gabby puffed a derisive laugh. “None. Those CSI shows are making it more difficult for us to do our jobs.”
“I can imagine,” Declan smiled briefly before turning serious. “They briefed us that a stalker was a possibility, but they didn’t share specifics. Levi was going to meet with the detectives tomorrow. I guess this was what they were going to show us?”
“Yes,” she sighed and averted her eyes.
“There’s something else,” he pressed, and her gaze returned to his face. His brows were drawn together. “Out with it.”
She shook her head. “I can’t really say.”
“You can’t really say,” he repeated. “But I suspect this has something to do with Claudette. And by extension—me—because I supposedly fathered a child with her.”
“Why are you still denying it?” She lowered her voice into a whisper. “Theo looks like you. The color of his eyes is almost a carbon copy of Claudette’s.” And that was the one damning feature that Gabby couldn’t deny and it tore her heart every time she thought about it, which was why for her sanity she tried not to dwell on it. It was an open-and-shut case.
“I knew you’d say that, so I did a bit of research. Hazel eyes, Gabby? Given the color of our eyes, hazel is difficult to predict.”
“Mine are plain brown—”
“Yours are a gorgeous brown—the color of warm whiskey,” he rasped.
“I can’t even begin to comprehend what you’re trying to imply. That there was a conspiracy to swap my baby with Claudette’s? But why?”
“Hasn’t that ever occurred to you?”
“What, Declan? That I wished it was her baby who died and mine survived? Is that a better reality for you?”
“There’s only one way to resolve this.”
“Oh, great, let’s ask Theo for a buccal swab and say, oh, by the way, I think your sister who isn’t your sister might actually be your mom!”
He stared at her for a long time, frustration swimming in his emerald irises. “You’re not in the right frame of mind to talk about this,” he muttered.
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” she scoffed. “Short of rehashing our past ad nauseam, I wasn’t the one with communication problems. Besides, what would be Claudette’s objective? She didn’t even want a baby. Peter was crazy enough for her. Crazy enough that he moved her to another country just to get away from me. She said I was too caught up in my grief, that I might hurt her child.”
“Jesus, she did quite a mindfuck on you, didn’t she?”
“Come to think of it, she was right to be scared. I was crazy.”
“You weren’t crazy,” Declan said quietly. “You were grieving, Gab.”
She took her time to respond, momentarily lost in that dark time. “I was,” she admitted.
That time was her rock bottom, a time in her life when everyone abandoned her except Nick. So she latched on to him, and it only got worse before it got better. Gabby Woodward burned to ashes, only to be reborn into the person she was now.
“You asked how I became a detective?” She closed the murder book and leaned back against the opposite end of the couch, her chin inching up, a flare of defiance sparking inside her.