Invisible bands tightened around Seth’s chest.
“I didn’t
let
her in. She jumped. I tried to stop her. What did you want me to do? Shoot her?” Gareth fisted his hands at his sides.
Jules stirred to consciousness in Seth’s lap. He glanced down. She blinked a few times before lifting a hand to shield her eyes.
“I’ve got you,
precious.
” He covered her hand with his. “You’re safe now, Jules.”
“Did you get the license plate?” She choked out the strange question, rubbing her throat with her free hand as if it pained her.
“What?”
“Huh?” Her emerald eyes were wide and dilated as she stared up at him. She appeared unaware that she’d just spoken.
“Jules?”
“Y-yes?” She blinked as if coming out of a trance.
She started to sit up, then her face paled and she swayed. With a hand on her shoulder, Seth urged her to lie back down. “Just rest a moment.”
“Detective English, you need to take a look at this,” Jones called from his position inside the bin.
“What?” Seth glanced up to see Jones staring. A mixture of concern and annoyance darkened his features.
“You’d better come see.” Jones hiked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Gareth, get over here and keep an eye on her.” Seth slid Jules off his lap, laying her gently on the ground. Pointing a finger between the idiot officer and Jules, Seth added, “And don’t shoot her.”
A tic worked in Gareth’s cheek, but he nodded.
Seth crossed to the Dumpster. The stench had intensified now that the lid lay on McGivern’s back doorstep. Clutching the side of the Dumpster, he peered inside.
Jones squatted down. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he flicked away a broken foam plate. A vinyl skirt encasing the body of a woman, mostly buried beneath the garbage, came into view.
Hairs rose on Seth’s arms.
Jones stood to his full height, which only made him appear slightly shorter than a giant since he stood on a mountain of rotting food, and glared at Gareth. “Did you allow anyone else in here?”
“Of course not!” Gareth answered through clenched teeth, his hands fisted at his sides. “I
didn’t
let
her in! Besides, this isn’t even part of the crime scene.” He pointed to the yellow taped area. “That’s where I was told the crime scene was. What the hell is going on?”
“Never mind,” Seth interrupted, waving the young officer into silence. Turning back to Jones, he asked, “Is she fresh?”
“She’s cold,” Jones answered at the same time Gareth asked, “Is
who
fresh?”
Gareth abandoned his post near Jules and peered into the Dumpster. His eyes widened. “Oh. Shit.”
Indeed.
“Get back to your post.” Seth dismissed the soon-to-be meter maid. He focused on activity within the bin. “We can still limit the damage to the crime scene. Provided no one else contaminates it. Jones, radio Harmon and get him to bring more tape. Tell ’im to call in the ME.”
Jones nodded, made a quick radio call, then dropped to his haunches. He poked at the area surrounding the body, clearing away some of the debris. “Looks like she’s been in here awhile. Rigor’s already set in. Need the ME to know for sure how long.”
Behind them, Gareth yelled, “Wait!”
• • •
T
HE WORLD SPUN
around her as Jules’s vision ended. Man, she hated that feeling. What was with the ghost sending her the awful memories of the murder,
again
?
It had been identical to the vision she’d had last night. The trunk of the Buick—although, come to think of it, she had no idea how she knew it was a Buick—was the same, just like every other second of the dream.
Didn’t the specter have someone else to haunt? Like the murderer? Why couldn’t she go stalk him?
And why couldn’t the visions come without the intense physical need to . . . A spasm of warning ripped through her rebellious stomach and sweat beaded on her face.
“Arrggh.” She bolted upright.
“Wait!” Officer Chaz Gareth reached for his gun.
Gasping in surprise, she pushed to her knees and nearly stumbled again. She clutched her belly. “Excuse me.”
The patrolman grabbed her arm, none too gently.
“Lady, you need to wait right here. You’re a—” He cut himself off.
He must have seen the look on her face because he practically shoved her away and sidestepped to clear her path.
Jules raced back to the florist shop. With one hand over her mouth, she tried to stave off the inevitable. As long as no one else slowed her down, she’d make it to the bathroom without mortifying herself by yakking all over the loading dock.
