Ash’s brow arched.

  “But you can go toe-to-toe with him, Ash,” Hawk finished.

  Ash shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this, Hawk. It was weird standing there, looking at Kelly. I haven’t had a face-to-face meeting with her since we divided the property.” He ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t want to admit the feelings that had ripped through him earlier. Feelings that he never thought he’d experience again. And certainly not in response to Kelly.

  Ash glared at Hawk. “I don’t know whether to punch a hole in the wall or the supreme court jurists for letting Steve Carlson loose.”

  “My legal advice is that you do neither.”

  He shook his head. “So not only do I have to work with my ex, I have to dance around Ralph Lee’s ego. The man’s worse than an old dog with a bone. What a mess.”

  “You got it.”

  “You know, since you’ve discovered love, Hawk, you’ve become a real pain in the butt.”

  “Ash, if you need any help, let me know.”

  “What I need is another A.D.A. and someone else to do this case,” Ash grumbled as he left Hawk’s office.

  “Unfortunately, you’re it.”

  Didn’t he know.

  “So, that was your famous ex-husband?” Teresa Myers asked as she placed a letter on Kelly’s desk, then lingered longer than necessary.

  If Teresa only knew what Ash and she’d been through—but she didn’t, and Kelly had no intention of sharing. Of course, after this afternoon, Kelly could understand Teresa’s awed tone. Meeting Ash under the best of circumstances was intimidating. Meeting him when he was fit to be tied wasn’t a pleasant experience.

  “That was him.”

  “Is he always so—uh—dynamic?”

  Kelly shook her head. She’d bet that dynamic wasn’t Teresa’s first choice of words to describe Ash. “Pretty much.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened.

  “Ash is good and doesn’t take shortcuts.” The words tumbled out of Kelly’s mouth before she thought. “If he brings me evidence, I can count on it. And that’s what’s important right now, not how I feel.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is you are going to be able to work with you ex and have no problems?”

  That was the question that had plagued Kelly since Ash had left. “Why shouldn’t I?” she answered.

  “Because the man’s a hunk.”

  Great, just want Kelly needed to hear. She clenched her jaw and forced a neutral tone. “Ash could strip naked in this office and it wouldn’t affect me, except that I would call another cop to cite him for indecent exposure.”

  Teresa’s expression said she didn’t believe a word of it. “If you say so.” She picked up the newspaper on the desk. The headline proclaimed Carlson’s release. “Isn’t this going to be a nightmare? My mom asked about double jeopardy.”

  “If Carlson had been found innocent, that would be the case. This order throws out the original verdict and part of the evidence, so we have to start all over again. I need to refile on this case. Would you bring me the paperwork?”

  “Sure.”

  Once alone, Kelly stood and walked to the window. Downtown workers poured from the buildings, hurrying home. Home to their families and loved ones. Kelly didn’t have to worry about anyone waiting on her. She was her own woman. No one to tell her what to do. No one to tell how her day had gone. And she liked it that way.

  When she reviewed the case days ago, after the court had ruled, she was distressed with the dangling ends left in the case. Also, although Carlson copped to the burglary, he vigorously denied murdering Catherine Reed. There was fiber evidence to prove he had been in the Reed house, but no blood evidence could be found to connect Carlson with the murder. And it had been a bloody scene.

  She shook her head. Working with Ash wasn’t going to be a problem, she assured herself, even though their approach to the law was as different as night and day. He thought outside the box. She wanted all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed. Her miscarriage had intensified those differences, driven a wedge between her and Ash that had finally resulted in their divorce. He hadn’t understood—Kelly stopped her thoughts from going further.

  Those were issues that weren’t involved in this case and she wouldn’t have to revisit them. They could work together on a professional level.

  Yeah, and since when did the assistant D.A. start lying to herself? asked a voice in her head.

  “Since the Carlson case got kicked into my lap,” she whispered.

