him again? She was already carrying one secret that would change his life forever. Now she had a second. Within days, he and his family would know that Rick Campbell, who’d served twenty years for the murder of Joseph and Marie Kendall, was irrefutably innocent. The real murderer was walking around free.
Chapter Two
Late that afternoon, Rachel stood in the living room of Ash’s two-bedroom house for the first time in two months, trying not to cry. She was still devastated about the DNA analysis, and hyperemotional anyway, because of her pregnancy. Then, just as she’d been about to leave for the day, Ash had stopped by her desk and told her—no, ordered her—to pick up the last of her things from his house, and leave the key he’d given her.
So here she was, where some of the best times of her life had taken place. Ash was the sexiest, funniest, sweetest and most charming man she’d ever known. The passion between them had flared like a supernova and had never dimmed. At least hers hadn’t.
Her friends at work had warned her about him. Behind his back they called him Ashanova and joked that his motto was love ’em and leave ‘em—happy.
She’d of course thought she was different. And she was—at least in one way. As far as she knew, none of the other women he’d dated had ended up pregnant.
Her hand drifted to her tummy and she smiled through the tears that streamed down her cheeks. This little baby was an accident, although Rachel would never tell him or her. Sadly, on her part, this baby had been conceived in love. Too bad the father had just been having fun.
She brushed away the tears from her cheeks and surveyed Ash’s normally neat house. It was a mess. Half a pizza sat congealing on the coffee table, along with a couple of empty beer cans. She glanced into his bedroom. The covers were piled on the floor and two empty glasses sat on the nightstand. A pile of dirty clothes lay in the doorway to the bathroom.
He hadn’t slept a wink the night before. If she hadn’t already confirmed it by the circles under his eyes, she knew it now. Looking at his rumpled bed, she could picture him tossing and turning as he tried to shut out visions of his slaughtered parents.
And she couldn’t even blame him for his anger. His whole life—and the lives of his family—had just been toppled like Humpty Dumpty. He’d gone through the horror of losing his parents twenty years ago. Now, he had to face a new horror, an even more devastating one. Whoever had killed his parents was still out there—free.
But even if she’d known whose DNA she was comparing, it wouldn’t have made a difference. She had an obligation to the victims, to the department, and yes, even to the suspects, to not only uncover the truth, but to keep the information confidential.
She debated for a second whether to make his bed and straighten up, then immediately thought better of it. He’d probably think she was trying to get back in his good graces. Her best bet was to pick up her things and get out before he got home.
Her things. What had she left here anyway? She hadn’t moved in with him, so anything she’d left had been accidental. Sort of.
She shook her head in frustration as she looked in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and found a soft-bristle toothbrush and a hair clip. In the nightstand she discovered her favorite watch, and on his dresser was a gold hoop earring she’d been sure she’d lost.
Had she subconsciously left these things here in hopes of reminding him of their passionate nights and the weekends they’d spent making love, sleeping, eating, watching a ball game or a movie and then making love some more? She couldn’t really deny it.
She stowed the few belongings in her purse and headed toward the front door. As soon as she crossed the threshold into the living room, the smell of the leftover pizza sent nausea crawling up her throat again. Holding her breath, she hurried into the kitchen and ran a glass of cold water from the refrigerator door dispenser and leaned against the counter, sipping it.
The cold liquid cooled her throat and lessened the nausea a little bit. But when she straightened, stars danced in front of her eyes and her head felt woozy. She knew the signs. Ever since she was little, those stars had preceded light-headedness and, if she didn’t sit or lie down immediately, fainting. She hoped she wasn’t going to see stars her entire pregnancy.
She took the water over to the kitchen table and sat down. She rolled the cold plastic against her forehead, hoping to clear her head and stop the dizziness. But the stars got brighter. So she rested her forehead on her folded arms—just for a minute, until the queasiness dissipated. Then she had to get out of here.
It wouldn’t be a good idea to be here when Ash got home.
ASH HAD JUST COME OUT of the grocery store when his phone rang.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said.
“Thaddeus, little brother. Thank God. I figured I wouldn’t hear from you for a week—or a month.”
“Well, the words family emergency sort of cut through the usual red tape. What’s going on? Is everyone all right?”
“Red tape? Are you embedded with the troops somewhere?” Thad was a photojournalist with a renowned news magazine, not a special agent. How much red tape could there be?
There was a brief pause, then Thad spoke. “Figure of speech,” he said. “So what’s the emergency? Is everybody okay?”
“Everybody’s okay, but I’ve got some bad news.”
“What?” Thad’s voice sharpened.
“The new D.A. here accepted the Campbell family’s petition to have Campbell’s DNA run against the blood and tissue they found under Mom’s fingernails.”
“The DNA?” Thad repeated. After a short pause he asked, “Well, it’s Campbell’s, right? I mean, it has to be.”
“I haven’t seen the results. I’m not even supposed to know about it.”
“Your girlfriend, the criminalist, tell you?” Thad knew about Rachel. Whenever he and Ash talked, he always asked who the new flame was and, feeling sorry for his brother, so far away from home and stuck taking pictures of death and devastation in one war-torn country or another, Ash always told him. But they hadn’t talked since he’d broken up with her.
“Ex-girlfriend, and she’s the one who ran the analysis,” Ash said bitterly as he tossed the grocery bags in the backseat of his car and got in the driver’s seat.
“Damn. That stings. Still, she’s the criminalist, right? So it’s her job. Have you told everybody? Or are you waiting for the results?”
Not for the first time, Ash questioned his judgment in letting his aunt and uncle, his brothers and his baby sister know about the petition. Should he have waited for the results to come back? “I told ‘em. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“How’d they take it? How’s Natalie?”
“Terrified. What would you expect?”
“Did the news trigger anything? Did she remember something?”
“No, I’m pretty sure it didn’t. She doesn’t seem to remember finding Mom and Dad at all. All
