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  “What would a suicidal thirty-seven-year-old be doing with a kid’s teddy bear?” Ric asked. “Manager said he was alone in here.”

  “Maybe it’s not his. Could be someone else left it.”

  “Could be. Fleabag place like this, they probably don’t clean the rooms too well.”

  Ric passed him the blanket, and Jonah frowned down at it. The thing was worn, even threadbare in places. It had obviously been well-loved—probably some kid’s security blanket—but it looked creepy for some reason. Jonah ran his hands over the natty fabric.

  “Hey, it’s not a bear, it’s a rabbit.” Jonah glanced at Ric. “Looks like someone cut off its ears.”

  Sophie’s date pulled into the parking lot and found an empty space right next to her Tahoe.

  “Sorry to cut our evening short,” she told him.

  “It’s no problem.” Mark slid out of his shiny black Acura and came around to open her door, demonstrating more of the perfect manners that had impressed her all evening.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked, offering her a hand out of the car. His voice was genuinely concerned, and she felt bad for doing this to him.

  “I’m fine. Really. Usually just a few aspirin and a good night’s sleep do the trick.”

  They walked up the stairs together and her nerves began to jump. She hated this part. Was he going to try to kiss her, or was he perceptive enough to let it go?

  They reached her door, and she made a production of fishing for her keys.

  “Well,” she said lamely. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “You barely ate anything.” He smiled down at her, making sure she knew he wasn’t criticizing. More manners again. This guy was perfect, really. He was smart, courteous, interesting to talk to. He had a warm smile, and—an added bonus—he was two inches taller than she was. With all those pluses, she could get past the overly large Adam’s apple.

  “It wasn’t the food,” she said. “I just don’t feel myself tonight.”

  “You don’t have to explain. You’ve had a trying week. To be honest, I was surprised you didn’t cancel.”

  Now she realized that she should have. At least then she wouldn’t have wasted his money on a piece of salmon she hardly touched.

  He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Sophie. We can try this again when you’re feeling better.” And then he stepped back, ending the awkward good-night-kiss moment before it even began. This man was a prince.

  Sophie gave him the first genuine smile of the night. “Thanks,” she said, and slipped into her apartment. She leaned back against the door and listened as his footsteps faded away.

  Alone at last. Another night with just her thoughts and her nervous energy for company. Despite what she’d told Mark, she knew a good night’s sleep was not in her near future.

  She tossed her purse on the chair and flipped on the TV to keep her company as she retrieved a Diet Coke from the fridge. She downed a few aspirin and stood there, waiting for the pills to slide down her throat.

  Her head was throbbing. It had worsened after Jonah’s visit. Was it the construction noise at the lab or the stress of talking to him? Probably a combination of both.

  Sophie pulled off her high-heeled sandals and went to change from her date clothes into her most comfortable sleepwear—an old Austin City Limits tank top and a pair of boxers. Then she scrubbed the makeup off her face and looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  What had Mark seen tonight? The cut on her face, obviously. It was a reminder that she’d been caught up in yesterday’s shooting. Maybe it was also the reason he’d been so understanding when she’d bailed out early on him. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings. Nice guys were few and far between, and she didn’t want to discourage them.

  Still, she couldn’t fake it. Despite her hopes when she’d agreed to go out with him, there had been no chemistry between them—no shiver when he touched her waist, no flutter in the pit of her stomach when he smiled at her. It was just … flat. It had been a long, long time since she’d felt anything but flat around a man. Yesterday had been an exception. She’d felt a flicker of that warm, tingly feeling she’d been missing. And so she’d acted on it, much too impulsively. But as usual, acting on impulse when it came to men was a bad idea—evidenced by the fact that Jonah now clearly thought she was up for some casual sex.

  Which was not what she needed right now. Or ever.

  Sophie looked at her reflection and sighed. Maybe Mark would have been good for her. He was different from the guys she usually dated. Not that she’d done much dating lately. Mark was bright, successful, a scientist. Her parents would fall in love with him on sight.

  But they’d never get the chance, because there wasn’t going to be a second date, much less a meet-the-parents. If the tingle wasn’t there, what was the point?

  Tom Rollins’s perfectly modulated television voice drifted in from the living room. The Summer School Massacre continued to dominate the news, and Sophie listened to new developments as she moisturized her face. Investigators had made an ID, evidently, and now Rollins was busy recounting the details of the murderer’s life: James Himmel had grown up in Mobile, Alabama. Star of his high-school track team. An Eagle Scout.

  As if any of that mattered now.

  She stared at her reflection, and it was back again. Ever since the winter, it had haunted her—all those imaginings of what could have happened, what almost had. The possibilities whispered around her like ghosts as she sat at the reception desk when the phones were quiet, or stood in the grocery aisle, or lay in bed at night thinking back over the day.

  Sometimes she found herself stuck in a moment, and her life felt pointless. Insubstantial. As light as dust motes floating through a sunbeam. And all she could think of was, Why me? Why had she lived when those other women hadn’t?

