The Detective. Adrienne Giordano
but I loved him. Whatever his sins, I loved him.”
* * *
AT SIX-OH-FIVE Brodey hustled through his parents’ front door and got the shock of his life.
Jenna and Brent, his sister’s massive US marshal of a boyfriend, had beat him there. What the hell? On any normal day, he arrived early and they were late. Tonight, he needed them to be later than he was because one thing was for sure. If dinner was ready and you weren’t there, they didn’t wait.
No. Sir.
“Well, hell. The one time I’m late and you two can’t throw me a bone and be even later than I am?”
Brent scooped a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate, then passed the bowl to Brodey’s youngest brother, Evan. “My fault,” he said. “Problem with my witness got squared away faster than I thought.”
“Anything good?” Dad asked.
“Eh, death threat. Not on my shift, though. Shift before mine. I got him to a new location and headed back before the Eisenhower went schizo.”
Brodey slid into his normal chair next to his mother just as the meat loaf hit his spot. But damn, he loved his mother’s meat loaf.
“I swear,” Mom said, “we cannot get through a meal in this house without some form of law-enforcement talk.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Brent said.
“It’s certainly not your fault.”
Across from him, Jenna snatched a roll from the basket of bread and handed it over. “How’d you do today, Brodey? With the widow?”
Pretzel rolls. Mom had gone all the way tonight. He took two rolls and sent the basket to his father. “I need the case file. She says she didn’t know anything until after he bit it. I think I believe her. Not sure. Dad, can you get me any notes on this thing?”
Before his father could answer, Jenna held her hand up. “What happened to you getting in and out quick?”
“Still goes. I’ll look at the file, tell you what I think, then I’m gone. I’m still holding to my two days of research.”
“She got to you.”
“Stop it.”
“Or maybe it was the kids.”
He breathed in, sent his sister a glare. “Stop. It.”
She elbowed Brent. “Told you this would happen. He’s cooked. He must have seen those kids and his heart melted. I know my brother.”
Dad snorted. “That you do, my angel.”
Whatever. “Maybe I’m curious. I’m a detective doing my due diligence. The widow was cleared, but she’s definitely angry.”
Dad swallowed a mouthful of food and waved his fork. “You like the widow for this?”
“I don’t see her taking this guy out, but she should get another look. See what’s what.”
Dad did his quasi head tilt/nod. “After dinner I’ll make a couple of calls. See who can get a copy of a report or two. You never know.”
Exactly what he’d walked in here needing. His father always came through. Always. “Thanks, Dad.” He looked across to his sister, who eyed him like a tiger on prey. “I’m not denying I saw those kids and all I could think was they got screwed out of ball games and fishing trips with their father.” He poked himself in the chest. “I got that. They didn’t. Doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s not fair,” Jenna said. “That’s why I knew you couldn’t walk away from this. Family is too important to you.”
What the hell did that mean? “You played me?”
She grinned. “Only a little.”
His little sister, the conniver. And a damned good investigator. “At least you admit it. After today, we’re in this together. You, me and decorator Lexi.”
Dawn broke just as Lexi finished sketching the Williamses’ kitchen. She stood at the center island, random sheets of discarded sketches strewn around her. Half the night she’d stewed over the color of the kitchen walls until finally, unable to visualize the finished product—something that rarely happened anymore—she’d dragged herself out of bed, grabbed her sketching tools and drove to the house.
Here she’d be able to create a sketch and add the color variations until she found the perfect combination. When all else failed, her artistic ability, her skill in re-creating a room by hand drawing it, always came through. Unfortunately for her, this time it happened at 4:00 a.m. when she’d had next to no sleep. But if sleep wouldn’t come, she’d do what she always did and work.
And with the lost time due to the Hennings & Solomon people—Brodey Hayward specifically—she needed to get moving on this project or risk blowing that forty-five-day deadline.
She glanced at the window above the sink, where morning sun peeped through the wooden blinds. Streaks of burnt orange splashed across the countertop in neat little rows, their perfection beautiful and uniform. Using pencils and charcoal, she shaded the area around the window, then added a touch of tangerine. Instantly the drawing came to life. Excitement bloomed in the pit of her stomach and launched upward as her fingers flew across the sketch, then switching colors, shading, switching colors again and filling in accents. All of it combining to create a visual of a room that would be homey, bright and warm.
Finally, after an hour of discarding sketches, she’d hit on it and now, with the sun rising, she moved faster, trying to capture every nuance, every shadow, every angle, before the light changed.
The long, shrill tone of the alarm sounded—door opening—and Lexi shot upright, pencil still in hand. Someone was here. She’d locked the door, hadn’t she? Sometimes she forgot that little task, but even she wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk into a strange house at four in the morning and not lock the door.
The buhm-buhm of her heart kicked up, a slow-moving panic spreading through her body. Had she locked that damned door?
A second later Brodey stepped into the doorway, his head snapping back at the sight of her. He wore black track pants and a heavy sweatshirt. No jacket in this cold? The man was insane. His sling was gone and he held a manila envelope in his left hand.
Lexi blew out a hard breath and tossed her pencil on the counter. “Goodness’ sake, Brodey. You scared me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
His gaze traveled over her cashmere sweater, worn jeans and loafers, then came back up, lingering on her face, making her cheeks fire. My goodness, the man had a way. Had she known she’d be seeing anyone, particularly the intriguing detective, she’d have dressed more appropriately. But at 4:00 a.m. that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “The colors for the kitchen were driving me mad. Where’s your sling?”
“You’re here by yourself?”
“Of course.”
“Anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous for a woman to be driving around a city alone in the middle of the night?”
Prior to her panic a minute ago, she hadn’t even questioned it. Maybe she should have. But that was the trusting part of her. The part that didn’t include the male species and wanted to see pretty things instead of danger. She wasn’t a complete lunatic and understood the world to be a dangerous place, but when it came to her creative process, certain things, like possible danger, couldn’t get in her way. “I live ten minutes from here.”
“A lot can happen in ten