  Ash walked slowly into the building that housed the criminal division of the D.A.’s office. He’d spent the night reviewing the Carlson case. Reed claimed that he and his wife had gone to a society dinner. Then afterward, he had dropped his wife off at their house and gone out for cappuccino at a trendy coffee bar by their house. When he had came back home, he had found Catherine in their bedroom, hacked to death with the Civil War saber that had belonged to Catherine’s great-great grandfather. He’d immediately called the police. Afterward, it had been discovered that their safe had been robbed of two diamond necklaces.

  All the pieces fit together into a clear picture—except that there wasn’t any blood evidence on Carlson or in his apartment. Fiber evidence, yes, but no blood. Of course, Carlson could’ve disposed of the shirt, but as bloody as the crime scene had been, it would’ve also gotten onto his pants, too, which had contained fibers.

  Carlson’s hands had been cut and bruised, but he claimed it was from changing a tire on his car.

  What didn’t make sense to Ash about this case was that Carlson was a burglar. He’d done time for theft. He didn’t have a history of violence, with the one exception of being arrested for hitting his ex-wife. The manner in which Catherine Reed had been killed indicated rage. Carlson’s history didn’t fit with the crime.

  Ash wondered why Kelly hadn’t questioned this aspect of the crime the first time around. Then it hit him—the timing of the murder. Five years. Kelly had just miscarried their baby.

  No wonder Kelly hadn’t questioned the little nagging doubts in the file. He didn’t doubt that some of the work he had done right after the miscarriage could have been called into question.

  It sounded to Ash as if Steve Carlson had gotten the short end of the stick, and he didn’t have a decent lawyer to complain about it the first time around. Kelly wasn’t going to be too pleased with his observations.

  When he walked into lobby of the criminal division, Kelly stood next to her secretary’s desk.

  “Good,” she sighed, “you’re here.” She didn’t wait on him but walked into her office.

  “Is the detective here?” Ash heard someone ask Kelly.

  “He is.” Kelly stood by her desk.

  Seated in the chairs before her desk was an elderly couple. Introductions were quickly made to Catherine Reed’s parents, George and Nancy Procter.

  “So when are you going to rearrest that killer?” Mrs. Procter asked. The elegantly dressed woman pinned Ash with a hard stare, which belied her soft tone. Her husband also watched Ash with cold regard.

  Ash looked at Kelly. “There’s a lot of work to do, beginning the case, again. And it’s a cold trail, which makes things even harder.”

  “Do you mean you’re not going to arrest that man today?” Mrs. Procter’s voice reminded Ash of a queen issuing an order to her servant. Ash had always resisted being pushed or bullied. It was a quirk he’d acquired in the first grade when an older third-grader had tried to bully him. After a week of taking it, Ash had punched the bully and ended the terror. He’d learned a valuable lesson, never to be victimized again.

  Ash opened his mouth, but Kelly stepped forward. “We want to make sure nothing else will go wrong and that we can nail Steve Carlson.”

  “And will you press for the death penalty?” George Procter questioned.

  Well, it was certain that the Procters weren’t going to be happy unless Carlson fried. Apparently the genteel society folks were out for blood, not that he could blame them. But he had the feeling that the Procters were going to be breathing down his and Kelly’s necks.

  Kelly leaned back against her desk. “I’ll have to talk to my boss about the disposition of the case.”

  “I want that man to pay for what he did to our little girl,” the older man insisted, “and I don’t care what it takes to make him pay.”

  It sounded as if George Procter was ready to take justice into his own hands.

  “I’ll be sure to pass your feelings on to my boss,” Kelly told him.

  “There’s no need. I’ll tell him myself,” George informed her. “Come, Nancy, let’s go.”

  After the couple left, Kelly closed the door to her office. She leaned back against the door. “This is going to be a nightmare. I’ve already had five calls this morning about this case—from my boss, the newspapers, the victim’s husband—all demanding to know what I’m going to do.” Her gaze met his, and she silently asked if he had the answer.

