“You one of the nuts who likes the snow?” Ian opened the sedan, and they settled inside.

  “I did before I became a police officer. Now it’s a logistical nightmare.” She mocked a shudder, and he laughed.

  “Since we’ve been getting more of it, the city’s doing a better job with it.” He drove the car out of the garage and onto a nearly deserted street.

  He pointed them in the right direction and glanced at Londyn. “There’s something you should know. I have more of a connection to Malone than I told Hoffman. One night my junior year of high school, Junior sexually assaulted Malone and would’ve raped her if I hadn’t pulled him off her.”

  Londyn gaped at him. “Did you report it?”

  He shook his head. “It was up to Malone to report, and she didn’t want anyone to know. Especially not her brother.”

  “Why on earth didn’t you tell Hoffman that?”

  “Malone and I talked about it before the shooting. She’d forgiven Junior, and from what she said, it ended up having a positive impact on her life.”

  “How so?”

  “She said it helped her realize what she wanted to do in life and her underserved clients benefited. And it helped her to learn to forgive.”

  “Sounds like she has her head on straight, if she was telling the truth. She could’ve been planning to do him in and wanted you to think she’d forgiven him when it could still be a strong motive for murder.”

  “After all these years,” he said, “I doubt it.”

  “I hope not telling Hoffman doesn’t come back to bite you and damage your career.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Londyn remained quiet for a few moments then shifted in her seat to look at him. “What about Malone’s parents? When did they die?”

  “She was six. Reed was eight.”

  “You think there was anything to Junior’s claim that their crash wasn’t an accident?”

  Ian shrugged. “My biggest question right now is whether Junior’s murder is related to her at all or a coincidence.”

  “It’s clear you’re not liking her for it.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is it because you know her?”

  He considered the question. “I don’t think so, but I have to say if I didn’t know her, the evidence would have me liking her for the crime.”

  “Yeah,” Londyn said. “The circumstances make her an obvious choice, but from what I’ve heard about her, she’s a very smart woman and talented attorney. You gotta think, unless she lost her cool big time, that if she wanted to off this guy, she wouldn’t do it in a public space after arguing with him in front of witnesses.”

  “True that.” Ian turned into a full lot in front of the high-rise where Junior had lived on the seventh floor. Ian’s phone dinged, and he glanced at the holder on the dashboard. “The warrant came in.”

  “Perfect timing or we would’ve been sitting out here until we got it.” Londyn leaned forward and looked out her window. “Swanky place. Do we know what Junior did for a living?”

  “Not yet.” Ian shifted into park. “I checked the class reunion program, and he didn’t list an employer.”

  “Maybe he was embarrassed about his job. Or maybe he was just too lazy to provide the information to the organizers.” She slipped out her door.

  Ian climbed out. “He was unmotivated in high school, and I never expected him to be a success story. Had too big of a chip on his shoulder about his size. He was barely over five feet tall. As you can imagine, he was teased all through school.”

  Londyn nodded. “Have you located his vehicle yet?”

  “It’s in the parking lot at the hotel. Criminalists are processing it, but when I searched, I didn’t find anything of interest.”

  They crossed the lot to the front door. The sparkling clean glass automatically slid open with a whoosh and revealed a lobby furnished in contemporary furniture with clean lines. They approached the doorman and held out their credentials.

  “Do you know Gilbert Flagg Jr.?” Ian asked.

  “Junior. Sure.” The burly man wearing a uniform of white shirt and black slacks smiled, revealing a missing tooth on the left side. “Most everyone around here knows him. He’s the life of the parties.”

  “We need access to his condo.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “We just need to look around,” Ian stated firmly as he wasn’t ready to tell this guy that Junior had been murdered.

  “I can’t let you in without a warrant,” the doorman said.

  “Thought you might ask for that.” Ian held out his phone and displayed the warrant.

  “No.” He shook his head. “That won’t do. I need to see an official one. You know, in print.”

  “Fine,” Ian said. “Give me access to your network, and I’ll print it.”

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  Londyn leaned closer. “The judge signed the document electronically. It’s valid.”

  The doorman crossed his arms. “But I don’t have anything to show my supervisor when he asks. I’ve been written up twice for not following protocol. This would be my last chance, and I could lose my job.”

  “Like I mentioned,” Ian said. “I can print this one. Just give me access.”

  A uniformed security guard standing in the corner crossed to them. “Is there a problem here?”

  Ian flashed his badge, and Londyn turned to look at the guard.

  “Oh, Ms. Steele,” the guard said. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  Ian noticed the Steele Guardians logo on the guard’s chest. He worked for Londyn’s family’s business, which supplied security guards for large corporations.

  The guard smiled at her. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “We need to get into unit 706, and this nice man says he needs our warrant in print before he’ll let us in.”

  “Well, I do,” the doorman stated.

  “Can’t we make an exception just this one time,” the guard said. “They can show me the electronic warrant too, and I can vouch for you having seen it. I can also join them in the condo to observe.”

  “Fine.” The doorman handed a passkey to the guard and locked gazes. “You make me regret this, and I do the same for you.”

