of boxes. He holstered his gun and stepped closer for a better look. Her face was buried in arms folded across her knees. She was a trembling mass of red from her hair to her red blouse, down to her red tennis shoes.
“Miss?” He crouched in front of her. “It’s okay, I’m Detective Alex Donovan.”
She didn’t look up.
“Can you tell us what happened?” he tried.
She shook her head no.
“Can you tell me your name?”
She shook her head no again.
Alex glanced at Mark. “Look for a purse or briefcase with ID.”
Mark disappeared from the doorway.
Alex spotted a cell phone clenched in her hand. She must have made the 911 call.
“Are you a friend of—” He was about to say the deceased and caught himself. “Edward Lange?”
Another negative head shake.
“Do you work for him?”
She nodded affirmative.
“Were you here when he was attacked?”
She nodded yes, her body trembling slightly. He wanted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, tell her it was going to be okay, but he wasn’t one to make promises he couldn’t keep. If she was hiding in here that meant she might have seen or heard something that could help them find the killer—and consequently put her life in danger.
“Alex?” Mark said, stepping into the closet. “Found this by the desk.” He placed a messenger bag next to Alex and handed him a purple leather wallet. Alex pulled out a driver’s license that read Nicole Desiree Harris.
Voices echoed through the house. The coroner must have arrived, and then some. Alex had a feeling everyone would want to be involved in this investigation, including state and county law enforcement. Edward was an influential man, a celebrity of sorts.
“Can you keep them out of here for a few minutes?” Alex asked Mark.
“I’ll do my best.”
Alex put the wallet in the messenger bag and redirected his attention to Miss Harris, pushing back the temptation to pick her up and carry her to a safe, quiet place.
“Miss Harris, it’s going to get awfully loud in here as more police personnel show up. How about I take you to another room where it’s quiet?”
She slowly raised her head and pinned him with brilliant amber-colored eyes. He stopped breathing for a second, so affected by the devastation he read there.
“Nice to meet you,” he recovered, and extended his hand, figuring he had to try.
She studied it for a second, then reached out and accepted his gesture. Her trembling fingers were cold and fragile as she clasped his hand. And he prayed to God that he could do right by this one.
She searched his eyes as if wanting to say something but couldn’t get the words out.
Male voices boomed from the outlying office and her fingers squeezed his hand.
“Let’s get you out of here.” He stood and helped her up. She was petite, probably five-three, and a floral scent drifted from her hair.
“It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.” He positioned her on his left side so when they walked out of the closet she wouldn’t be assaulted by the bloody image of Edward Lange.
She hugged her midsection with her free arm, but wouldn’t let go of his right hand. He put his left arm around her shoulder to shield her from the frenetic crime scene.
“Is this okay?” he said.
She nodded that it was, grabbed her messenger bag and flung it over her shoulder.
Someone barked an order from the office and her shoulders jerked.
“See what I mean? Loud,” he said.
As he led her out of the closet, the half dozen men froze at the sight of Alex and Miss Harris deliberately crossing the room.
“Detective Donovan, I think—”
“Don’t,” Alex snapped.
He didn’t know who’d spoken and didn’t care. Alex needed to get the witness out of this room and away from the violent scene as quickly as possible. As they passed, all eyes were on the red-haired, traumatized beauty. She kept her head down, eyes focused on the carpet a few feet in front of her.
They crossed the threshold into the hallway and he spotted pocket doors. Hopefully he could find another room with pocket doors so he could close her off from the chaos.
He escorted her down the hall to a TV room in the back of the house and slid the pocket doors shut.
“How’s this?” He led her to a thick-cushioned sofa.
She sat down, still clinging to his hand, so he sat next to her. He wanted to be out there assisting with the crime scene, but he wouldn’t leave her alone. Maybe they could call a female sheriff’s deputy to keep her company. Surely a woman would be better at comforting a terrified female witness.
Clutching his hand, she sighed and leaned against his shoulder. For a brief second it reminded him of Jessica, how she’d leaned against him when they’d watched movies. Despair ripped through Alex’s chest, followed by guilt.
Get your head in the game, Alex.
This woman’s life could be in danger, which meant the sooner they found the killer the sooner she’d be safe.
“Is he...dead?”
Her voice was throaty, deeper than he’d imagined.
“Yes,” he answered.
She shook her head and a tear trailed down her cheek. He nearly reached out to wipe it away, but caught himself.
“Was there anyone else in the house besides you, Mr. Lange and the intruder?”
“Not that I know of.”
“No bodyguards?”
“No.”
Which puzzled Alex because he thought bodyguards followed Lange everywhere.
“Can you talk about what happened, Miss Harris?” he asked.
She shook her head. A few minutes passed in companionable silence. It had been a long time since Alex held a woman like this. He didn’t have much interest in romance after Jessica’s death.
“Nicole,” she said, breaking the silence. “Please call me Nicole.” She clung to her messenger bag in her lap. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“Then