  Survivor’s guilt. She knew what it was. But that didn’t help banish it, didn’t make it go away.

  Lately, when it had crept up on her like that, she’d started to feel angry. Galvanized toward something—although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. But it made her long for a purpose beyond answering phones at the Delphi Center. She wanted to be part of a mission, part of something that mattered. She wanted there to be a reason why she was here, beyond just dumb luck.

  Sophie closed the door, shutting out the broadcast. She leaned closer to the mirror and examined the cut from yesterday. Maybe she should have had stitches. But after meeting Robert Kincaid and handing off Becca, she’d wanted nothing more than to get out of that hospital.

  Sophie went back to her living room, searching for the ointment she’d picked up at the pharmacy.

  “—a team of investigators combed a motel room where Himmel allegedly had spent the night recently,” Rollins was saying. “Meanwhile, yet another team of investigators was on campus today, processing the scene where Himmel’s car was said to have been abandoned.”

  Sophie found the cream and returned to the bathroom.

  “His green Volkswagen Beetle was seized by police and hauled away for further testing.”

  Sophie froze. A green what?

  She rushed back into the living room, but the broadcast was wrapping up. No footage of the car, the campus—just a bronze-skinned newscaster standing before the camera. Sophie snatched up the remote and turned up the volume.

  “Come on, Tom,” she murmured. “Come on, come on, come on. Say it again.”

  But Tom was done reporting, and his over-whitened smile beamed into her living room as he signed off for the night.

  Jonah emptied another beer in an effort to drown out the day.

  “Three a record for you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I once did four.”

  “Shit.” Jonah looked at his partner. “Drive-by?”

  “Nah, this was a triple shooting down in Bexar County, back when I was a rookie,” Ric said. “Drug deal gone bad. When we cornered the perp, he took a shot at o
ne of our officers, too, so it ended up being four.”

  “You had to watch the cop’s autopsy?” Jonah shook his head.

  “I’d never met him, so they nominated me. Didn’t seem right for one of his buddies to do it.”

  Jonah signaled the bartender for another beer, and Ric ordered one, too.

  “This round’s on me.” A big hand clapped Jonah on the back. “I knew Walt Graham. He was a good man.”

  Jonah recognized the guy from SMFD. El Patio was a hangout for emergency workers of every stripe, probably because of its location between the cop shop and the firehouse.

  “Thanks,” Jonah told him, echoed by Ric.

  “I mean it.” Another hearty slap on the back. “You guys went above and beyond.”

  The man put some money on the bar and walked off, and Jonah watched him uneasily. He didn’t like all this thank-you crap. People meant well, but it didn’t seem right to get applauded just for doing his job.

  He flicked a glance at the television behind the bar, where Headline News was running taped coverage of Noonan’s press conference earlier.

  Ric watched the chief and muttered something in Spanish. Jonah didn’t catch the words, but he got the gist. Ric was pissed. As soon as those prints had come back, Noonan had stepped up to the podium and wrapped the case up with a big red bow, even though the police work was far from finished.

  Another swig of beer, and Jonah started thinking about the mountain of paperwork on his desk and how early he had to get up tomorrow and how little sleep he was going to get with those autopsies playing through his head. He could still hear the Stryker saw.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and Sophie?”

  He turned his tired gaze to Ric. “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “Since when are leggy, big-breasted women not my type?”

  Ric tipped back his beer, then set it on the bar. “You want to watch yourself there. That girl’s got issues.”

  Jonah stared at him. Even in his brain-fried state, he realized he was getting relationship advice from Ric Santos, of all people.

  “Are you serious, man?”

  “Completely.”

  “Issues. You mean like boil-a-rabbit-on-the-stove issues? Guy issues? What?”

  “You should know,” Ric said, heavy on the disapproval.

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said. Watch your step with her.”

  Jonah gritted his teeth. He reminded himself that Ric had endured pretty much the same shitty forty-eight hours he had. For that reason alone, he refrained from telling him to mind his own fucking business.

  Jonah pretended to watch TV as his temper festered. Ric thought he was taking advantage of a girl who’d been traumatized. Twice. The implication pissed him off—first, because it assumed Sophie was screwed up enough to be taken advantage of, and second, because it assumed Jonah would do that.

  But then again, maybe he would.

  He had gone over to her place last night hoping for some post–near-death-experience sex. He could admit that. But he’d come to his senses and backed the hell off. And anyway, she came on to him.

  Proving Ric’s point that she was traumatized.

  Shit. Ric was right. Sophie was vulnerable, and he was taking advantage of her trust. He should leave her alone.

  Jonah scrubbed a hand over his face. Goddamn, but he was too tired to even think about it right now. He just needed to get home.

  “There you are! God, I’ve been looking everywhere!”

  He turned around, and for a second he thought he was hallucinating. But when he blinked his eyes, Sophie was still standing there, looking flushed and wild-eyed, both hands fisted on her hips. She wore jean shorts with a skimpy tank top and had a purse dangling from her shoulder that Jonah knew from personal experience concealed a LadySmith revolver.

