She wanted to move. To act, but her body remained frozen.

  Did she check on Junior? Try to talk the shooter down?

  The gunman marched across the room toward her, his gun still aimed, now at her, the firearm glinting in the overhead light.

  She took a step back, dropping her purse and putting her hands up. “Please, don’t shoot me. I don’t know what’s going on. Junior didn’t tell me anything.”

  He stopped in front of her with a thump of his boots and eyed her for a long time, those dark, almost black eyes burning into her through the opening in the mask. Keeping his gun trained on her, he dropped down on his knees and dug through Junior’s pockets until he found a phone. He pocketed it.

  He stood and stepped toward Malone.

  She lurched back, but he grabbed her raised hand with his gloved fingers. She wanted to jerk away, but he still had the gun trained on her. He placed the weapon in her hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

  After a long look, some sort of warning in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, he turned and walked away.

  “Stop!” she shouted, cupping the gun and lifting it.

  He kept walking.

  She checked the safety to confirm it was still off. She aimed the barrel at him. Dropped her finger to the trigger.

  No. This isn’t right.

  She wasn’t a killer. She couldn’t pull the trigger. Couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Was that what he was counting on when he’d handed her the gun? That she couldn’t shoot him?

  He stepped over the threshold, and the door closed behind him with a solid thump.

  Should she run after him?

  No. Junior. She dropped down next to him and felt for a pulse. Nothing. But she shouldn’t be surprised with his eyes open and rolled back.

  No. If there was still hope, she couldn’t let him die.

  She laid the gun on his belly, started CPR, and screamed for help.

  The front door burst open.

  The shooter coming back the other way?

  Malone grabbed the gun and pointed it at the door, her hands shaking.

  “Drop it, Malone.” Ian stood in the doorway, his own weapon drawn and pointed at her.

  “He…” She looked down at Junior and lowered her hand. “I think he’s dead.”

  The sound of two gunshots, as crisp and clear as could be, had Ian calling for backup and running for the room down the dark hallway. Finding Malone leaning over Junior with what was likely the murder weapon in her hand. No. He’d never imagined he’d find that. Never.

  He crossed the room, gun still trained on her, and eased the gun from her hand. He kept his gaze on her in case she decided to run and holstered his firearm. He put on gloves he always carried in his jacket pocket, and popped out the clip on the gun he’d recovered from her, surprised not to find any bullets. He shoved the magazine back into the gun and tucked it in his belt.

  She stood, eyes trained on Junior, shock creating a tight mask on her face. He couldn’t tell what she was really feeling as he kept his focus on her but squatted down and checked Junior’s pulse to be sure he was dead.

  “I didn’t shoot him,” she said.

  “No?” He tried not to sound disbelieving, but it sure looked like she was the shooter.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t even bring my gun tonight. I left it at home. It took up too much room in my evening bag.” She pointed at a sparkly little purse lying on the carpeted floor a few feet from Junior’s body.

  Ian stood, evaluating the size of the bag which could hold a gun, but not along with other essentials. “Then where did the gun come from?”

  “The shooter had it.” She lifted her trembling hand to point at the side door, her focus following along. “He came in that way. Shot Junior twice and then crossed the room to steal Junior’s phone. Then, he put the gun in my hand.”

  Ian didn’t think the Malone he knew would lie about such an important thing, but if she did kill Junior, she might. Nor did he think she would commit murder, but her story of a shooter handing over his gun stretched credibility. “You don’t think the guy was worried you might shoot him?”

  “He didn’t seem to be.” She finally looked at Ian, and her haunted eyes were like a physical punch to his gut.

  “I thought about it,” she said. “But I couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Maybe couldn’t shoot a man at all. He must’ve been counting on that.”

  “Maybe that’s why there were only two bullets in the gun.”

  “Right, yeah. That makes sense.” Her eyes cleared. “Either way, you have to go after him. He’s getting away.”

  “I called for backup on the way, and officers will seal off the hotel, but I suspect we might already be too late. I need to stay here to preserve the murder scene and keep an eye on you.” He took a breath. “Describe the man so I can tell the officers who they’re looking for.”

  “He was wearing a black ski mask so I couldn’t see his face. He was six feet tall or so. Slender. Dressed all in black.”

  “That describes half the guys in our class, but I’ll still put out an alert.” Ian took out his phone and shared the description, but he sounded skeptical.

  “You know I didn’t do this, right?” she asked when he ended his call.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Seriously, Ian. I might not have liked Junior, but I’m not a killer.”

  He wanted to assure her, but he had to consider the evidence in front of him, not how he felt about the person. “Look at the incident from my point of view. The point of view of a police officer. Two gunshots are fired, and I enter the room where they were fired to find one person deceased from gunshot wounds and one living person with a gun in hand, the living person having recently argued with the deceased. What conclusion would you draw?”

  “Not the one you’re drawing.” She crossed her arms. “I’d take into account the character of the people in the room. In this case, it would be clear to me that someone is trying to set me up for murder.”