  The guard gave a sharp nod and led Ian and Londyn across the tiled lobby and into the elevator, where he stuck the passkey in and punched number seven. “I’m Damon, by the way. Damon Rochester.”

  “Thank you for your help, Damon,” Londyn said. “It won’t go unnoticed.”

  “Good to hear.” He preened as the elevator whisked them up to the seventh floor and a light-filled hallway.

  Damon shoved the key into unit 706’s lock and stood back. “I know I told him I’d come in with you, but you’ll want privacy. I’ll hang right out here.”

  Londyn cast him a quick smile, and Ian entered while he had the chance. He heard her footsteps behind him.

  “Remind me to bring you along all the time,” Ian said as he strode down a short hallway, past a kitchen, and into a wide great room with windows overlooking the city. “Million-dollar view.”

  Londyn mumbled something, but she was already across the room at a metal bookshelf looking through closed boxes. The room was filled with contemporary furniture and decor, and Ian figured a professional had decorated the place.

  “Sure doesn’t look like the kind of place I thought Junior would end up living in. It’s spotless.” Ian noticed a laptop on a glass-and-metal table. He made a mental note to have forensics take it into evidence right away, and he needed to pick up Junior’s belongings from the medical examiner in case his pockets held anything of interest.

  The reunion flyer lay on the table next to the computer, and Junior had circled the blurb mentioning Malone’s service recognition along with her picture. He’d written next to it, Tell her then. Mom too.

  Ian took a picture of the paper where it lay, then put on gloves and held out the flyer to Londyn. “Look at this.”

  She left the shelf behind and peered at the paper. “If he meant the accident, seems odd that he would tell his mother as well.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know what else to make of it.” He returned the flyer to where he’d found it. “I’m going to check out the bedroom.”

  He went down a short hallway, passing a guest bedroom and bath, picking up a hint of a spice he couldn’t pinpoint coming from the bathroom. At the end of the hallway, he found the main bedroom decorated in dark gray and black, a little too classy for the guy Ian remembered, but then not many guys were classy in high school. Ian riffled through a dresser, two nightstands, and the closet. He didn’t find anything unusual, other than the fact that the clothes were organized by color, and Junior had a full wardrobe of expensive clothing.

  If Junior had possessed information on how he learned about the Rices’ car accident, he didn’t keep it there. Hoping it was on the computer, Ian called in forensics on the way back to the great room. He told them to be sure to bring a printed warrant for the doorman. He and Londyn would be long gone by the time they arrived, hopefully sitting across the table from Malone.

  He and Londyn finished searching the condo without locating anything to help the investigation, then drove back to the Justice Center building. PPB offices and the Multnomah County Detention Center were housed in the same building. Ian stepped up to the metal detector in the detention center, where he and Londyn surrendered their weapons and walked through. They were soon seated in a small interview room, Ian tapping his thumb on his knee and trying to ignore the strong smell of bleach.

  The door opened, and a burly male deputy stood back for Malone to enter. She was cuffed, as was protocol for such a serious offense. Her usual meticulous hair was frizzy, and strands had fallen out of place. Gone was the dress with straps as thin as wire in a rich aqua that had hugged her curves and fueled his imagination. The blue jail prison garb was drab and worn, and he felt bad all over again. He hated the situation. Hated what he was putting her through.

  She sat, her posture regal, her chin lifted while the deputy secured her wrists to the table. She looked up at the man. “Thank you, Carl.”

  He nodded and stepped back. “I’ll be just outside. Let me know when you’re done.”

  “Malone,” Ian said. “This is Detective Londyn Steele.”

  “Nice to finally meet you, Londyn.” Malone smiled. “I’ve overheard Russ and Peggy Byrd talking about your family, and they have such good things to say about all of you.”

  Londyn opened her mouth then closed it as if she didn’t know how to respond to a compliment from a murder suspect. Ian didn’t know if Malone was sincere in her praise or was trying to disarm Londyn by using tactics she’d learned as a lawyer.

  “Detective Steele will be joining me in working this investigation,” Ian said.

  “Great. The more detectives, the better. Hopefully, you can find the real shooter.” She locked gazes with Ian. “Did you check the hallway by the ballroom? Talk to the manager? Did anyone see the shooter? Or is he on video?”

  Ian held up his hands. “We’re the ones who’ll be doing the questioning.”

  Malone narrowed her eyes. “No point. I won’t answer anything without Sal by my side. Told him not to bother coming until you charge me with Junior’s murder. I assume you are planning to charge me.”

  “My LT presented it to the DA,” Ian said, so she knew the department was prepared to proceed. “But at this time, the DA has decided not to bring charges.”

  “But I—” Her mouth dropped open. “I’m thrilled, of course, but it’s a surprise for sure.”

  “I agree,” Ian said. “But I don’t have to tell you that you’re still a person of interest and not to leave town without consulting me first. And if you’ve thought of something else regarding Junior’s death since we last spoke, now would be the time to tell us.”

  “Like I said. I’ll wait for Sal.”

  “The sooner you let us ask our questions, the sooner we’ll be able to find Junior’s killer and clear your name,” Londyn said, her tone flat.

