Page 32 of Hannah's Truth

“You were going to come out here even if I hadn’t suggested it.”

He nodded. “Tim’s a friend. I won’t let them make him a scapegoat.”

“Huh.”

“What?” He glanced over his shoulder, that little smirk on his face.

“Your file doesn’t say anything about being with the military police, but you’ve got a knack for investigating.”

“Because I never was an MP. But Spec Ops was more than just a scope and a rifle, sweetheart.” He tried the doorknob. “That’s weird.”

“Something wrong?”

“Tim didn’t usually lock the door.”

He bent over, his fingers sliding along the top step. When he stood, the sunlight hit the brass key in his palm. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

“Resourceful,” she said.

He winked at her. “More than one of my commanding officers complimented my initiative during my career.” His bravado faded. “The women in my life usually call it something else.”

“Look, if being married for the sake of the case is going to drive a wedge between us—”

He stopped in the doorway and glared at her. “Whatever made you think being ma— m-my wife would have me doing back flips?”

“I never thought it would turn you into a stuttering grouch,” she said, her voice mirroring the irritation flashing in his dark brown eyes.

“We all have baggage,” he said with a shrug.

He was right and some part of her wanted to dig deeper into his issues with the ‘m’ word. If she’d known, she might have found a different way to get down here, but right now the case had to take priority. There was an unexpected air of insecurity around him she hadn’t seen before. Anything personal Bart shared revolved around his son. He never talked much about his first wife, but Hannah was starting to think the woman had worked him over.

Hannah felt like she’d failed him somehow, as a friend or even a girlfriend. If their random relationship qualified her for thatterm. He rarely inquired about her work. Considering they’d met while giving depositions for a case almost a year ago, the opposite should be true. If she brought up her work, he let her vent and he seemed to enjoy listening to the stories she shared, but somewhere along the way they’d decided to keep things light between them.

On the flip side, she hadn’t encouraged him to discuss his Army service either. Not beyond the most basic questions about the injury that forced his early retirement. She knew it was often the tough choices or traumatic moments that best defined a person. Had their tacit agreement not to tread on those dark topics been a mistake?

The analysis would have to wait as they examined Tim’s trailer. As much as she tried to wrap her head around this, she couldn’t think of a single reason to justify killing Bart’s cook. He was funny and occasionally ornery, but he’d never been a threat to anyone.

Except this morning proved the cartel disagreed.

“No sign of forced entry here,” Bart said.

She looked around when he turned on the lights. “Wow. Talk about Spartan. You sure he wasn’t robbed?”

“Tim didn’t need much in the way of stuff.”

Bart walked toward the living areas and she poked around the kitchen. Nothing looked out of place, unless you considered the quality of the culinary tools against the modest home itself. “This guy has knives worth a small fortune,” she called as Bart returned.

“He was a cook.”

She nodded. “Anything of note back there?”

“Just the usual, right down to the open bathroom window.”

“Damn.” She opened each drawer and cabinet, feeling all around. “I was hoping we’d find something that proved someone had been here or had given him trouble.”

“You’re Mary Sunshine.”

“You know what I mean.” She looked up at him, a long way up since she was crouched near the floor. His eyes were locked on the gold band on her finger where her hand rested on the top of the cabinet door.Keep it professional. “There has to be a reason they went after him.”

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