The room held a tall dresser and an old wooden chair. Clothes were piled on the chair. Ian photographed the pile of clothes, then lifted the top purple shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans to reveal a black shirt and pants. On the floor by the chair, were a pair of leather boots, worn but polished, just as Malone had described.

  Ian took pictures again, lifted the pants, and searched the pockets. He found a folded piece of paper. He opened it, and his heart leapt.

  “You’ll want to see this, Londyn,” he yelled.

  When she arrived in the room, he held out the paper, and she smiled.

  “The reunion flyer.” She pointed at the clothing. “Looks like we’ve got the connection to Junior that we need.”

  “I’ll call forensics in, and we’ll get these items logged as evidence,” Ian said. “They can process it all for GSR. We really could have enough to put this guy away.”

  Ian hadn’t expected Snipes to talk in their interview, but before Ian had even said a word, Snipes asked for an attorney. Snipes had the attorney’s number memorized, forcing Londyn and Ian to step away without even asking a question.

  “We need to get an in-person lineup going for Malone to take a look at this guy,” Ian said to Londyn as they approached her desk. “She can’t ID their faces, but we can have them walk for her and say what the shooter said to Junior before he plugged him. Plus, she can look for the birthmark.”

  “I’ll talk to the lawyer when he arrives and try to interview Snipes again.” Londyn frowned. “He probably won’t say a word. No use in you wasting your time here. And I’m sure the attorney will drag out scheduling the lineup and make us wait until tomorrow so he can confer with Olivo first.”

  A suspect’s attorney needed to be present for in-person lineups to prevent bias or improper procedures by the officer in charge.

  “Seems likely. Let’s plan to do it first thing tomorrow. After all that’s happened today, Malone could use a break.”

  “You’ve got a thing for her.” Londyn cast an appraising look at him, one that he’d seen in the interview room.

  He honestly felt like a suspect who was guilty of some crime, but his only crime was caring about one of his witnesses. “I’m not saying I do, but if I did? What then?”

  The depth of convictions that Londyn was known for in the department rang loud and clear in her expression. “Then I’d have to keep a better watch on you to make sure you don’t do or say something you might regret.”

  He’d wondered if she’d report him or support him, and now he knew what Londyn Steele was made of. He’d be glad to work with her again. “Thanks for having my back.”

  “Anytime.” She smiled. “I’ve got the last of my interview photos ready to send to you. I’ll do that now.”

  Ian thought about the interviews and how they fit in the investigation at this point. “Since Snipes wasn’t in our class, you wouldn’t have interviewed him at the hotel.”

  “Correct.”

  “We’ve got a lot on Snipes but not irrefutable proof that he’s our guy. Was there anyone you talked to who you like for the murder?”

  “There are people who I haven’t talked to yet, but there was no one in the list of men I interviewed.” Londyn’s phone dinged, and she dug it from her jacket pocket. “Well lookie here. Junior’s phone records.”

  “That’s good news.” Ian worked hard to let it erase his disappointment with Snipes clamming up.

  “You want me to work on these records or interview the final male guests?”

  “Phone records.” They seemed more likely to lead them to a direct connection between Snipes and Junior.

  “I’ll get started.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “And if you want, I’ll request Snipes’s records too.”

  “Excellent.” Her enthusiasm was contagious, lifting his spirits. “Let me know what you find.”

  “Of course.” She dropped into her chair.

  He crossed the room to his desk and took a seat to call forensics. First, he got the criminalist on the phone who’d handled Snipes’s clothing.

  “Like you thought, we found GSR on the shirt, pants, and boots,” the criminalist said.

  “Any touch DNA?” Ian asked.

  “We have samples, and I’ll personally deliver them to the state lab today.”

  Ian hated that they didn’t do DNA in-house, but the state lab was the only agency that ran DNA for law enforcement in the area. Thankfully, they had multiple locations including one on the east side of the Portland metro area.

  “Let me know once you drop it off, and I’ll try to get it bumped up the priority list.”

  “That would be great.”

  Ian didn’t know if he would be able to cut the DNA processing line that always existed, but murder trumped most everything, so he was hopeful. “What about the boots? Find anything there.”

  “A trace of mulch.”

  Ian explained that Sierra had found a boot print and cedar mulch at the hotel.

  The criminalist didn’t speak for some time, and when he did, his tone, had deepened and turned terse. “Have her call me.”

  He obviously didn’t like that Ian was using Veritas, but too bad. “Anything else I should know about?”

  “We located several weapons and ammo. Not the murder weapon, of course, as you already have that, but the lab will run them to see if they connect to any unsolved murders.”

  “Let me know what you find.”

  The criminalist promised to do so and ended the call.

  Ian looked up to see Detective Nix crossing the bullpen toward him, and Ian sat back to wait for the guy to reach his desk.

  “You called me.” Nix took a seat and leaned the chair back on two legs.

  Ian updated the detective on Snipes and that they’d learned that the gun had been used in a prior shooting. “I know homicide would’ve investigated, but I was hoping you remembered that investigation, and I could get the drug squad’s take on it.”

