person killed all three girls, he obviously despises women. What if he hates women in authority even more?”
“And what if Leanne Hudson’s death had nothing to do with the previous murders?”
Irritation entered his tone. “I’d still tell you that coming on like Dirty Harriet was a mistake.” He fell silent for several seconds, and she could almost hear the thoughts clicking through his mind. “Are you saying you think this murder could be a copycat?”
“I don’t know. We’re looking at it both ways. And I wasn’t trying to be Dirty Harriet.”
“No?”
“No.” She sank into her chair, transferred the Kennicott and Morgan homicide files to a drawer, then leaned her weary back into soft leather and met Cole’s eyes. Suddenly, she was so exhausted, all she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and sleep for a year. “Cole, I don’t have the energy to fight with you today.”
“I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m merely saying that you don’t have to put yourself out there the way you just did.”
“Look. I don’t think you understand my position. A woman at the helm of an investigation like this has to show strength. The public—especially the parents and families of those dead girls—needs to know that I’m dedicated to finding whoever did this to them. I don’t want them to doubt my commitment for a second.”
She was about to go on when she suddenly looked at him—really looked—and realized that beneath his brusque delivery and despite their rocky past, he did care about her, just a little. It was her undoing.
Margo felt the old knocking in her heart, and an emotional lump rose in her throat. “My heart aches for these people, Cole. That’s why I’m going to use every tool at my disposal and everything I’ve ever learned to do my best for them. But the truth is…” She drew a breath. “The truth is, it should be you sitting in this chair. You were right. John was wrong.”
For a time, the only sounds in the room were the whir of the air conditioner and the sounds of their own memories. Then the phone rang again, jarring them both.
Turning around, Sarah excused herself for interrupting. “Margo, Brett’s on line one. The Hudson girl’s roommate never showed up at their apartment. He wants to know if he should stick around for a while or head back here.”
It took her a moment to reply. “Tell him to wait. I’ll join him there in a few minutes.” She looked up at Cole. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“No problem,” he said, unreadable thoughts clouding his eyes. “You have things to do. Maybe I’ll drop by your place later.”
Stunned, not sure why he’d do that—or if she could even handle another meeting—Margo swallowed and moistened her lips. “You’re not driving back to Pittsburgh?”
“No.” There was no explanation attached to the word, and she didn’t think she could ask for one. Instead, she watched him leave—watched him bump knuckles with Sarah, then step into the late-August sunshine and close the door behind him.
What little energy she had left drizzled away. Why was he thinking about coming by later? What did they have to talk about? They’d said all that needed to be said eleven months ago when she’d broken their engagement. They were over.
Weren’t they?
Pushing away from her desk, she said goodbye to Sarah and headed out the side door, where one of the department’s two black-and-white prowl cars waited. She slipped inside, fastened her seat belt. She couldn’t think about Cole anymore—couldn’t open herself up to what-ifs and maybes. Letting herself think there was hope for them would destroy her this time if it failed to happen. For her own sanity, she needed to concentrate on her job and try to ignore the nervous beating of her heart.
TWO
It was 8:20 p.m., and Margo had been running on coffee and adrenaline for seventeen hours. Pulling into her driveway, she parked the prowl car near the kitchen entry to her white cottage and sank back in her seat. She was in no hurry to get out. As she’d driven home, she’d noticed the soft lights glowing in some of the homes she’d passed, and suddenly, entering her dark, empty house wasn’t very appealing.
She was thirty-two years old. She should’ve been married by now, maybe even had a baby on the way. She loved police work. She did. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t enough. Recently, her mom had begun to guiltily suggest that it was time to let a good man into her life again. Someone like Margo’s dad, who’d died after a massive stroke last year. But the truth was, no man had ever made her as happy, then as miserable, as Cole had. As for her mother… Charlotte McBride was coping better with her husband’s loss now. In fact, she’d left Sunday for North Carolina to spend time with a friend who’d also been widowed. Margo found comfort in that. A year ago, her mom had been a grieving puddle of nerves, frightened of living alone, fearful of money matters, only held together with meds, her faith in God…and her only child.
Two light knocks at her car window nearly catapulted Margo through the roof. She jerked her head to the left—and her spirits fell a little further.
Cole backed up to let her out of the car. “Sorry I startled you.”
“No problem,” she murmured, deciding that God was just as mad at her as she was at Him. There was no other reason she could think of for Cole’s wretched timing. She shut the cruiser’s door and glanced around. His black Silverado was nowhere in sight. “Where did you park?”
He nodded toward the lovely Victorian bed-and-breakfast fifty yards from Margo’s tiny front porch. “I walked. I’m staying at the Blackberry.”
Situated on a slight hill on the opposite side of the street, it was the last building on the block before thick woods and highway asphalt took over. In the near twilight, electric candles burned in the windows of Jenna Harper’s Blackberry Hill B&B, its pink shingles and white gingerbread aglow in the lamppost and landscape lighting.
Margo held back a groan. What was Jenna thinking? It was downright traitorous for a good friend to rent to another good friend’s ex. Especially when it put the couple in uneasy proximity.
“You wish I were staying somewhere else,” he guessed when she failed to reply.
“No, not at all,” she fibbed. “I’m just…surprised.”
“Good. Because I might be here for a few days. It depends.”
Margo felt her nerve endings curl into little knots. “It depends on what?”
“Things,” he answered cryptically, then lifted a plastic grocery bag she’d failed to notice. “Have you had dinner?”
“Yes. I had a bagel a little while ago.”
His rugged features lined. “A bagel isn’t dinner. You never did eat enough to keep a bird alive. Do you have eggs?”
“Cole—why do you need to know that?”
“Because I picked up a few things—ham, cheese, a green pepper. I thought if you hadn’t eaten, I’d make us a couple of omelets, then we could talk about things.”
“That’s
