may go in, he’s expecting you,” Jane said, her voice low and timid. She adjusted her sweater over her ample chest and turned back to the filing cabinet.
So much for chitchat. Lidia gave one solid knock on the wood door before entering. Porter sat at his desk, his gaze on a report in front of him. His salt and pepper hair caught the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window behind him. He looked up and pinned her to the floor with his intense gray eyes. “Hello, Lieutenant. Have a seat.”
Lidia sat across the scarred pine desk. Porter didn’t waste time with pleasantries but went right to reviewing the details of Domingo’s arrest.
Domingo’s DNA matched the blood found at the crime scene. They had him on tape entering the hotel and exiting through a service door during the time of the murders. And they had an eyewitness. It couldn’t get better than that.
For over two hours, Porter shot off questions and she shot right back with answers.
But no matter how much he pushed Lidia, he wouldn’t find any flaw in the investigation or the arrest of Domingo. They’d done everything by the letter of the law. No way would Domingo walk on a technicality from the homicide division.
From this point on, the burden to convict lay with the D.A.’s office.
Tired and hungry, she finally barked, “Enough.” If she didn’t get out of the musty office she was going to scream.
Porter started, his sharp gray eyes widening slightly. He wasn’t accustomed to her abrupt manner but in time, if they continued to work together, she had no doubt, he’d get used to her.
“All right. Fine. For now.” He closed the file lying in front of him with a snap. “We have a solid case. As long as our witnesses continue to cooperate, we should see Domingo behind bars by summer’s end.”
“They’ll cooperate,” Lidia assured him with confidence. The three witnesses all claimed to have held Jean Luc Versailles in high regard. All three were reluctant to come forward but thankfully were doing the right thing.
“They’re secure?”
Frustration twisted in her gut. “Two are in WITSEC. One refused, but is in hiding. We’ve maintained contact with all three.”
“I’m pushing to have the case moved up on the docket. But you know the system.”
“Yeah, like molasses in a freeze.”
Porter gave her a sidelong glance as he closed and then picked up his briefcase. “Where are you originally from?”
“Michigan.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“You have a way about you that’s different.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “O-kay.”
“I like it,” he said.
His grin disarmed her. He really was handsome. How had she not realized that before? Sharp, cool and calm under pressure. His thick graying hair once had been very dark but the lighter strands were attractive. She liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.
Lidia mentally stepped back and assessed the situation. He was a widower, like herself. They were colleagues, working toward a common goal. She’d seen him at church a few times. All pluses. Before she could talk herself out of it, she asked, “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Love to.” He held the door open for her.
A confused mixture of pleasure and angst stretched through her system. “Great.” Lidia walked out of the office and in the hall, very aware of Porter’s hand at her elbow.
She couldn’t believe it. She had just asked the D.A. out to dinner. She hadn’t been on a date in at least five years and had no intention of starting a relationship beyond the confines of work.
So why was she so looking forward to the evening?
Two days after she’d first stepped onto the campus of Boston College, Anne found herself lugging Professor McClain’s new notebook to his office on the second floor. She hefted the box a little higher so she could knock on the professor’s door. She waited a moment before knocking again. When no reply came, she shifted the box to her hip and tried the door handle. Locked.
“Great,” she muttered and bent to put the box on the floor. Once free of the encumbering box, she shook out her arms and stretched her back. She’d sent the good professor a note telling him she’d be delivering his computer at five o’clock, long after his last class of the day ended.
She checked her watch. Okay, so she was a few minutes early. Still.
She leaned against the smooth green-painted wall to wait. At least the halls were empty and peaceful. So far her job as a BC temp was going well. Boston College lay in the suburb of Newton, eight miles outside of Boston proper. Newton Center had lots of coffee houses and wonderful trinket shops. Plus a commuter train stop that could take her into Boston when she wanted. She really liked the area. Too bad she wouldn’t be staying long.
And she hadn’t come here without doing a little research. The current campus site on Chestnut Hill had been built in the early 1900s and featured examples of English Gothic architecture that Anne found fascinating. She’d spent countless hours wandering the walking paths that meandered through lush lawns and tall maples and evergreens to stare at the buildings.
There was something so…moving about the majestic structures with their cathedral-like shapes made of stone and mortar. Where she’d grown up houses were made of wood or tin. When she’d moved to the city, she’d found only a concrete jungle that both intimidated and awed her.
In this New England setting, she was content with her life. No matter how short her time here would be. She smothered the anger that sprouted. What was done was done, she had to learn to live with it.
A movement at the far end of the long, empty hallway made her push away from the wall. A man stood in the shadows at the top of the stairs. She couldn’t make out his features. He didn’t look tall enough or broad enough to be the professor. She squinted. “Professor McClain?”
“Yes?” a deep voice came from right beside her shoulder.
She jumped with a squeak and whirled around to face the professor. Tall, overbearing—and for some reason comforting. “What…?” Her gaze swung back to the shadows. No one was there. “Did you see that guy?”
“Who?” His gazed moved past her toward the stairwell.
Foreboding chased down her spine. She hadn’t imagined the man in the shadows, she was sure of it. She tightened her hold on her purse, feeling the outline of her cell phone. Her lifeline. “No one, I guess.”
Behind his glasses, Patrick’s dark blue eyes regarded her with puzzlement. “Are you okay?”
She liked his eyes, liked how a darker shade of brown rimmed the irises, like layers of rich chocolate cake. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Do you always sneak up on people?”
One
