Page 97 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

The blonde cop yanked on her ponytail. Little tendrils’d escaped during the long night and, in the crappy light of his hallway, she had an almost angelic look.

And she’d hate him for thinking it. If he’d learned anything about the woman in the last twelve hours, it was that she wanted to be treated as one of the guys. She was tough as nails. In fact, in a more candid moment Mitch was quite sure would never be repeated, she admitted Colton was better with victims and she was better with perpetrators. Mitch couldn’t see it. But then his experience with the hulking cop was only in the capacity of an accused perpetrator. Could that man express empathy toward someone in distress? Someone like Marnie? His mind rejected the image, but a little niggle of doubt crept in.

“Do you want to have a seat? We can sit at the kitchen table or in the living room.”

Dorrie indicated the file folder she held in her hands that Mitch’d somehow missed. “Table would be great.”

He guided them toward the space and was more than a little distressed when the cops removed their jackets. Apparently not a quick visit.

Fuck.

“I should go put on some clothes.” He didn’t want to leave them alone to snoop, but he also believed himself at a disadvantage being so informally attired.

“You do whatever you want.” Colton’s dark eyes were inscrutable.

Stay.

They might try to collect fingerprints or DNA when he stepped away. Might not be admissible in court, but could certainly be used to frame him.

I’m being paranoid.

No, I’m being prudent.

He indicated the cops should sit, and they did. After suppressing the urge to offer them a drink, he sat as well.

Dorrie opened the folder and extracted a pile of photos. “I’m going to show these to you one at a time. You indicate to me if you know the person, and from where you remember seeing them.”

“Person? You mean there are women as well?”

She glanced at Colton who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”What is going on?

He didn’t recognize the first three, and said as much.

Dorrie flashed the fourth one and Mitch hovered a finger over the photo.

“You’ve seen him before?”

“Sure. He was the vice-president of product development. My boss’s boss. Ronnie Lee.”

Dorrie nodded, but gave no indication if his information was helpful.

He doubted it was.

She flipped the next card.

Mitch again tapped the table. “Sure, that’s Vicki Lau. I think she worked in accounting.”

Another photograph.

Another tap. “I don’t remember his name. He worked in customer relations. He’d give us seminars in providing excellent customer experience. Damn, what was his name?”

Dorrie held his gaze, but gave nothing away. After a moment, she flipped the next card.

He shook his head, but frowned. “Is there a reason you’re only showing me people of color? You don’t believe a white person could’ve killed Marjorie? Because I assume that’s why you’re here—you think one of these people killed her.” He laughed. “Vicki is about a hundred pounds soaking wet. Ronnie has a bad knee.” He snapped his finger. “And Vikram is about fifty years old. One of the oldest people on staff. And yeah, I suppose a fifty-year-old is as capable of killing someone, but I honestly feel you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

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