Page 36 of Deathmarch
Had someone taken the car, and if so, who?
Harper had a pretty good guess. What were the chances that Lamm was killed, and at around the same time, his car was stolen in an unrelated incident?
Slim.
If the car was stolen, it was stolen by the killer.
Chapter Ten
Allie looked up as Harper walked in carrying a pair of sneakers and a pale-blue winter coat. She was so freaking mad at him. And yet, at the same time, she was relieved to see him, which confused the living daylights out of her.
“The charges have been amended,” he said. “You’re being charged with robbery and accessory to murder instead of armed robbery and murder. You tested negative for gunshot residue. And the coroner says Lamm was shot by someone at least a foot taller than you are. Wrong angle.”
He sounded happy, like “accessory to murder” was an improvement over “murder,” but since Allie was innocent, she failed to find the news thrilling.
She shoved off the bed. “I shouldn’t be charged at all.”
“The victim’s stolen property, and his blood, were found in your car. If I didn’t arrest you, the captain would have taken the case from me.” He unlocked the door to her cell and held out the shoes and coat. “We’ll work on it. Let’s get you to the hearing.”
We?
She marched up to him and snatched away the shoes first, stepped into them. They fit. For a second, she wondered how he’d known her shoe size, then she realized he had her boots.
She shrugged into the coat he held out for her, shoved her hands into the pockets, and pulled out a pair of gloves.
“Figured you needed a pair anyway.” He shrugged. “Since you lost yours.”
She wasn’t sure what to do with the random act of kindness right there, in that moment. She shoved the gloves back into her pockets, then she waited, expecting him to step aside to let her out.
Instead, he pulled the handcuffs from his belt.
“Screw you, Harper. Really?”
“Standard procedure.” And when she didn’t offer up her wrists, he added, “It’s not like I want to do it. All right? I’m sorry.”
Helookedsorry—head slightly tilted, a slight wince at the corner of his eyes—which was damn confusing.
She lifted her chin. “Then don’t do it.”
“I do my job. Killer gets caught. You go free.”
After a moment of consideration, thatyou go freehad Allie reluctantly lifting her hands. Not that she trusted him. He was on her side now all of a sudden? Hard to believe. Maybe he was playinggood coptoday.
“Don’t think I’ll fall at your feet in gratitude and confess to the killing,” she snapped, flinching as the cold metal clicked onto her wrists.
The long-suffering look he flashed her made her feel childish.
Maybe she was. She was tired. And irritated. And scared, dammit. So as they got into his cruiser and Harper drove through town, she kept her mouth shut.
“I let Ginny at the Historical Society know that you won’t be able to perform tonight,” he said as he stopped for a red light.
They probably wouldn’t want a murder suspect, anyway.
“Ginny sounded worried about you. She remembers you.”
Allie doubted they’d realized who she was when they’d booked her.
People changed between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight, and the pictures on Allie’s website were all photos of her in costume. The Broslin Historical Society wouldn’t have hired her if they’d known she wasthatAllie Bianchi. She’d decided not to care when she’d accepted the booking. Money was money.
