telling me this?” The ambulance siren was right outside the door. The emergency lights flashed against the walls of the living room.
“You were juror number four,” he said. “The first three people on that jury list are dead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Someone is killing off the jurors who convicted Robby Lee. You’re the next name on that list.”
As his words sank into her consciousness, the fight seemed to drain from her body. Her blue eyes widened. “You’re talking about a serial killer.”
“Yes.”
“And he’s coming after me?”
“I’m sorry, Brooke.” He loosened his grip on her arms, putting his right hand on her shoulder.
She wrenched free. “Why do you care? This is my life. I’ll take care of myself.”
As she turned on her heel and marched toward the stairs, he gave her points for spirit and guts. But she was way out of her league.
It was up to him to make sure she stayed alive.
BROOKE HUDDLED in the backseat of Deputy George McGraw’s spotless SUV. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around a mug of herbal tea that had gone cold as she stared at her house. So much for a safe haven. As Michael had so calmly pointed out, her A-frame was a crime scene.
She rubbed at her bare wrist, wishing that she’d worn her watch when she left the house this morning. The gold Cartier with the cream-colored face had been taken away with Sally’s body in an ominously silent ambulance. Brooke had no idea how much time had passed since the police arrived. It seemed like only minutes, but it must have been longer—much longer. So much had happened. Deputy McGraw had taken her statement. Official vehicles had arrived and departed. Right now, there were several officers tromping up and down the steep hills and forest surrounding her house, waving flashlights and snapping photographs.
Her jaw clenched as she watched. She wanted them all to leave. Her preferred method for coping with stress was to hide away by herself and find something to keep her hands busy. Her fingers itched to do something useful. Busywork. Instead of sitting here, mired in worry, she wanted to start cleaning. She’d scrub every surface in the house, wash her roommate’s dirty dishes, pack up her belongings and send them to…where? She drew a blank, unable to recall if Sally had ever mentioned where she came from, or her parents’ address, or even if she had brothers and sisters.
Sadness welled up inside her. Her roommate had lived in the moment with the volume cranked up high. For Sally, every word was a song. Every step, a dance. She partied all night and still had enough energy to go hiking at dawn. But that was all Brooke really knew about her.
As Brooke stared toward the house, her vision blurred with rising tears. She should have paid more attention to Sally, should have appreciated her exuberant appetite for life instead of complaining about the noise.
Outside the back door that led to her kitchen, she saw Deputy McGraw conferring with Michael, who had been readily accepted by the local officers as soon as he showed his badge. He glanced toward her with his cool jade eyes, his thumb hitched in the pocket of his jeans next to the holster on his belt.
She was still angry about their confrontation outside her bedroom. He’d knocked the knife from her hands, grabbed her arms without permission; she’d be well within her rights to charge him with assault.
But she hadn’t been harmed. And he’d touched her with strength, not cruelty. Instinctively, she knew he didn’t want to hurt her. He was there to help. When he’d forced her to listen to him, she saw the worry in his expression—a deep and abiding concern for her safety. For an instant, she’d wanted to accept his protection and take shelter in his arms.
Then sanity had returned. She didn’t know anything about this guy and didn’t want to believe his story about someone killing jurors from that trial three years ago. It didn’t make sense. If there really was such a serial killer, the FBI would investigate, wouldn’t they?
She’d be nuts to trust this good-looking cop from Alabama. The fact that Michael had come all the way across the country to warn her was decidedly strange. Why hadn’t he just picked up the phone and called? Now that he’d delivered the information, what did he intend to do?
The car door opened, and Deputy McGraw climbed inside. A huge, barrel-chested man with a walrus mustache, he took up a lot of space as he settled on the backseat beside her and closed the door.
“How are you holding up, Brooke?”
“I have some questions.” She forced herself to stay calm, kept all the turmoil hidden inside.
“Maybe I can give you some answers,” McGraw rumbled in a deep, gravelly voice. “Go ahead and ask.”
“When I first saw Sally, I thought she might be…” She pushed the thought away before a clear memory could take shape. “Was there anything I could have done?”
“According to the coroner, her neck snapped and she died immediately. You couldn’t have saved her.”
Not unless I’d been here. Not unless I’d been more understanding, more protective. “Was it suicide?”
“Did she seem depressed? Nervous?”
She shook her head. “Did you know Sally?”
“Gave her a speeding ticket once. She was a real live wire. Maybe a little bit of a party girl.” Though he growled, like rocks in a tumbler, there was no animosity in his tone. “Did Sally Klinger have a lot of boyfriends?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Anybody special?”
She concentrated, remembering a parade of tanned, outdoorsy young men. “There was one. Streaky blond hair. A tattoo of a lightning bolt on his wrist. Tyler?”
“Tyler Hennessey? The X Games snowboarder?”
“That sounds right. Sally was teaching snowboarding at the ski school.” She’d suggested that Brooke try snowboarding in addition to her beginner skiing lessons. Joking, Sally had promised to show her the “ups and downs” of snowboarding. “Why would she kill herself? She seemed to love her life here.”
“You knew her better than I did.”
“We didn’t really get along, to be honest,” Brooke said.
There was no point in sugarcoating their relationship. Just this afternoon, she’d been complaining about her roommate to Hannah Lewis, the owner of the boutique where she worked. Guiltily, Brooke remembered saying that she could just kill Sally.
The deputy cleared his throat. “Did your roommate ever mention her husband?”
Brooke gasped. “Sally was married?”
“I’m guessing they’re separated. His residence is Denver, but we haven’t been able to reach him.”
The fact that Sally had a husband made it seem possible that she’d been murdered as part of a love triangle. A jealous husband might want revenge on his wayward wife.