  “Have you looked at the file, Kelly?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I have.”

  “So you see our problem.”

  She sighed. “Yeah, I do. That’s why I wanted the case reinvestigated. I need more to tie Carlson to that crime. I want you to go over it again, Ash. Interview the people at the dinner party that night. Something’s wrong. I didn’t catch it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake a second time.”

  “All right. I’ll start digging, but you realize, in the intervening five years, a lot of the people who could’ve helped might not be there. And the evidence from the crime scene, we need to reevaluate it.” He wanted to paint as dark a picture as he could.

  “I know that, Ash. Remember who you’re talking to.”

  As if he could forget it. He had tried for the past four years to avoid having to deal with Kelly Whalen. He’d been fairly successful in his quest. Until now.

  But she had a point. Of all the people in the city, Kelly would know how hard it would be to investigate this murder.

  “I know you know how difficult this is going to be. Tell everyone we’re going to have to go from square one and it’s going to take some time,” Ash replied.

  She rubbed her neck. “What I need is a miracle. You got one?” Her eyes begged him to have an answer. That look sizzled down his spine, warning Ash that he was walking into trouble.

  A loud rap on the door stopped Ash from answering Kelly. Immediately, the door opened and the D.A. walked into the room. Jake Thorpe, a tall man with a shock of white hair, had made his way up through the ranks. He had joined the D.A.’s office in the early seventies after he got out of the army and had gone to college and law school.

  “Ah, good, you’re here, Ashcroft. That will make things easier.” He turned to Kelly. “I just got a visit from George and Nancy Procter. I must say they were very concerned about the disposition of this case.”

  “I just bet they were,” Ash muttered.

  Kelly glared at him.

  Jake’s brow arched. “What we need to do is make sure you can refile this case. Are we going to be able to do that anytime soon?”

  Kelly’s chin came up. “Ash was just enumerating the problems we’re going to have with the evidence and witnesses.”

  Jake turned to Ash. “What problems?”

  “As I started to explain to Kelly, the case rested on Carlson’s confession to the burglary, and fiber evidence on his clothes. With the clothes out, all we have is the jewelry. He could claim the necklaces were given to him. We need to connect him with the murder. Over the passage of time, witnesses have left the area and if we don’t have the evidence in storage, then I doubt we can uncover anything new.”

  Jake studied Ash. “We all understand the problems, Detective. What we need is a new pair of eyes to view the evidence. But we also need you to do so quickly. I can only take so much heat.”

  Ash understood. Jake was between a rock and a hard place, and he didn’t much care for it. He wasn’t the only one.

  Ash leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He reviewed the file Kelly had given him.

  “So you’ve been given my case.”

  Ash glanced up into Lee’s hardened face. The scowl the older man wore was enough to frighten anyone with a lick of sense or guilt. At six foot, two-hundred-and-fifty pounds, Ralph Lee looked as if he could take down any suspect and beat him into a pulp with his ham-sized fists. It didn’t matter that the detective was fifty. He was still in top shape, with a steely gaze that had been known to bring more than one suspect to his knees.

  “You through testifying in your case in Amarillo?” Ash asked.

  “The man took the plea bargain the D.A.’s office offered.”

  “I thought you were going to go on vacation,” Ash replied.

  “I heard about the Carlson case and decided to come back. You’ve been assigned the case?”

  “Yeah, Jenkins gave it to me.”

  Lee’s expression hardened. “I’ll talk to him.” The older man marched into the captain’s office. Twenty minutes later, Lee walked out of the office. “I’m going to take my vacation. If you have any questions, you just run it by the captain. It seems he’s got all the answers.”

  Ash glanced at the captain’s door. It was open and Ralph made sure he’d been heard.

  Oh, things were going to hell in a handbasket.

  Kelly settled down in her bed and tucked the blanket under her chin. It was an unusually chilly night in Houston, the damp cold seeping into her bones. Ash had always teased her about being a wimp when it came to cold. When he had been beside her in bed, she never had a problem with cold. It was like sleeping next to a furnace.

