Hotshot P.i.. B.J. Daniels
nodded, eyeing her intently. “And you’re trying to tell me that the night Dex Westfall was murdered you were walking around in your pj’s, sound asleep, and you don’t remember killing him? Not that you didn’t kill him, but that you don’t remember because you were sacked out?”
“I’m trying to tell you the truth,” she said angrily, and wondered why she was even bothering. “Sleepwalking isn’t something I have control over. It just…happens. Like last night.”
“Last night?” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “You mean last night on the dock when you were sure someone pulled you into the lake and tried to drown you? Now you’re telling me that you were asleep?”
She didn’t like his tone. “I was walking in my sleep.” She took a breath and looked away. He’d never given her the chance to explain ten years ago; he’d just assumed she’d lied on the stand and he’d cut her off without a word. Without a goodbye. “Just like I was the night of the fire.”
“How convenient that you were asleep at the murder you committed,” Jake said, bitterness oozing from his every word. He slammed a palm to the wall on each side of her. “And how inconvenient for my father that you just happened to wake up in time to see him kill Lola Strickland.”
“Yes.” She ducked under his arm and ran down the hall, blinded by tears and regrets. Behind her, she heard him. The sound was a low, pained howl, the cry of a wounded animal. It tore at her heart. She wanted to take him in her arms, to comfort him. But nothing she could do or say would do that. She’d told the jury the truth. She didn’t know what else had happened that night at Hawk Island Resort because she’d been asleep—walking, but sound asleep. Sleepwalking had always been her private shame. A frightening weakness that was best kept a secret. Until the night Lola Strickland was murdered. Now that horrible memory had come back to haunt her—just the way her sleepwalking had come back.
Jake slammed a fist into the wall, too stunned to chase after her. Sleepwalking? She’d been sleepwalking the night of Lola’s murder and the night Dex Westfall was killed in her garret? And last night on the dock? His brain tried to assimilate this information but couldn’t.
That’s why her story had sounded like a lie. Could she really not remember anything? Was that why there’d been so many holes in her story? Because she’d been asleep?
His mind refused to accept it. Just as it had ten years ago.
She was lying. Again. Sleepwalking! Again.
He charged after her, only to run headlong into a group of students on some kind of career day. The teacher tried to gather her flock, but they scattered like errant chicks. Jake forced his way through to reach the elevator door just as it closed. He watched the numbers overhead to make sure Clancy was headed down before he took off at a run for the stairs. She didn’t really think she could get away from him, did she?
He burst out of the stairwell and into the main lobby as the elevator doors were closing again. He raced over to them, slapping the doors open and startling the only occupants, an elderly couple.
“Sorry,” he said. “I was looking for a blond woman.
About five six. Cute.” Incredibly sexy. And innocentlooking. He started to make a curvaceous outline with his hands, but stopped himself. “Nice figure. Wearing a navy shirt, jeans and sandals?”
They both gave him a knowing smile. The elderly woman pointed across the hall to a door marked Women. “She seemed a little upset,” the woman said, clearly blaming him.
“Thanks.” As the elevator doors closed again, Jake made a beeline for the bathroom, cursing himself for letting Clancy out of his sight for even an instant.
He stormed through the doorway, propelled by a flammable fuel of high-grade anger. “If you think I’m going to believe this latest story of yours—” he said, taking up the conversation right where they’d left off.
His voice echoed off the tiled walls. A half-dozen women looked up, startled. Clancy wasn’t at either of the two sinks powdering her nose. That left only the row of four stalls.
“Sir, you’re in the wrong rest room,” one woman politely informed him as if he didn’t know.
He politely informed her that he didn’t care, then he leaned down to look for Clancy’s sandaled feet in the occupied stalls. No Clancy. The last stall appeared empty; someone had put a handmade Out of Order sign on it.
Most of the women had the good sense to flee from the room, though they did it in high indignation, telling him in no uncertain terms what they thought of his behavior.
You want to see bad behavior, he thought to himself, wait until I get my hands on Clancy. A couple of women stayed to give him grief. He ignored them, waiting for the stalls to empty out. As he glanced around the room, he assessed the situation. There was only one door. Clancy hadn’t had time to come back out.
Jake waited for the last woman to exit. As she stomped past, he noticed that the summer breeze coming through the open window at the end of the room smelled sweet with the scent of freshly mown grass. Jake could hear the sound of a lawnmower buzzing just outside at ground level. In front of the window, someone had upended a trash can.
Jake cursed himself and his stupidity as he pushed open each stall door on his way to the window. All the stalls were now empty, just as he knew they would be. And on the corner of the metal window frame was a small scrap of navy blue material that perfectly matched the shirt Clancy had been wearing.
Damn her hide, she’d given him the slip.
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