  2

  Malone watched. Listened. The rasping sound of the body bag zipper razored into her brain and stayed there while the medical examiner and her assistant loaded the body onto a gurney. The body of a man who’d been murdered right in front of Malone. Unbelievable. Could she have done something differently? Saved him?

  She gritted her teeth to keep from crying and willed the sound from her mind to focus on Ian. He’d taken charge, escorting her to a chair on the side of the room and telling her to stay put. As soon as patrol officers arrived, he’d assigned a young guy, Officer Yeager, to search her and cuff her, then stand watch over her.

  Ian had called in the ME and forensics staff and made copious notes in his small notebook. He’d also dispatched officers to the other ballroom to take witness statements from classmates who’d heard her arguing with Junior. That didn’t look good for her at all, but it didn’t really matter. She had argued with him and wouldn’t dispute it.

  Ian occasionally glanced at her, his expression blank when she wanted him to empathize with her. To show her he believed her. To help her deal with seeing a man gunned down. But all she received was a blank, professional stare. She’d asked to call her brother, Reed, an FBI agent, for support, but Ian said no phone calls. Not yet, he’d said.

  He walked to the door with the ME, who was pushing the squeaky gurney holding Junior’s body, the pair in deep discussion. At the door, the ME shook her head hard, and Ian glared at the woman, who was petite with a lush silvery head of hair that seemed to have a mind of its own.

  What were they talking about? Her? Did Ian really think she’d murdered Junior? What did he think her motive might be? Junior hadn’t gotten a chance to explain about her parents. And the attack back in high school? That was in the past, and she’d come to grips with it. She didn’t like Junior, but she’d had to forgive him or it would’ve eaten away at her. She’d just told Ian that so he would know her heart and know she hadn’t come in here to kill Junior in revenge.

  Her youth leader at church back in the day had urged Malone to report Junior, but it was hard enough living every day, waking up in the morning and wondering if something would change that day. Would her foster parents decide that was the day that she and Reed had to find a new living situation? That uncertainty did something to a person’s psyche, and she’d already had plenty of issues without stewing over Junior.

  But now? Now it would all come out. It didn’t matter. She was a mature adult. She could handle it. Reed would be upset when he heard that she’d kept it quiet all these years, but he would support her.

  But would Ian or would he just assume she was a killer until he’d proven otherwise?

  When the doors closed after the ME, Ian spun and marched across the room toward Malone, purpose and determination in each step. His expression just as tight. By the time he reached her, his expression had flattened, and he looked mildly angry.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” He squatted in front of her. “I’m finished here.”

  She took a long breath. “Which means now’s the time you either arrest me or not.”

  “There’s no either. I have to arrest you.”

  She’d expected him to respond that way, but having a man she’d once had a crush on arresting her for murder still cut her to the bone. “I need to ask a favor.”

  “What?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Your forensic people did a GSR test on my hands and will probably take my clothes to do the same thing.”

  “Yeah, gunshot residue tests are typical in this kind of situation.”

  “I held the weapon, so we know the tests will be positive. Doesn’t mean anything. I could even have residue from moving my own firearm from one purse to another. Or just by stepping near a gun when it was discharged because it lingers in the air.”

  “Your point?” His tone deepened as if he was getting upset with her.

  She paused to draw in a long breath. “I told you there was a shooter, and I can tell you the approximate location where he took the shots. He’ll have left GSR behind. Can you have the forensic team do a GSR test on the carpet in that area?”

  He let out a long breath. “Not sure what you hope to accomplish there. You could’ve taken the shot from across the room and had plenty of time to run over to the body before I arrived. The test won’t tell me you didn’t fire the gun.”

  She wanted to grit her teeth in frustration, but swallowed instead and tried not to snap at him. “But it will confirm the bullets were fired from a distance. That at least confirms what I’m telling you is possible.”

  “I don’t need GSR for that. The ME will tell me if the gun was fired from a distance.” He looked like he wanted to sigh but stood instead. “Give me the exact location.”

  Shocked that he’d agreed, she nodded that direction, and he strode that way until she called out to stop him in the right place. He waved over a forensic tech and gave him detailed instructions.

  When he returned to her, she smiled at him. “One more favor. I’d like to call Reed.”

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  His negative response added salt to her open emotional wounds, but it wasn’t surprising. Her prosecutor days told her that if a detective thought the arrestee would ask the person called to mess with damning evidence, they often didn’t allow a phone call. Did he really think she would involve her brother in something illegal?

  “I don’t normally do this,” Ian said. “But give me his number, and I’ll call him for you.”

  Malone rattled off her brother’s phone number before Ian changed his mind. He tapped the screen on his phone and looked at the ground instead of her.

  “Reed Rice?” Ian asked.

  Malone heard her brother mutter a response.

  “I’m with your sister.” Ian brought Reed up to date on the incident. “I’ll be taking her into custody, and we’ll determine if charges will be brought.”

  “This is ludicrous. She would never shoot anyone.” Reed’s raised voice carried over to Malone. “I’ll have an attorney meet her there.”

  “Sal Sutherland,” Malone called out. “Call Sal.”