  “Snipes, huh?” Nix cocked an eyebrow. “We’ve had our eye on him a long time, but he’s part of Olivo’s team, and he’s just as careful.”

  “Do you remember the shooting?”

  “Like it was yesterday.” Nix frowned. “Took place in a residential area, and a six-year-old child was killed. But none of Olivo’s guys were on the radar for this shooting. That includes Snipes.”

  “Ballistics don’t lie,” Ian said. “Could be Snipes got the gun from someone else who did the shooting back then.”

  “Very possible. We didn’t have any suspects. It was a drive by, and no one saw the car. Or if they did, they were too afraid to say so. The bullets and slugs didn’t carry any fingerprints or DNA.” Nix shook his head. “We’re dealing with much smarter criminals these days. TV shows and movies have taught them how to avoid arrest. Guys like Snipes and Olivo wear gloves when loading and handling guns. They know how to not get caught and have been doing it for years. It’s actually surprising Snipes used a dirty gun.”

  “He could’ve gotten it from someone he trusted who told him it was clean.”

  “That’s the only thing that makes sense.” Nix gritted his teeth. “And if that’s the case, once Snipes and Olivo learn that it was used in the earlier shooting, the guy who provided the gun is going to wind up dead, too, and you’ll have another murder investigation on your hands.”

  Malone had been waiting for hours for Ian to return and update her on the investigation, but all she’d gotten was a text saying he was delayed. She couldn’t sit around and do nothing, so she changed into her old jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed a hammer to swing away at the half wall by the front door. She needed to get her frustrations from the day out of her system.

  She understood why the wall was there. It created an entryway instead of leaving an open room to walk straight into. The wall had existed when her family had moved in, but her dad hadn’t liked it, and he’d started to take it out.

  He’d ripped off chucks of drywall, but he immediately attached a fresh sheet of drywall over the hole. Apparently, there wasn’t flooring under the wall, and he had to find matching flooring before he went any further. He knew it could take some time, and he didn’t want to leave the wall open during that time.

  He died before he found the wood, and contractors had come in to seam and tape the drywall her dad had installed. She wouldn’t have the same problem. She’d already found a floor refinisher who could piece in matching wood and refinish it all. She would take the wall out now in her father’s honor.

  She slammed the hammer into the sheetrock, the crunch satisfying. She jerked the hammer out and swung a few more times. Her doorbell rang, stopping her mid-swing. She ran a hand through her hair and went to the peephole.

  Ian stood waiting on the stoop. Of course he would arrive just after she changed into clothing not fit for public. He was talking to Drake, who’d relieved Clay.

  She unlocked and opened the door, the cold night air rushing in and sending a shiver over her body. She stepped back for Ian to enter.

  “Taking your frustrations out on the wall, I see.” He grinned.

  She laughed and turned her attention to Drake. “You warm enough out there?”

  “Been colder,” he said.

  “Let me know if you want something warm to drink.” She smiled at him and closed the door.

  “I really appreciate them being here for you when I can’t be,” Ian said.

  “Me too, but there haven’t been any signs that I’m in danger, and I hate to keep putting them out.”

  “I assure you, they don’t mind.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they think like me. If losing a bit of sleep or being cold keeps a person safe, then we’re glad to do it.” He smiled at her again. “And I know you understand that too because I’ve heard you’re the same way with your clients.”

  “Sure, if a client needed me to step up, I would. But honestly, I hire people like Nighthawk to do security for me.” She chuckled.

  He laughed with her, and she loved the sound of it bouncing off the walls of her home. She almost took a step over to him to rest a hand on his arm but came to her senses. “How about you? Want something warm to drink?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, cider.”

  “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

  She spun and went to the kitchen to take out a cherished recipe from the box on the counter. “This is my mom’s recipe. She kept all of our favorites in this box, and I grabbed it before we left. I’m so thankful it was never misplaced or stolen.”

  Ian sat on a barstool. “Not likely something that would bring big bucks on the black market.”

  She thought about it.

  “You look puzzled,” Ian said. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “It wasn’t only things of value that disappeared in foster care.” The memories assaulted her, and she hurried to the cabinet by the island. “Other kids were often mean and destroyed things out of spite. As an adult, I understand they were just lashing out. Maybe they’d lost something important, and it helped them cope by destroying something someone else loved.”

  He reached out to take her hand. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

  She didn’t move. The connection felt good. “Don’t feel bad for me. It was the path God had for me, and my struggles made me who I am today. So much good is coming from my understanding of being orphaned. I can relate to the homeless teens I work with in a way I couldn’t have if I hadn’t experienced the loss.”

  “But I don’t want to see you hurting. Not ever. I…” He tightened his fingers around hers and looked at her hand. “I’ve come to care for you. Deeply. Beyond my high school crush.”

  “You.” She jerked her hand back. “You had a crush on me in high school?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?” He leaned back against the counter, looking at home in her house.

  “You didn’t let on at all.”

  “But I was there, right? Where you were? Events, clubs. Ever since Junior assaulted you, I thought it was my job to be your defender.” He reached for her waist and drew her to stand between his knees. “Corny, I know. But I still feel that way.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she just looked at him.

