just routine procedure, ma’am.”
She nodded in understanding, and solemnly waited for the next question.
Fitz glanced at his notes. “You came in through the back door?”
“Yes. It was open.”
“Was it unlocked, or was it open?”
“Unlocked.” Lifting her chin, she massaged the back of her neck slowly. Even without the black tweed jacket that was folded on the banquette next to her, the room was suffocatingly warm. There was blood on the coat, just as there was on one sleeve of her blouse. Unable to face the sight of it, she’d concealed both—that on the jacket by removing the garment and carefully folding it in half, and that on the blouse by turning back the cuffs. But it was still there. Just as the bloody images of Dan were there when she closed her eyes. Just as the smell of blood and death seemed to cling inside her nostrils.
“Was it normal for the door to be left unlocked?”
Shaking her head, she hunched forward, her fingers tightening around the mug on the table in front of her. She didn’t want the coffee, but couldn’t seem to let go of it, either—just as she couldn’t seem to let go of what was happening inside her head.
If she had arrived earlier, would Dan still be alive? Could she have talked him out of it? Or would he only have killed her, too? Was that his intention when he’d called? Had the anniversary gift been a bullet and not signed legal papers?
The thought that Dan had hated her enough to want her dead left her fighting to breathe. How could two people who had once loved each other end up as they had? How did that happen?
“Mrs. Dawson?”
She looked up, realizing Fitz must have asked her another question. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Did you see anyone when you arrived?”
“No.” She pushed the coffee to one side. Obviously, she’d imagined the shadow inside the front door, just as she’d briefly imagined she wasn’t alone in the house. Of course, as soon as she opened the bathroom door and there had been no one waiting for her on the other side, she’d realized her mistake.
Just then the door into the dining room swung open. Her chest instantly tight with renewed apprehension, Lexie looked up, praying that it wouldn’t be Jack Blade.
She relaxed as soon as she realized that it was one of the officers who had been in and out of the kitchen several times in the past few hours.
“Medical examiner’s here for the body,” the officer announced.
Detective Fitz flipped his notebook shut and stood.
She looked up at him. “Can I go now?”
“You’re free to go at any time, though it would be helpful if you could stick around a bit longer.” The detective shrugged. “At least until we finish processing the crime scene.”
Lexie nodded with resignation. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to sleep even if she did go home. Better to stay here. To help as much as she could.
As soon as the detective left the room, she closed her eyes and leaned back, resting her head against the wall behind her. Her backside ached from the hard seating and her head hurt. There would be aspirin in the cabinet next to the sink, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to get them.
She still couldn’t get her mind around it. Dan was dead. He’d put a gun to his head. It just didn’t mesh. He was a doctor. If he’d wanted to take his own life, why not end it with pills?
Lexie let go of that line of thought because it wasn’t helping anyone. Certainly not Dan, who was beyond help, or herself.
For a period of time, in a numb trance, she listened to the clomp of feet just beyond the door and those overhead on the second floor. The not-so-quiet opening of doors and drawers as not only Dan’s death was probed, but his life, as well.
She recalled how when they were first married, she’d awaken early on Sunday mornings sometimes. She’d be sitting in the very place she was now, sipping coffee and reading the paper, when Dan, having slept in after a late night at the hospital, would come stumbling downstairs. They’d talk about the baby he’d delivered and about the three or four they wanted. He’d reach across the table, his fingers capturing hers, and he’d tell her that he wanted to make a baby with her, not sometime in the future, but right then. Had that all been an act?
What she wouldn’t give to go back to one of those uncomplicated mornings right now. To feel about Dan the way she had before everything went so wrong between them.
Reaching for her phone, needing to hear a familiar voice, she tried Fleming’s number again. Dan and Fleming were— had been—partners. As it had the last time she’d called, which had been just after she’d dialed 9-1-1, Fleming’s voice mail picked up. She hadn’t left a message before, but did this time. “Fleming, I really need to talk to you. I’m at Dan’s. Something awful has hap—” Voice mail cut off the rest.
And when it did, she realized just how alone she felt sitting there in the kitchen. The house was full of people, but she felt isolated, as if she’d been shut out, shut away.
Lexie scooted to the end of the bench and climbed to her feet. How pathetic was that—feeling sorry for herself? She had a dozen friends she could call. Who would do whatever she asked of them. But she was stronger than that.
She located the aspirin and poured water into a glass. As she took the pills, she thought about what morning would bring. Funeral arrangements needed to be made. And someone should call Dan’s parents. It would be easier on them if the news came from someone they knew and not from the police. Not from her, though.
Up until she filed for divorce, she’d always gotten along well with her in-laws. Better than she had with her mother and stepfather. And because she had, she felt the loss of them in her life more than she did the loss of her own parents, who, when the divorce was announced, had cut off all contact with her, but not with Dan.
Something banged in Dan’s office, a loud sound followed by tense voices. What was going on in there now? Had Dan’s body been carried out? In her mind, she envisioned him being placed in a body bag. She could almost hear the hiss of the zipper closing over his face.
Lexie turned around and stared at the door leading into the dining room. A sense of claustrophobia closed in on her. She couldn’t stay any longer. She had to get out of here. Go anywhere. She crossed to the bench where she’d left her purse and jacket.
Straightening, she came face-to-face with Jack Blade.
A solid jolt of panic shot through her. The last time they’d been this close he’d been smiling down at her, the look in his pale blue eyes… She derailed all thoughts about what she’d seen in his eyes that night.
She had been praying he wouldn’t show up. It was hard enough keeping herself together in the presence of strangers, of people who didn’t know her, who hadn’t seen her without the protective armor of clothing. Hadn’t held her during the most vulnerable moments experienced by a woman.
The warm rush of heat hit her cheeks at the same time that cold dread settled at her core.
“Hello,
