had already killed two people. Nerves were part of the job description.
“I’m Kate.” She offered her hand in greeting, and he shook it. Eventually. “Would you like to sign the guest registry?”
“No, thanks.”
“Oh, okay.” A roadblock. Not too surprising. Katelyn tried a different angle. “It’s a keepsake for the bride and groom so they’ll know who attended. Maybe I could sign it for you if you’ll give me your name?”
He looked at the book, then her again. “Joe.”
She almost pushed for a last name but decided it could wait. “This’ll sound like a really bad line, but don’t I know you from somewhere?” Katelyn asked, letting her voice purr. “You look familiar.”
He spared her another glance. “No. I think I’d remember you.”
There was a touch of Texas in his voice. An effortless, sliding drawl that matched his attitude.
And his aftershave.
Maybe the accent meant he was local. If so, it fit another piece of her unofficial profile.
Katelyn looked around to make sure they hadn’t garnered anyone’s attention. They hadn’t. The guests were still ambling into the sanctuary, which was exactly where she needed them to amble. She didn’t want an audience, or any bystanders, when she confronted him.
“Say, I’m a little light-headed,” she lied. “I have this blood sugar thing. Nothing serious. Just makes me a little woozy. I wondered if I could just catch on to your arm before I fall flat on my face?”
He studied her. A long, snail-crawling moment. And then, as if preparing for a root canal, he offered her his arm. She took hold of it before he changed his mind, and she got a peek inside his jacket.
He was packing a .357 Magnum in a shoulder holster.
Katelyn had anticipated a weapon, of course. However, reality caused her heart to slam against her chest. She pushed that slamming aside and got to work. It was time to move on to the next step of her plan. She needed to get him away from the guests so she could rid him of that weapon and ask a few questions.
She stumbled, just enough to make him grip her arm. That stumble was a real leap of faith on her part, since she wasn’t overly confident that he would even catch her. Thankfully, there was at least one gentlemanly bone in his body, because he cooperated. After he had a good hold on her, she led him a few steps away into the narrow hallway just off the narthex.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mumbled, leaning against him so he wouldn’t easily be able to reach for his gun. “Not the best time to get one of my dizzy spells. The ceremony’s about to start, and I doubt you want to miss that.”
She shoved him into the small vacant room that she’d already checked out. Katelyn didn’t waste any time, figuring she would rather be embarrassed from a case of mistaken identity than to have a dead bride and groom.
Blocking the doorway so he couldn’t leave, she drew her weapon from her holster, hidden beneath her silky jacket. “Here’s how we’re going to do this,” she instructed. “Keep your hands where I can see them and explain to me why you brought a .357 Magnum to a wedding.”
He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “I carry my gun everywhere. I guess you do the same?”
If he was scared, or even remotely concerned, he certainly wasn’t showing it. Too bad Katelyn couldn’t say the same. Her throat was suddenly dry as dust, and she kept a firm grip on her gun to keep her hand from shaking.
“Yes, but for me, it’s part of the job. I’m Detective Katelyn O’Malley, S.A.P.D., and this is what we call a stop and frisk.”
He paused. Said one word of profanity under his breath. One rather crude four-letter word. He tipped his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.
Or something.
“Know what I think?” he asked.
“Not particularly. But I want you to remove your weapon slowly and carefully from its holster and place it on the floor. Notice those operative words. Slowly. Carefully. Floor. Those are major conditions here, and you’re going to do that while using only two fingers. Make any sudden moves, and I’ll take you down the hard way.”
He looked her straight in the eye. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.” He disarmed himself, just as she’d instructed. Slowly, carefully, and he placed his gun on the floor directly between them.
“Oh, yeah?” Katelyn caught his shoulder and turned him around. She positioned his hands, palms flat, against the wall, and kneed his legs apart. “What exactly were you thinking?” she asked, patting him down.
The man was certainly solid. And built. Her fingers skimmed over lots of hard, sinewy muscles. Odd. She’d never noticed anything like that before when frisking a suspect. Maybe it had something to do with his memorable aftershave.
“I’m thinking you’ll regret doing this,” he let her know.
“I doubt it, especially since it might just save a few people from dying.”
She located his wallet in his jacket pocket. Except when she got a good look at it, she realized it wasn’t a wallet. And that caused her stomach to tighten into a hard knot. It also caused Katelyn to use a little profanity of her own. She flipped open the too-familiar leather case and read the name aloud.
“Joseph Rico.”
“Sergeant Joe Rico,” he clarified. And with that announcement, he turned back around to face her. “Homicide. S.A.P.D.”
Her breath landed somewhere around that knot in her stomach.
Katelyn shook her head. The badge had to be a fake. Except it wasn’t. She scratched it with her thumbnail, or rather tried to. It was as real as the one in her purse. Still, there was something off here. “Impossible. I work Homicide, and I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Because I was just assigned there.” He enunciated each word as if she were mentally deficient. “By the chief of police.”
Judas Priest. That bit of information cleared the buzz in her head. Katelyn wasn’t sure exactly where this was leading, but she knew for a fact that she wouldn’t like its final destination.
Joe Rico calmly picked up his gun from the floor and reholstered it. Somehow, he managed to look cocky even while doing that little chore. No hurried moves. No overt display of emotion.
“Well, Detective Katelyn O’Malley, I’d say we have a problem. A problem with you being here because this isn’t your case. Why am I so certain of that?” He aimed his thumb at his chest. “Because it’s mine.”
Katelyn hadn’t thought this moment could possibly get more frustrating—or embarrassing—but she was obviously wrong.
“Yours?” she demanded.
“Mine.” Sergeant Rico muscled her out of the doorway and turned to leave, delivering the rest of his news from over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the
