“We’ll finish tomorrow. Nothing is going to get solved tonight. I’ll talk to the other residents in the morning. Tyler will get the analysis done. There’s a good chance our killer left more than fingerprints on that bottle. We can get elimination prints from everyone here, if they’ll cooperate—”
“My fingerprints will be on that bottle.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Lily.”
Silently, he stood up, pulling her up with him, then he put his hand on her elbow as she climbed the stairs. They were almost at the door when a memory sparked in her brain—just a flash, but it might be important. Maggie turned abruptly at the door, to speak to Tyler.
The pain slapped into her face almost at the same time she recognized the sound of the gunshot in the distance. There was a moment when she wondered where the pain was coming from, almost as if it were not a part of her. Then everything shifted into a slow blur. She felt remote, pulled out of her body, and she heard herself screaming. She was falling, then not, then there was the solid wood of the deck beneath her. At once, the pain hit in full force, a thousand shards of glass against her skin. Then Maggie’s vision faded, and with the darkness, relief. She closed her eyes, embracing it.
FOUR
Work was his passion, and Judson pursued it with a relentless sense of perfection. His personal standards were tougher than the department’s, and he went through a number of partners before finding one suitable. “My partners,” he once told his captain, “keep forgetting that it is the work that you are involved with, not the crime victims.”
He watched her breathe, his eyes tracing over every contour of muscle and bone, every bit of pale flesh. Every bruise. Every bandaged wound.
It was his mistake, and she had almost paid the price for it. If she had not turned so abruptly—
The bullet had grazed her scalp and blown apart the wooden door frame, embedding a half-dozen shards of wood in the side of her face, near her hairline. Sometimes Fletcher thought he could still hear her screams. Maggie had fallen against him, then to the deck, as Tyler had bounded into the woods after the shooter. The screams had brought out Lily, who surprised Fletcher by taking charge of her sister and yelling at him to go, go!
But he and Tyler had not found so much as a shell casing in the dark, and Fletcher had returned to the lodge, his anger barely under control, to find that Lily had called 911, pulled the first-aid kit out of the kitchen and removed most of the wooden slivers. She had stopped the bleeding with pressure bandages, directed the arriving officers into the woods and helped the ambulance attendants load Maggie. Maggie had only remained unconscious a few moments, and it had been Lily who had calmed her, trying to ease the panic with a soothing voice. As they had watched the ambulance leave, Lily had spoken evenly. “Who’s going to take me to the hospital?”
Fletcher never took his eyes off the flashing lights. “You’re not drunk at all, are you?”
“I am…” Lily had said, with an exaggerated pause for effect “an actress.”
Fletcher had nodded. “One of the officers will take you. I have to stay here.”
“She’ll be disappointed.”
Fletcher had looked down at her, frowning. “What?”
She had smiled. “Never mind. I’ll snag an officer. You’d better stick to Tyler. He looks a little out of his element.”
Fletcher had watched as Lily sauntered off. A smile, a flirt and a coy squeeze on the arm later, and she and an officer were headed for the hospital in Portsmouth. Maggie had been treated and kept overnight for observation. She was released this morning, sent home doped up on the appropriate painkillers.
Now, he watched her breathe.
“Not my usual type, is she?” Aaron asked him, as Maggie had headed for the ladies’ room.
Fletcher had noticed. He was so used to seeing far too many perfect, rich, trophy-wife candidates on Aaron’s arm that Maggie’s difference shone—her soft but out-of-control curls, her light use of make-up. He tilted his head as he watched her walk away. There was a slight awkwardness to her gait, a faint limp that Aaron had explained was left over from a childhood accident, but the sway of her hips still made men turn and look. Nice legs.
He looked back at Aaron. “She’s not your typical airheaded beauty queen, no.”
“But she’s smart. And sasses me back like no one ever has. She’s got spunk.”
Fletcher took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Aaron laughed, his voice muffled by his raised glass. “I like it when you two fight. I like the way she tries to defend me.”
“You would. Don’t you ever fight with her?”
“Only about one thing, my dear Fletcher, and eventually, I promise you, I will win.”
Fletcher looked at Maggie, who had taken a quick sidestep to avoid a waiter loaded down with dishes. She had to be the most determined women he’d ever met. “You may have met your match this time.”
“Never, me boyo. No woman bests Aaron Jackson.”
“You know, Aaron, your humility is one of the things I like best about you.”
Aaron had scowled. “Humility is a much overrated virtue, usually touted by those who have nothing to be humble about.”
Fletcher studied his friend’s face. “Why are you so intent on this?”
Aaron was quiet for a few moments, then said evenly, “Because if I lose this one, I lose the girl.”
And he had. Aaron and Maggie had called it quits a few months later, and Aaron had gone on to a series of lovelies, all of whom bored him within a few weeks. Korie had latched on, and Aaron had married her quickly, as he had told Fletcher shortly after the wedding, “out of attrition.” Were you still in love with him, Maggie?
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