base that narrowed to a tip, much like a Native American arrowhead that appeared sharp enough to pierce skin. The gold-plated shaft measured roughly an inch in diameter and the fletching, normally consisting of feathers to give the arrow wings, was made from delicately pounded gold filigree. “I don’t see any blood on it.”
“Should there be?”
“Miss Gomez claims he hit her with the arrow.” Adam’s gaze went to where she stood in her serviceable navy pumps. Though the heels were low and her navy blue skirt dropped to just above her knees, he found his gaze drawn to her shapely calves. Did she cycle? Or run? Or was she naturally toned? He gave a quick shake of his head to clear his thoughts. Her exercise regimen wasn’t any of his business.
David’s eyebrows hitched upward. In response to Adam’s statement or to the fact Adam had been staring at Lana? He tugged at the collar of his uniform shirt.
With a slight curl of his lip, David waved over a crime scene technician. “Did you find blood on the arrow?”
The tech shook his head. “No. No blood.”
Adam’s gaze slid back to Lana. Suspicion snarled inside his chest. Had she lied to him? Or had the intruder cleaned up after himself? He rubbed his chin. The perpetrator of the break-in had the technical know-how to bypass a state-of-the-art security system and was physically capable of taking out an armed guard. Both suggested the intruder had training that went beyond the norm. It was plausible the trespasser would have the smarts to wipe away trace evidence.
“I found a latent print, though. I used an alternate light source to find it and then ran a photograph of the print through the FBI’s and the DC fingerprint databases and got a hit.”
The tech’s words jolted through Adam. Blood rushed to his head, making his temples pound. This was good news.
“Do you have an ID?” David asked.
“Yes, sir.” The tech held out a printed sheet of paper. David took the paper and studied it for a long tense moment. His jaw firmed. The hard glint in his eyes as he lifted his gaze and handed Adam the sheet sent apprehension sliding through him.
Adam stared at the photo identification of the person who had last touched the Golden Arrow. His stomach sank to his toes.
Lana Gomez.
The muscles in Adam’s hand convulsed, crumpling the paper with Lana’s photo. A cold draft of air swirled through the museum, settling around him like a dark cloak. Outside, rain pinged irritating little drops of water against the overhead skylight. Lana’s soft voice echoed off the marble walls. He wasn’t sure what to think about this new development.
Someone had broken into the museum, hit Lana on the head and knocked her unconscious. Her wound was not self-inflicted. She claimed the attacker used the arrow. But the CSU tech found no blood on the artifact. Only Lana’s fingerprint.
“Recheck the thing for blood,” David directed the tech.
“Okay, but I’m telling you, there isn’t any.” Reclaiming the arrow, the tech walked away to reexamine the piece.
Adam’s gaze zeroed in on Lana. Even across the room, her fatigue was evident in the way she rubbed at her neck as if to massage away a knot. She finished giving her statement to the officer and slowly made her way to Adam’s side. She stared at the broken glass littering the floor, her arms wrapped around her middle.
She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. The bruising beneath the edges of the bandage covering her lovely face clutched at him and he fought to keep from running his hands over her arms to soothe away her upset.
Ace moved to her side and leaned into her so that Lana’s long, tapered fingers could rub the sweet spot behind his ears.
Normally his partner was reticent to let others touch him. By nature Dobermans were energetic and could be friendly when they were comfortable. But Ace was also fierce and loyal and intimidating, especially when working.
Most of the time, people were too nervous to broach petting the dog, let alone the dog allowing attention from strangers. Adam wasn’t even sure Lana realized what she was doing or how unique it was for Ace to seek out her touch. By the way Ace’s eyes rolled in his head the dog obviously enjoyed the contact.
“Ace, heel.”
The dog jumped to attention, sitting at Adam’s side, his ears perked up and his eyes on his master. That was more like it.
“Don’t be angry with him.” Lana’s softly spoken words hit Adam square in the chest. “He’s a good dog.”
“Yes, he is, but we’re working now.”
David cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Miss Gomez, can you walk us through what happened last night?”
“I just told everything to your officer.”
When David didn’t respond, she glanced at Adam as if looking for support.
He nodded, encouraging her to retell her story. He wanted to hear her version again. Would she stick to her claim the suspect had hit her with the arrow?
She let out a soft, delicate sigh full of resignation. “I was in my office working.” She pointed to the hallway behind them. “I heard a thud then glass breaking. I thought maybe Brad had slipped and fallen. I came out and saw the man dressed in white reaching for the arrow.”
Adam visualized the event unfolding. Most people would have fled in search of a phone to call for help. “How did you try to stop him?”
She licked her lips. He tracked the movement as awareness zipped through him, setting his senses on fire. Not good. Not good at all. He had a cardinal rule to never become emotionally involved in a case; doing so impaired one’s judgment.
He jerked his gaze back to Lana’s eyes in time to see a flare of interest in the dark depths, but then the flame was gone so fast he wouldn’t have been able to stand in court and swear he’d seen the look. Must have been a trick of the lighting inside the museum. Or maybe a stray sunbeam from the overhead skylight. But that couldn’t be since it was raining. He gave himself a mental shake to clear his thoughts and refocused on her words.
“I attacked him. I’ve been taking mixed martial arts classes.”
He dropped his chin and stared at her. He wasn’t sure if she was crazy or brave. Or both. That was the problem with self-defense classes in a gym. People tended to think when the time came they’d be prepared to act, but reality never followed the patterns learned in a studio class. Especially when it came to offensive moves. “You could have been killed.”
She made a face. “I reacted before I really considered what I was doing.”
He hadn’t pegged her as impulsive.
“Were you the last one to handle the arrow before the break-in?” David asked.
“Handle?” She canted her head. “Yes, I suppose. I’m the one who placed the artifact in the display case earlier this week before the