  She expected a dirty look from Ian. Sutherland was the top criminal defense attorney in the city and not popular with detectives. But Ian just ended the call with Reed and stowed his phone. “Yeager will take you in.”

  He glanced at Officer Yeager, who was still guarding her. His smooth face and apple-red cheeks made him look fresh out of high school.

  “Ms. Rice is all yours,” Ian said, his tone devoid of emotion.

  “Stand, please,” Yeager said.

  She complied but kept her gaze pinned to Ian. “You know how humiliating this is?”

  “I’m sorry. I have no choice.”

  “Can you at least take me out the back way? I’d prefer not to be perp-walked in front of our whole graduating class.”

  “That would be up to Officer Yeager.”

  “I can do that,” Yeager said. “But I won’t take any shortcuts that could jeopardize the investigation.”

  Exactly like when he’d searched her earlier. Another humiliating experience. Yeager was thorough and by the book. At least it hadn’t been Ian searching her like a common criminal. That would’ve been worse.

  And now she barely controlled her tears while Ian read her rights. Didn’t he see how much seeing Junior gunned down cut her to the core?

  She locked gazes with him, remembering the night he’d come to her rescue, unlike tonight. Wishing that guy were here instead of this one.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” she asked. At the tightening of his jaw, she felt vulnerable and wished she hadn’t needed to ask.

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said. “It’s what I can prove in my investigation that will decide your future.”

  Ian watched Officer Yeager lead Malone away, and Ian swallowed hard. His job required him to put his feelings in check and do what he was called to do. Look at the leads. Forensic and otherwise, and find Junior’s killer. Be it Malone or the masked man she claimed had been there. And to do that, Ian had to dig deep to put on a mask of impartiality with her. He knew he’d hurt her, and he hoped if she was cleared of charges, she would understand.

  Shaking his head, he headed for the manager’s office and spotted a sign by the door that named Arden Vandyke as the operations manager. Ian poked his head inside the small room containing a desk, credenza, and two chairs. Vandyke, who’d been wringing his hands outside the ballroom earlier while he’d waited to talk to Ian, was sitting behind his desk and had his hand plunged into sandy-brown curly hair. On seeing Ian, Vandyke shot to his feet.

  Ian held up a hand to encourage the guy to relax. “I need to see any video footage for the staff hallway outside Ballroom D and for the main entrance too.”

  Vandyke plopped back down on his chair. “We only have cameras in the lobby and at all the exits. None in the hallways.”

  “Then I’d like a copy of the footage for the lobby and the exits for the last twenty-four hours.”

  Vandyke frowned. “I’ll need to have security pull that together for you.”

  “I also assume you have a camera on the front desk, and we have classmates from out of town who are staying here.”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “I would like that footage as well.”

  “Um, well, there’s a problem with that if you want to catch everyone. We did recent lock upgrades, and not all guests will have stopped at the front desk to check in.”

  “Upgrades?” Ian asked.

  “We’ve installed door locks for our rooms which use Near Field Communications. A guest can use their smartphone with NFC enabled to check in and check out without ever stopping at our front desk.”

  Ian had heard something about the technology being used but hadn’t encountered it and didn’t know the details. “How does that work?”

  “When a guest is due to check in, our hotel sends a code to the guest’s smartphone that will unlock their room door and any of the outside doors that we keep secured.”

  Ian shoved his hands into his pockets. His murder had to have occurred in a hotel with upgraded features that made his job even harder. “Do you have a list of guests who are here for the reunion?”

  Vandyke shook his head.

  “I’ll need a complete guest list for tonight to cross-reference against the list of reunion attendees.”

  Vandyke poked his narrow chin up at Ian. “I’m sorry the guy died, but my bosses would have me require a warrant before I give you anything.”

  “True.” Ian was losing his patience. “If we wait for a warrant, I’ll have to keep your ballroom cordoned off longer. I’m sure you’d like to expedite the investigation. And even more, I’ll bet you’d like to get our crime scene seal off the door so your upcoming guests don’t have to look at it.”

  He lowered his chin. “If I give you what you need now, you’ll give me a warrant to show my supervisors?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” He grabbed the handset for his desktop phone and ordered security to compile the video. He hung up and tapped a few keys on his computer before his printer spit out a few pages. He grabbed them and shoved them at Ian.

  The pages held guest names, just as Ian had hoped. “I also need you to send the video for all of the exits and the lobby at the end of each day until I tell you otherwise.”

  “But why?” Vandyke asked.

  “I need to look for any guests who might not have checked in at the desk but checked out that way.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t make me come looking for these files.”

  “I’ll send them each night at ten, which is when I get off.”

  “Thank you,” Ian said. “While we wait for the video files from security, you can show me the staff area that feeds into Ballroom D.”

  He got up, his face a blank mask. “Follow me.”

  The guy skirted around the end of his desk and nearly fled into the hallway. He was slender and fast, and Ian had to hurry to keep up with him. At the far side of the lobby, he pushed open a door marked Staff Only and led Ian down a dingy hallway to a large open area with lockers and benches. The area smelled like roasted meat, and Ian’s stomach grumbled.