Page 26 of Ambush

Paradise spotted the red folder on Hez’s marble counter immediately, but she held back instead of rushing to it. The details inside were sure to be disturbing, and she wanted to prepare herself. The faint scent of confectioners’ sugar and frying pastry rose from Petit Charms downstairs, and she was tempted to turn tail and run for fortification in a beignet.

Blake stepped past her and picked up the folder. “Want me to pull out the pictures first? You can read the details without being assaulted by the photos.”

She wanted to shake her head, but she found herself nodding instead. “Maybe just arrange them so the pictures are behind everything else.”

His eyes softened and he flipped open the folder. From her spot near the door, she caught a glimpse of a glossy photo, though she couldn’t make out any details. If not for Blake’s quick intervention, she would have seen them first.

He pulled out a stool for her at the breakfast bar. “It’s quiet here, and Hez won’t be back for hours. We can take our time.”

The red folder both drew and repelled her, but her feet made the decision and took her to the seat. She perched on the barstool and pulled the evidence toward her with a suppressed shudder. All her nightmares centered around the contents, and for thefirst time, she wished she was a drinker. She’d take some Dutch courage right about now.

She inhaled, then finally opened the cover. The responding officer had filled out a detailed report of what he found upon entering the home: the back door unlocked with broken glass on the kitchen floor, signs of a struggle, and the coppery stench of blood.

Paradise stopped at that detail and smelled it herself in her memory. The memories of her childhood home had grown vague over the years, but the pictures in her head sharpened into focus. She remembered the navy sofa and the area rug under it. Her new Polly Pocket had been on the floor by the fireplace the night of the murders, and she saw a mention of it in the report. What had happened to all her things? They had vanished along with her home and parents.

She read through the clinical descriptions of her mother’s wounds and moved on to her father. It took tight focus to read for clues and not to see the horrific details in her head. She went back to the list of items taken as evidence: a ball bat, presumed to be the murder weapon, hair and blood evidence, two cell phones, a computer, items of clothing, a hair clip, and an onyx cuff link.

Blake was beside her, and he moved in closer to touch his finger to the list of evidence collected. He was so near she could see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. A shiver of attraction slipped down her spine and curled in her belly. Blake’s charisma wasn’t so much that he was strong and handsome—it was his kind manner and the way he seemed to skim past her prickly exterior and seeher. The real Paradise who hid behind a stony expression. He was a deep thinker yet thoughtful of others.

Resisting his pull was going to be tough. When his pupils dilated, her pulse leaped. Had he sensed her moment of weakness?

She cleared her throat. “Do you think Sheriff Davis hid the evidence, and that’s why it’s missing?”

He edged away a few inches. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“If we had it, we could retest the DNA.”

“The office is shorthanded. Maybe it’s misfiled.”

She turned back to the file. The photographs would be next, and she steeled herself to flip the page.

Blake’s hand came down on hers as she wavered. “You don’t have to do this, Paradise. Let me and Hez study them. You have enough nightmares.”

“I have to see,” she whispered.

“I know.” He lifted his hand out of her way.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, then moved the evidence report out of the way. The first photo slammed into her brain, and she flinched. Lights illuminated her father’s body in the backyard. She couldn’t look at his head, so she focused on the area around him. The grass was pressed down by footprints, and a sneaker lay discarded a foot away from his right side. Both feet were bare.

She studied it. “That’s not his shoe.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. He always wore Converse with the star on the side. I think those are Nike. And he hadbigfeet.”

“That might be the perspective of a nine-year-old girl.”

“Mom always called his feet canoes. I went with her to buy them before, and we had to go from store to store. I think he wore a fifteen.”

Blake came closer. “Those are definitely smaller than that. I’d guess a ten. Do you see anything else out of place?”

If she took her time, she could do this. She returned to her inspection of the picture and finally dared to examine her father’sclothing. “He’s got his suit pants and button-down shirt on. Usually the first thing he did when he got in off the road was change into jeans and a tee. He’d often go putter in his shop. He liked woodworking. I remember his onyx cuff links. He must have lost it in a struggle inside, then come outside.”

“Do you remember if he’d been gone that day?”

She pressed her palms to the sides of her head. “It’s all locked up inside. I’ve tried to remember, and I just can’t.”

His warm fingers pressed down on her shoulder. “Easy, babe. Don’t get upset. When you’re ready to remember, it will come. It sounds like it’s possible he came home and found your mom with the sheriff in a compromising position.”

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