fingers. Blain took the seconds ticking by to notice her hands and her face. No sign of a struggle and no visible wounds or any sign of blood. But she looked shocked and dazed. “What’s your name?”
“Rikki.”
Okay, Rikki who obviously didn’t want to give out too much information right now.
He followed her between the narrow, two-storied houses, each one similar to the next except they were painted in various colors of pastel blues and yellows, mixed in with vivid whites. This new, swank development had the same Victorian flair as the turn-of-the-century homes along the lake. And came with a high price tag to match.
“I live here,” she said, hurrying now as they approached a muted yellow townhome. “She’s out on the patio.”
She went through an open ornate gate decorated with a bright red-and-green wreath, but she stopped and took Blain’s hand when he came up behind her.
A charge of awareness rushed up his arm, like a river wake rippling against the shore. Blain held to her, thinking how tiny her hand felt against his. He didn’t argue or pull away.
She might bolt if he made a wrong move.
“There,” she said with a gulp. “She comes to stay with me sometimes on weekends. I heard the shot when I came in the house and found her when I saw the back door open.”
Blain took in the scene. A cedar wooden table overturned, a matching chair flipped over, its striped cushions lying against the brick surface of the spacious patio. He glanced from those items to the woman lying on her stomach against the redbrick, blood pooling all around her. Blain made his way to the woman, careful not to disturb anything. He knelt and checked her neck for a pulse.
None. Dead.
He stood and pulled out his phone.
“Is she...is she dead?”
He nodded to the obvious. “Yes. I have to call it in and I need to check inside.”
“I’m going with you,” the woman said, averting her gaze from the dead woman. “I...I heard someone and then I heard the gun go off. He shot her.”
“Did you see him shoot her?”
“No. I came home and walked through the house. Then I heard the gunshot. He ran away when I screamed.”
She was in shock, no doubt about that. “I need you to wait out here, okay? You can sit on the porch.”
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the small covered area where a white wrought-iron bistro set was hidden by a thick jasmine vine.
“I’m calling for backup and then I’ll check the scene. Don’t move from this spot.”
“Okay.” She leaned her elbows on the table and hung her head in her hands. “Hurry, please.”
Blain went inside, all the while on the phone with dispatch. Nothing downstairs. Just a couple of open drawers and cabinets. He silently made his way upstairs where he found two bedrooms. Pretty much the same. A closet open and ransacked and some jewelry scattered on a dresser in what looked like the master bedroom. A purse dumped in the guest room.
After clearing the place, he came back outside. “I didn’t find anyone else inside,” he said to the woman.
He studied the scene while he explained things to the dispatcher. The woman had been shot in the back. Running away? Then he noticed where her right hand lay out from her body. The blood spatter there looked smeared with a pattern that looked like some sort of letter—a K with a line next to it. Interesting. He took a picture with his cell phone.
When he heard a soft moan, he turned to find Rikki standing by the porch railing, her gaze caught on the dead woman.
She pivoted, a hand to her mouth. He could see her shoulders moving. He heard soft sobs. While he explained his location and the situation, he also noticed something else about the woman lying there on the cold brick.
She looked a lot like the woman standing there sobbing.
* * *
Rikki sat in a chair in the den while several police officers moved all around her. The Millbrook Police Department wasn’t that big. Maybe three or four full-time officers and one very good-looking detective. She knew this because her family made it their business to keep up with the locals. But she’d been gone a few years and this new detective was different from the good ole boys she remembered.
He looked too intense and moody to bow down to anyone.
She took another gulp of air and closed her eyes to the scene she’d come home and found an hour ago. The house quiet, her cat gone, and the patio door open. Lights blinking away on the Christmas tree by the fireplace. Tessa? She’d called out, thinking her friend had gone out back, maybe had taken Pebble with her since the big, fluffy cat liked to lie across the patio floor bricks, warm from the setting sun. And then she’d looked up and heard a gun firing.
But when she’d hurried outside, the last rays of the sunset had shown with a bright clarity on Tessa lying there. Still. So still. Rikki had screamed and then she’d hurried to find her phone. But when she’d heard footsteps running away and saw a man in her yard, she’d bolted away. Ran like a coward, to what? Where had she been heading?
Away. She needed to get away. If anyone knew who she really was...
“Rikki?”
She whirled on her chair, her heartbeat drumming against her temples. “Yes?”
Blain Kent knelt in front of her, one hand on the arm of the high-backed floral chair, a notebook and ink pen in his other hand. “Is there anyone you can call? Can you stay someplace else tonight?”
Rikki wanted to laugh but she couldn’t muster up the strength. She did straighten in the chair, her gaze grabbing onto his face. If she weren’t so numb with fear and shock, she’d flirt with him. But she didn’t want to flirt. She wanted to go back and walk in the door and see Tessa standing in the kitchen, waiting for their night out on the town in Pensacola. Dinner and conversation and maybe a little flirting. Just a little.
“Rikki? Miss Allen?”
“I’ll be okay here.”
“It might not be safe.” He rocked back on his heels, his sweatpants stretching to accommodate his solid leg muscles. “Do you know of anyone who might want to harm Tessa Jones or you?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “I...I left Tallahassee to get away for a while. I just broke up with my boyfriend.”
The detective’s eyes lit up at that statement. “How bad was the breakup?”
“Bad enough. But he doesn’t know where I am.”
“Right.”
“Did you get a good look at the person?”
She tried to remember. “No. Just from behind. He had on dark clothes, like sweats and a cap. Tall. He was tall. With black running shoes.”
“Okay,