  And she was about the least vulnerable-looking woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been all over town. Don’t you answer your phone?”

  Ric slid Jonah a look.

  “And you.” She pointed a finger at Ric. “Mia has no idea where you are. Nobody does.”

  Ric gave Jonah an I-rest-my-case look as he got off his bar stool. He pulled a billfold from his pocket and left a twenty on the counter.

  “Think I’ll be leaving.” He nodded at Sophie and then carefully stepped around her, as if she might reach out and sock him. It seemed pretty crazy, but … she looked pretty crazy at the moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Jonah asked her when Ric was gone.

  “I have important information for you! I called you twice.”

  He hadn’t recognized her number or he would have picked up, even though she’d rejected him just a few short hours ago. Despite her brush-off—or maybe because of it—Jonah had had Sophie and her honey-sweet mouth on his mind all night.

  “What are you staring at? Did you hear what I said?”

  He pushed his beer away. “What kind of information?”

  “It’s about the case. The shooting. James Himmel.”

  That got his attention, along with about four other cops at the bar.

  Jonah studied her more carefully now. She didn’t look like she’d been out on a date tonight. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot. And then there was the little tank top, which had been through the wash so many times, Jonah could practically see through it. Not her usual fashion statement—not by a long stretch.

  But it was the look in her eyes that worried him. She seemed a little unhinged.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Jonah stood up, blocking his buddies’ view of her. They were staring, and he didn’t blame them.

  A hot-tempered blonde walks into a bar …

  It sounded like the start of a bad joke, and Jonah had a feeling he was at the butt of it. He tossed some money on the bar and took Sophie’s arm to steer her to the door.

  When they were outside, he turned to look at her.

  “Now can I talk?” She shook off his hold.

  “Please.”

  “It said on the news that James Himmel drove a green VW. You guys towed it from campus and took it into evidence.”

  “Okay.”

  “I saw that car on the street that day, just minutes before the shooting.”

  “Okay.”

  “He cut me off! He stole my parking space!”

  Jonah crossed his arms and gazed down at her. “I’m not following.”

  “Don’t you get it?” She shook his arm. “James Himmel wasn’t in the car. Somebody else was. He had an accomplice.”

  Sophie zipped through town, running every yellow light between El Patio and campus. She darted Jonah a look as he sat in her passenger seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

  He scoffed. “Not nearly enough.”

  “Well, I need you to get your head in the game. Here.” She grabbed her travel mug of coffee from that morning and passed it to him.

  Jonah took a gulp, then scowled. “How old is this?”

  “Just a few hours. I need you alert so I can show you.” She whipped into a faculty lot near the registrar’s office and screeched to a halt.

  Jonah shoved the mug back into the cup holder. “Let’s go.”

  He climbed out, and Sophie followed, slamming the door with a little too much force. She was steamed. Very. She’d laid out her entire theory for him back at the bar and he’d simply stared at her.

  “Come here. I’ll show you.” She led him across the parking lot to a street that was normally lined with cars. The university was oddly quiet now, even for summer session. Classes had been canceled until further notice, and many of the students had simply packed up and gone home.

  At the intersection of University and Meadowlark, she stopped to glance around. The sidewalk was punctuated by gray p
arking meters.

  “Here.” She stopped in front of a space. “This was my spot. He pulled right into it.”

  Jonah sidled up beside her and sighed. He gazed at the space, completely nonplussed.

  “Why aren’t you on the phone, calling the chief of police or something?” Sophie stomped her foot. “There’s an accomplice on the loose out there!”

  Jonah rubbed his hands over his face. “Sophie. This proves nothing. So you saw a car park here. So what?”

  “I told you, the timing doesn’t make sense. When I drove by here it was, like, twelve-thirty. The shooting started at twelve-forty. How does someone park a car here and get all the way across campus and to the top of the library in that amount of time?”

  “The first shot was at twelve forty-one. A security guard heard it, called it in immediately.” He looked more alert now, as if he’d finally shaken the beer buzz. But he didn’t seem to be getting it.

  “The timing still doesn’t make sense,” she said.

  “Assuming you’ve got your time line straight.”

  She stepped back. “What do you mean, ‘assuming’? I’m telling you right now exactly what happened. Just because I don’t have a badge doesn’t mean I can’t notice something when it’s right in front of my face.”

  “And you were looking at your watch every minute?”

  “No.”

  “So, isn’t it possible you’re off by a few minutes?”

  She crossed her arms. “Why are you resisting this? Why can’t you just believe me when I tell you there’s a hole in this case?”

  “I would believe you, if there really was a hole in this case. Our guy fingerprinted the car already.”

  “And?”

  “And there were prints all over it. Belonging to James Himmel.”

  “You’re saying I don’t know what I saw?” She couldn’t believe this. “That green Beetle cut me off! I yelled at the man inside. I remember it vividly.”

  “James Himmel cut you off.”

  “It wasn’t him. There couldn’t have been time. This was someone else—someone who must have dropped Himmel off at the library and then abandoned his car on campus.”