Behind her, shoes slapped the pavement in rapid staccato taps. Someone was chasing her. Assuming it was the young patrolman, she kept going.
“Hey,” a familiar voice called out. “Stop running! Juliana . . . Jules, we need to talk.”
Seth the Cop’s voice penetrated her brain at the same time the normally delicious aroma of sandalwood battered her senses.
Dang and darn!
The scent intensified her need to hurl. Bile rose in her throat. Another spasm wrenched her stomach.
She flung open the back door. The door buzzing swept relief through her system because she was going to make it.
Then he caught her by the shoulders, pulling her to a shuddering halt.
She spun, pushing at the cop’s chest. His beautiful coffee-colored eyes were dark with concern and agitation. She shook her head and gulped uselessly.
Oh, no! Please, God, spare me just a little dignity.
“I’m gonna be—” was all she managed to say. She tried to turn away, but he caught her by both arms this time. She flung her hands against his chest to keep some distance between them, hoping it would be enough.
It wasn’t.
To her utter mortification, she puked all over his tan slacks and black loafers.
• • •
T
HE APPLAUSE STARTED
the moment Seth walked through the front door of the brick police station on Seventeenth Street. Catcalls and whistles were accompanied by a dozen officers holding their noses and pretending to gag.
Dealing with the dregs of society all day, cops enjoyed nothing better than a chance to blow off steam, especially when it came in the form of ribbing a brother in blue.
For that reason, and the fact that Captain Peterson had called him into the station, Seth accepted the ribbing with as much good humor as he could.
“Losers.” Seth made sure to add an over-the-top growl to his voice. “Go bust a felon or something.”
As he expected, they laughed at him and went back to work.
He made his way through the lemon-scented main office. The desks sat two by two facing each other with flatscreen computer monitors on top, back to back. Twenty desks sandwiched into the square office space that consisted of five rooms. The main office, a small room for interrogation, Captain Peterson’s office, and the locker room were connected by doors on one wall. At the opposite side of the main room lay the entrance to the holding cell. Every wall of the station was covered in vintage eighties-style wood paneling. Framed pictures of the response workers raising the flag at Ground Zero, the president, and sailboats hung in frames around the main room.
“Great job getting that witness to spill her guts,” Detective O’Dell called out.
He clapped a hand on the shoulder of Detective Reynolds, who stood with his arm propped on top of the water cooler.
“Good thing it’s now a homicide investigation or he might have made her
spew
her story again and again,” Reynolds added, then playfully elbowed O’Dell in the ribs.
Both men wore smug grins. Both had been Seth’s partner at some point in the past five years. And both were now partners in the homicide division.
“You’re here?”
Seth turned his back on the idiot brothers from different mothers and found Jones holding an open folder and frowning at it. “I am.”
“I thought you were going home to shower.”
Seth glanced down at his obviously clean suit and back at the younger detective. But Jones wasn’t looking at him. He appeared engrossed in a file. “Whatcha got there?”
“My notes from the crime scene.”
“We’ll take that.” Reynolds reached to pluck it out of Jones’s hands, but the kid was too fast. He closed the file and held it against his chest. His expression all but dared Reynolds to reach for it again.
“We need to talk.” Jones turned to Seth and said in hushed tones, “First, I learned the part of Atlantic in front of the parking lot was closed for street cleaning between four and seven this morning. I found a flyer and contacted the department of sanitation. They confirm no cars could have gone in or out of the lot during that time.”
“Good,” Seth said. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Jones frowned and lowered his voice even more. “The body in the Dumpster was our tramp-stamped robber.”
“Crap.” Seth didn’t know why he was surprised. “So instead of robbing McGivern’s, they used it as a dump site.”
“Seems so.” Jones frowned then added, “But why trash the place and not take anything?”
“Well, if the vic was part of the gang, perhaps they had a difference of opinion? Maybe they trashed the place to stage the robbery, hoping we’d focus on that and not search for the body in the Dumpster.”