  “What’s the matter with you, Whalen, thinking like that?” she grumbled out loud to the empty room.

  It didn’t bode well for her if, in twenty-four hours of working with Ash, she was remembering how it felt to be in bed with him.

  Not in her wildest dreams had she thought the cops would assign the case to Ash. He really must have made someone mad. She ought to check it out.

  Who would have thought a week ago that she’d be facing this political hot potato and have to deal with her ex.

  As she stared into the dark, she wondered if she would survive this case? There were wounds that had been inflicted that had never healed, issues that Kelly had never wanted to deal with. That was the trouble with issues—they always managed to crop up at the most inconvenient time. She didn’t think Ash was anxious to revisit the old wounds, either; nor did he seem pleased to be working this case. Well, if they came to an understanding to leave the past in the past, then maybe they could work together on this case.

  That was a plan. She hoped Ash would go along with it. But then again, when had Ash ever made things easy?

  Chapter 2

  A sh glanced around Honey’s Hideout. The seedy bar, with the uneven floor, chipped tables and grimy walls probably had failed the last four or five health inspections. Of course, the clientele at the bar wasn’t interested in food or eating. The liquor this joint served would probably kill any germs.

  Sunlight had a hard time penetrating the cloudy windows, but Ash spotted Steve Carlson at the end of the bar, nursing a beer. The man’s expression didn’t look like one of victory or enjoyment, but rather like a dog that had been kicked one too many times.

  Ash had lucked out that Carlson was here at his old hangout. After five years in prison, Steve Carlson’s first trip out of his apartment, he had come to this dive—not the grocery store or a job placement office, but this dump. Some of HPD’s best business came from here.

  Ash slid onto the stool next the man.

  “I’m been looking for you, Carlson,” Ash began. He pulled out his badge and flashed it at Carlson.

  The other man’s pinched features hardened. “What do you want?” he demanded. “I’ve been out of prison less than a week and done nothing wrong.” Carlson was a slight man, in his early thirties, five foot ten, thick glasses and thinning hair. He didn’t seem strong enough to have butchered Cathy Reed with a saber.

  “You want to discuss this in front of an audience—” Ash glanced at the bartender “—or you want to talk in private?” Ash asked, his voice pitched low.

  Carlson’s eyes went to the bartender, who eyed them, and around the nearly empty bar. “Private.”

  Ash motioned to a table in the corner of the room. Once they were seated, Carlson demanded, “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk to you about Catherine Reed’s murder.”

  “Go away.”

  Ash shrugged. “Hey, I thought you might want to help clear your name.”

  Carlson’s harsh laugh bounced around the room. “Sure, that’s what cops do, try to prove the suspect innocent.” He took a swallow of his beer. “If you think I’m going to say anything to you after what you cops did to me, then you’re crazier than my last cell mate.”

  Ash leaned forward. “Think about it, Carlson. There’s going to be another trial because of who the victim was. Both Catherine Reed’s husband and parents are powers in this city, in this state. They’re not going to let this go. They’ve already been yammering at the D.A. about the situation.” With each word, Ash watched the other man’s face close down.

  “So?”

  “So you want a repeat of the first trial?”

  Carlson’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you talk to my lawyer?”

  Ash leaned back in his chair. “Hey, I got no problem with that. I was just wondering why a pro like you would stoop to murder? I didn’t think guys with your talent would hack a women to death.”

  “Too bad that thought didn’t occur to that woman D.A. at my first trial.”

  “Well, your hands were torn up.”

  “Changing a flat will do that.”

  Ash bit back his irritation. “So you saying you didn’t do it?”

  Carlson glared. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Ash sat back, considering him. “Makes sense to me.”

  “Yeah, tell it to the D.A.” Carlson swallowed the rest of his beer.

  “All right.”

  Carlson went still, his eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”