Page 2 of Last Seen Alive
“Come on, let’s go outside.” She put an arm around him. “The police will figure out what happened and who did this, okay?”
He nodded so subtly it was barely perceivable.
They sat side by side on the front step. She looked over at him. He was in complete shock and pale, like he’d seen a ghost. He kept blinking, and his breathing was shallow.
She wanted to console him and offer comfort, but there was a part of her that held back. It was her job clashing with her personal inclination. But she had to protect herself too—until she figured out exactly why that woman was murdered in Logan’s bed. “You knew her.”
“Yeah.” He rolled his bottom lip through his teeth.
“You called her Claire. Who is she?”
“My wife.”
TWO
Amanda knew Logan was married, but he had told her they’d been separated for years and that he’d hired private investigators to find her—without success. “What is she doing in your house?”
“I have… no idea.” His head was hung low, his knees up, elbows resting on them. His gaze was on his feet.
“That’s not good enough, Logan.”
He looked at her. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth. You’re going to have to tell me everything because this isn’t looking good.” She was having a hard time balancing all the emotions she was feeling—two of which she hated, namely the twinges of betrayal and jealousy. “Were you back together?”
“No. I haven’t seen her since— You know what? Never mind.” He shot off the step and onto the pathway where he stood, hugging himself and periodically raking a hand through his hair.
The night was warm and humid. Except for the song of crickets, the neighborhood was quiet. It would have been a beautiful evening if not for the dead woman inside the house behind them.
Amanda got up and went to Logan, kept at a distance to give him space. Giveherselfspace. “You’re going to have to talk eventually. She didn’t just show up that way.”
“No shit.” He met her gaze, his eyes cold and his jaw clenched.
Anger flushed through her. She was just trying to help him, to get a handle on the situation herself and he was pushing her away. Well, he could suit himself then. She didn’t need to defend him—and why should she if he wasn’t interested in doing that for himself?
Three cruisers pulled down the street, their colored strobing lights reaching her before the hum of their engines and the crackling of their tires as they rolled across the hot asphalt. Night or not, this June was one for the record books with its high temperatures. Behind the cruisers was the SUV for the PWCPD’s interim Homicide sergeant.
Amanda drew a deep breath, wishing for things to return to the way they used to be before Sergeant Malone had developed a tumor in his brain. At least he was on the mend, and while she held out hope he’d come back to the post, life had taught her to never get her hopes up too high.
“Let me do the talking.”
Logan waved a hand, immersed in his own world, likely tangled in thoughts, but were they of guilt and remorse or simply shock?
Sergeant Katherine Graves was the first out of the entourage. Not that Amanda was surprised. In the last few months of working with her, she’d realized the woman was proud and domineering, and the type of boss who led with fear and intimidation instead of with a firm hand balanced with compassion and understanding.
Graves headed straight for them, her stride chewing up everything in her path. Her legs were long and slender, like the rest of her near six-foot frame. For ten thirty at night, she was dressed impeccably in a black pantsuit paired with a white collared shirt and dress boots with two-inch heels. Did the woman ever let go and relax? The only thing remotely soft about her appearance was that her dark hair was wavy and left to fall over her shoulders.
“Steele?” Just her name and a nudge of Graves’s head had Amanda stepping into the driveway with the sergeant. “What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms, her face a mask of seriousness as if she were prepared to scold Amanda for her presence.
Amanda stiffened, wanting to tell this woman that what she was doing at Logan’s was none of her business, but mouthing off to Graves wouldn’t be the wise choice. “Logan Hunter is a friend of mine.”
“And that’s…” Graves looked over at Logan, who was now standing with two officers.
“Yes.”
“All right then.” Graves didn’t voice her disapproval, but her tone and eye contact passed judgment.
“What I do in my free time is up to me.” The words slipped out, and Amanda wished she could reel them back. She was defending herself, the very thing she’d just told herself wasn’t necessary.
