Page 63 of Trick of Light
She blinked and put a hand to her hair, which was coming loose from its pretty twists. “So the tea wasn’t to blame? This is great news for Tamara!”
“Not so fast. The police said they did find faint traces of something, but it was too inconclusive. That’s different from what this test is showing.”
He watched as she sorted through possibilities. “Maybe someone dosed the tea she was drinking. That would narrow it down to someone at the hotel. Which would also rule out Tamara. Tamara never goes to the Lightkeeper Inn. I still don’t see how this doesn’t help her.”
“I can’t help thinking about another possibility,” he said carefully. Her brother was a cop, and her mother a politician. She wouldn’t like this.
“What’s that?”
“That the police misrepresented the test results in order to justify investigating Tamara.”
Her expression shifted from puzzled to pure alarm. “Oh shit. I don’t know, that sounds like a big jump, and a big accusation.”
“I’m not accusing them, I’m just looking at possible explanations.”
“There could be others. Maybe someone at the lab or the hospital messed up. Besides, something poisoned her, right? They were sure of that, and she wasn’t the only one. Four victims is not a coincidence.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sure. Of course.”
She gave herself a shake, as if waking herself up. “I’m just saying, we can’t make accusations against the police without solid proof. But I’m a professional. I go where the evidence leads.”
Fair enough. He could spot a “keep out” sign when he saw one. He’d just have to trust her when she said she’d be professional and not jump to defend the police work at the cost of Tamara’s freedom. “How do you want to handle this? Do you want to share these test results with the police? They do help clear Tamara. But they also put a spotlight on their investigation.”
“It’s tricky,” she said soberly. “If there are police shenanigans going on, we don’t want to reveal that we know too early on. If we can’t trust them, we shouldn’t trust them, if that makes sense.”
Good point. “Fuck.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “What a mess.”
With a sheet clutched to her chest, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Like I said, we need proof if the police are fudging things. Did they share the report from the hospital with you, the one they said was inconclusive but somehow pointed to a plant toxin?”
“No, I just heard about it from Luke, who was told about it by the Harbortown police. There are probably patient confidentiality issues.”
“Then let’s ask Safiya to request it. We need to see it for ourselves.”
He grinned at her. “I see why you’re so good at what you do. That’s a brilliant idea. They can’t keep her own blood test results from her. Want to call her while I make us some coffee?”
“I’ll call her right now. I won’t even wait to get dressed.” She padded to the nightstand where she’d left her phone.
“I’m a fan of that.”
I’m a fan of you, he wanted to add. Everything about you. Even your wariness.
Which was why he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t want to rush her. She was like a cat. She needed to make up her own mind in her own time, and the best thing he could do would be to be there when she was ready.
After one last lingering look at her nakedness, he went to the kitchen to get the coffee going. Someone had added a new bright yellow espresso machine to the scene, and he busied himself with tamping the coffee grounds and locating cups.
The condo was available to any of the Carmichaels any time they needed a place to crash while in Portland, but some people spent more time here than others. Fiona often stayed here after a night out, as had Carson. But since they were both currently behind bars, the last thing he expected was the beep of the key code and the click of the door unlocking.
His entire body went tense—was it Fiona, just out on bail, which could happen at any moment? Had Carson finagled an escape? The twins, back from college and planning secret mischief?
But no—it was Celine, dressed casually in white jeans and a flowy tunic top, with gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on top of her head. She gave a low whistle at the sight of him in his t-shirt and briefs.
“My lucky day.”
His back teeth clenched. Celine wasn’t much older than him—late thirties—and this wasn’t the first time she’d struck a flirtatious tone with him. He kept his own voice cold. “What are you doing here?”
“I have every right to be here. Nothing’s finalized yet. I’m still Mrs. John Carmichael the Third and you should show me some respect.” She breezed past him, bringing him a sniff of her extremely expensive Guerlain perfume.
“Not a chance, traitor. What are you doing here?” he repeated.