“Maybe, but they haven’t been above taking cheap stuff before. I’ll have the owners carefully review their inventory to be sure nothing is actually missing. I just can’t see the burglars casing the place just to dump a body and take nothing, ya know?”
“Agreed!” Reynolds chimed in. He gestured to O’Dell. “And while you two are searching for jewels that may or may not be missing, O’Dell and I will solve the murder that actually happened.”
Jones pressed his lips together, then turned his back on Reynolds.
Seth ground his back teeth but didn’t say anything, too focused on what this twist could mean to his chances of being allowed to finish this case.
No doubt the case would be turned over to homicide and his chances of promotion would evaporate. Unless he and Jones could convince the captain to let them remain the lead detectives.
Peterson stuck his head out of his office. “Jones, English, Reynolds, O’Dell . . . get in here.”
He disappeared back inside without waiting for a reply.
Seth shared a wary glance with Jones, then led the way past the empty secretary’s desk and into the captain’s office. Two faded blue leather chairs sat opposite of Peterson’s desk. Reynolds and O’Dell all but raced to claim them, smirking at each other as they settled into the seats.
Seth perched on a corner of the credenza while Jones closed the door then stood at parade rest on the opposite side of Reynolds and O’Dell.
“What happened this morning?” Peterson dispensed with pleasantries.
Since he’d been the lead detective on the scene, Seth recounted what happened after he’d arrived at McGivern’s Jewelers. When he explained about Jules vomiting on him, O’Dell and Reynolds snickered.
“What did you do with her?” Peterson asked, as if not hearing them.
“She was covered in muck from the garbage and clearly physically incapable of being interviewed. I let her go home.”
“You did what?”
“She’s my neighbor. I know where to find her.” Going against procedure didn’t endear him to the captain, so he spoke fast to avoid the full brunt of his superior’s wrath. “I have someone assigned to watch her until I can get back there.”
“Are you getting soft? So what if she’s sick? Interview her.” Captain Peterson frowned. “I’d expect you of all people to take this seriously. What if she’s our killer?”
“She’s not our killer, sir.”
“How can you be sure?” Peterson shook his head. “According to the preliminary ME report, the victim died sometime between three and seven this morning. And according to what your partner learned, the street was closed off for cleaning from four until seven. So unless you were with her between three and four a.m.—”
“I was,” Seth answered quickly, then frowned at what it must have sounded like.
“Come again, Detective?”
“I was with her from eight minutes after three until approximately three forty-five this morning. There’s no way she could have killed the victim and dumped her body in the eight minutes before or the fifteen minutes after I was with her.”
“Wow, he’s quick,” Reynolds said.
“Talk about wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,” O’Dell added.
“If you two are done,” Captain Peterson snapped, but his lips were pressed together as if he were stifling a grin. Turning back to Seth, he asked, “How could you possibly be sure of the time?”
“That’s when she was in my apartment.”
“No wonder she puked on him this morning,” Reynolds said with a laugh.
“She was hung over,” O’Dell added with a smirk. “Late night at the bar?”
“She woke me up, assholes. There was no alcohol involved.”
I think.
Seth glared at his former partners, then glanced to his captain. “The witness was in my apartment last night, then I escorted her home at three forty-five.”
“And you’re certain she was in her home?” Peterson asked with a frown.
“I am.” Seth paused, expecting more questions, but when none came he added, “At most, sir, she’s a material witness after the fact.”
“There’s no way she could have known the victim was in the Dumpster?” Peterson ran a hand over his glistening bald head.
“No, sir,” Jones interjected. “I’d say she had no idea there was a dead body in there when she jumped in. Otherwise, she gave an Oscar-worthy performance in that container. I think my partner is right, she couldn’t be involved in the case.”
Captain Peterson’s eyebrows lifted at the vehemence in Jones’s words.
So did Seth’s. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Jones had a soft spot for the woman.
Pushing on, Seth added, “I’ll interview her when she’s—”
“Able to stomach the sight of you,” Reynolds interjected.
“Feeling better,” Seth finished, ignoring the comment. “Captain, I’ve known her family a long time. I have a rapport with them. I’ll get her story in the morning.”