  “You’re probably way too independent to need a defender.” He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She wasn’t too independent to love his touch. She wanted to place her hands on his shoulders, move closer. She swallowed and remained where she was standing. “I like the thought of a defender. Of you having been there watching over me in case I needed you again.” She held his gaze. “But you had to know I was mooning over you. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt?”

  He leaned back but kept his hands on her waist. “I don’t think I’d be any good at a serious relationship, and you always struck me as a serious relationship kind of girl.”

  “Okay, that’s a lot to unpack, but I’ll start with the relationship. Have you had a bad experience?”

  “Nothing serious, but I also haven’t had good role models. My parents have been married for thirty-seven years, which, for Hollywood, is noteworthy, but for them it’s all about how they can band together to make the most money. Then spend it as fast as they make it. It’s more like a business partnership than anything.”

  “But no love?”

  He shook his head in sad resignation. “They lead separate lives most of the time. They’ve both been having affairs for as long as I can remember. They don’t come right out and talk about them, but they don’t bother to hide them either.”

  Her heart broke for him. She’d at least had six years of being raised by parents who loved each other. “You’re right. Not good role models, but you recognize that and know you want the real deal.”

  “But can I do it, or will I fall into the kind of relationship my parents had because that’s what I’ve known?”

  “I don’t know you all that well, but I do know you have a sense of commitment and know right from wrong. You’re a believer who seems to live your faith, and God provides good instruction in the Bible on love.” She gave in and rested her hands on his shoulders. “I know you would be a great husband, and any woman would be lucky to have you.”

  “I’d like to think you’re right, but old habits die hard, as do old beliefs.”

  She didn’t know what else to say to help him, but she would think about it later and try to find a way to help him. “So tell me why you think I’m a serious kind of woman?”

  “You have a depth to you, a depth I don’t think I could ever fully unearth. You don’t seem frivolous and easily swayed. And you’re serious in your approach to life. So, why wouldn’t you be in your love life too?”

  She shook her head. “My love life? I don’t have one. Never have.”

  “You?” His eyebrows rose, tempting her to run a finger over them. “I can’t believe that. You’re so gorgeous, guys have to be hitting on you all the time.”

  “Thank you for the compliment.” She resisted fanning herself from the warmth building from his kind words and closeness. “I get hit on at times, but when I’ve kissed guys, the thing with Junior always comes to mind. Maybe I’m not as over it as I claim to be.”

  “I could try it,” he said.

  “Try what?”

  “Kissing you.” A mischievous look glinted in his eyes. “Like an experiment. You know, for your mental health.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you want me to stop, you just have to tell me.”

  “I’m not really…”

  He stood and drew her closer. “I’ve dreamed of this. Many, many times.”

  The passion in his eyes was her undoing, and she didn’t resist as his lips came down to lock on hers. The revulsion she usually felt didn’t come. Instead, pure joy flooded her body. She snaked her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. She could do this forever and not come up for air.

  His phone rang, breaking the moment. He drew back and glared at his phone on the counter.

  “It’s Londyn.” He blew out a breath. “I should take it.”

  He picked it up. “Hold on for a second, Londyn.”

  He muted his phone and focused on her. “Well? Revolting?”

  “No.” She smiled. “Kissing you, Ian Blair, was everything I ever imagined. Everything.”

  11

  Nerves peppered Malone as she waited in the homicide bullpen the next morning for the suspect lineup to begin. Sure, she didn’t want to see the man who’d ruthlessly gunned Junior down in front of her, but more than that, she was nervous about seeing Ian for the first time since last night. She touched her lips. Remembered the kiss. She’d slept very little. Maybe she’d feared that if she went to sleep the kiss would somehow become a dream and not be real.

  But it had been real, very real, and her reaction was just as authentic. For years she’d kissed the wrong guys. Frogs. And here was her prince. Ready to make things right and good for her. Except he wasn’t ready. He was beaten down under years of having dysfunctional parents. Malone may have lost her parents early in life, but she’d at least witnessed great self-sacrificing love. Even her final set of foster parents, if not as in love as she remembered her parents having been—and honestly, her memories might be embellishing their connection—were good role models for her. Loving God and loving each other. Loving all the kids.

  She started to sigh.

  No. Stop. Detectives surrounded her, and she didn’t want to draw their attention any more than she’d already done. She looked at Ian’s desk for a distraction and wasn’t surprised to find it neat and tidy. She was the same way. Something they had in common. But what else did they share?

  Nothing that she could think of. Maybe she should watch for things in common while they were together to see how compatible they might be.

  Wait. Was she thinking about getting together with him?

  Her usual obstacle seemed to have been removed. The kiss had been everything she’d dreamed, just as she’d said. But was she willing to risk starting a relationship with him only to discover he wasn’t cut out for it? She thought she knew him well enough to know he could commit to someone and be happy, but she could be wrong. And more importantly, he didn’t know for sure. Maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he was just using his parents’ marriage as an excuse not to get involved.