  Malone lifted that perfectly sculpted chin. “I’ll be investigating on my own. I believe in the justice system, and I know the truth will come out.”

  Ian wished he could be so confident for her. The system worked most of the time, but it wasn’t perfect. Especially like now—if her story was true—she was being framed for murder, and even if the DA didn’t bring charges now, further evidence could ensure he would have to.

  4

  Malone stripped out of the prison garb and slipped into the jeans and sweater Reed had dropped off. The police were keeping her dress as evidence for the blood and potential GSR—her favorite evening dress, but that was the least of her worries. She never imagined herself dressed like a prisoner, barely escaping a felony charge.

  Or spending the night behind bars. More than once, she’d fought tears by giving herself a pep talk, reminding herself she was innocent and would clear her name. And she kept adding that it was a good experience to see what her adult clients faced when they were incarcerated. She’d always had empathy for them, but she better understood now.

  Still, she’d been given special treatment. That was the only thing that made sense. Someone, somewhere had spoken up for her and gotten the DA to hold off. She would have to use the reprieve she’d been given to find the real killer, just like she’d told Ian she would.

  She folded her County-issued clothing and left the cell to join Carl, where he waited to escort her to the exit. At the counter, her belongings were dumped from a large envelope onto the worn Formica, and she signed for them. She stuffed everything back into the envelope and nearly ran for the door. She prayed on the way out to never have to set foot inside that place as an arrestee again. She’d told Ian she believed in the system to get it right, but she knew justice failed more often than any of them wanted to believe.

  She stepped outside, closed her eyes, and inhaled the chilly air. Sure, it was tainted with exhaust as traffic hustled by on a Sunday afternoon, but she was free, and it smelled like heaven to her.

  Free for now.

  She wished she could still that part of her brain and simply enjoy the moment, but the thoughts nagged at her until she opened her eyes.

  Her mentor, Sal, climbed the exterior stairs toward her. His wavy brown hair was longer than most professional attorneys might wear it, and silver threads ran through the thick waves, matching his silvery close-cut beard. He was dressed casually in jeans, a black shirt, and a red fleece jacket. No matter his clothes or his hair, he always had an intensity in his gaze that told her he was assessing and weighing everything around him.

  “Thank you, Sal.” She hugged him. “I appreciate you coming all the way down here to give me a ride home.”

  He pulled back. “You sure you don’t want me to take you over to Reed’s condo? He’s been calling and calling.”

  “I’m not ready to see him yet. I need to shower and clean up. I’ll call him on the way to my place.” Her top priority was to meet with Reed and the partners at the Veritas Center to talk about working together to clear her name, but first she needed to wash away the grime from her night in jail. She couldn’t function if she didn’t look her best, and she needed some high-level functioning if she hoped to find the guy who was trying to frame her for Junior’s murder.

  She didn’t know if the killer was intentionally setting her up or if she’d just happened to be there, and the shooter had seized the opportunity.

  “I promise Reed won’t bug you again,” she said.

  “No worries.” Sal’s lips tipped up. “You’d do the same for me, and you know you’d be the person I would call if I was in your place. Not that I’ll ever be in your place.”

  “Don’t sound so cocky, Sal. I never thought I’d be arrested for murder either.” She linked arms with him and turned to start for his double-parked car, but she came to an abrupt stop. Ian leaned against a plain looking sedan parked at the sidewalk, and he was giving her an expectant look.

  “Seriously, he can’t be waiting to talk to me, can he?” she muttered.

  “Looks like it.”

  She thought to stay put and wait until he made a move, but she was ready to get home. That shower was beckoning her. She ran a hand over her hair and pressed wrinkles from her blouse before starting down the stairs, heading away from him.

  “Could I have a word, Malone?” Ian called out.

  She must’ve subtly changed course, angling a bit toward him and alerting Sal to her intentions.

  “I don’t recommend that,” Sal said. “He’s still the investigating officer and could use anything you tell him against you.”

  “I know what I should and shouldn’t say.”

  “Yeah, knowing it”—Sal tapped his temple—“and remembering it in the heat of the moment are two different things.”

  “Then come with me.” She didn’t wait for him but strode toward Ian, who’d changed from last night’s shirt and sweater to a blue button-down and black slacks, though he still wore the leather jacket. He’d arrived to interview her dressed that way, but she didn’t take the time to enjoy how the shirt color emphasized his gorgeous eyes or the way it seemed custom fitted to his toned body.

  “Oh, I see,” Sal said as they got closer.

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  “You’ve got a thing for this guy.” He gripped her arm. “I suggest you stop right now and back away. You’re thinking with your emotions, not that fabulous brain I’ve always envied.”

  She rolled her eyes at his compliment that, under normal circumstances, might make her think twice about it. “I’ll admit to having a crush on him in high school, but that was another lifetime. I got this. Trust me.”

  Sal shook his head. “When it comes to matters of the heart, you’re such a novice that you won’t know you’re in trouble until after trouble strikes.”

  She laughed. “I’m good. Honest.” She squeezed his arm and closed the rest of the distance to Ian.