Page 66 of You Betrayed Me (The Cahills 3)

“And aside from James Cahill’s and his dog’s, they found a couple of others. One blonde, very light.”

“Sophia Russo?”

“Seems likely.”

“And the other one?”

“Dark. Almost black.”

“Not Megan Travers?”

“Nope, hers is light brown and curly. We’ve got samples from a brush left in her apartment. But this one, dark and straight, was found in his bed. On his pillow.”

“Another woman.”

“Looks like.”

That was a new wrinkle, but maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. His eyes narrowed. “DNA?”

“Not yet, and only if there’s a root. And it won’t help unless it’s in the database.”

“Or we get a sample.”

“Right.”

It wasn’t much, but something, he thought, as they reached his cubicle. He checked his watch just as the phone rang. He picked up and was told by the receptionist that Rebecca Travers had arrived. Good. Maybe she could shed some light on what had happened to her sister.

Then again, maybe not.

He thought about how she’d walked in on him early this morning at her sister’s apartment and felt a rush of heat climb up the back of his neck. Ignoring the sensation, he said to Mendoza, “We’re on.”

“Rebecca Travers?” When he gave her a nod, she grinned. “Good. Let’s go.”

Together, they headed to the interview room.

CHAPTER 17

Phoebe Matrix’s hip was aching again.

In her bathroom medicine cabinet, she pushed aside her backup EpiPen, antacids, and cough syrup to locate her near-empty bottle of Tylenol and pop two into her mouth before bending over the sink and swallowing from the tap, washing down the caplets and hoping they did the job. Then she hobbled to the living room, where she opened the blinds to another wintry day. Snow covered the parking lot of the Cascadia Apartments, her pride and joy, and she frowned, knowing she’d have to rouse that slacker Dabrowski to salt and shovel the lot again. He always grumbled about it, though she gave him a break on his rent for doing some of the tasks around the grounds. Between her bad hip and other ailments, she just couldn’t keep up with the place any longer.

Larry, her fluffy white little sweetheart of a dog, was doing circles at the door, so she found his leash and her jacket hanging in the closet near the front door. As he yapped at her, she slid her arms through the jacket, then snapped the leash to his collar. “I know, I know,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “You need to go out.” Then she unlocked the front door and let him sniff at the frigid shrubbery in front of her unit. “That’s a good boy,” she said, shivering as the cold morning air seemed to burrow into her bones. She only hoped Larry would get at his business in a hurry.

At the door, she looked up to spy a woman hurrying out of the far unit and expected to see Sophia Russo heading for her car. Instead it was another woman, not blond, but dark-haired, though most of her head was covered by the hood of her long coat, only a strand or two of dark hair catching in the wind, sunglasses firmly over the bridge of her nose, a scarf covering the lower half of her face. Head down, she made her way to Sophia’s little car.

Phoebe had seen the woman before, either coming in or going out of the apartment, a friend of Sophia’s, maybe even a relative, not that it was really any of Phoebe’s business.

Except if she was staying over more than a day or so, a week, then, by God, Phoebe would have to think about charging her rent.

“Come on,” she urged the dog, glancing down at him before looking up again and finding the woman staring at her over the snowy top of Sophia’s car. As their gazes locked, Phoebe felt a chill that couldn’t be attributed to the cold weather. No, this was something different.

She watched the woman settle into the car and heard the engine start. The driver turned on the wipers to slap away the snow, and Phoebe backed up, calling softly to Larry and nearly tripping as she stepped back into the room. There was something not right about that woman, about the whole situation with Sophia. Phoebe could feel it in her aching bones.

With Larry spinning in circles and yapping for food, Phoebe shut the door and threw the dead bolt.

Something in unit 8 wasn’t right.

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