Part 9 (1/2)

”There must have been something,” she pressed. ”What happened?”

”I don't know,” he said again. ”I swear. I thought we were fine and then she blew me off again. It's like there are two of her-one hot, one cold. It's not the first time. She does this from time to time-kind of freaks out and distances herself. But it got to me this time. I was furious.”

Jamie noticed how he spoke of Devlin in the present tense. Like she wasn't dead. ”And you hadn't talked since you were in her office?”

”No.”

She shook her head. It didn't make any sense. ”So after the banquet you went back?”

”I went out for drinks with Marshall and Ramirez then Ramirez dropped me off. I saw her car in the lot, so I went up to her office.”

”And?”

”I called her name, but she didn't answer. I walked in. The office was dark and I saw her on the floor. I leaned down to check her and someone hit me.”

”Did you see the attacker?”

He shook his head.

”Did you hear anything?”

He glanced up. ”Yeah. He said something.”

”What did he say?”

”He said, 'Stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'” Tim's eyes widened. ”I think he stuttered it, actually.”

”Stuttered?”

Tim nodded.

”Did you tell all this to the police?”

”Yeah,” he said, deflated. ”I told them.”

Jamie tried piecing it together. It was enough to charge him. The blow to the head was hard to explain. He couldn't really have given it to himself, but maybe they thought it had happened in a struggle with her. ”Do they have anything else?”

”They talked to her neighbor about the fight.”

”And that's all?”

He didn't respond.

”Tim.”

”I wrote her a note. I gave it to her when I was leaving her office that day-before the banquet.”

The guard appeared behind Tim. He pointed to his watch.

Jamie put a finger up. ”One minute.” She looked back at Tim. ”What kind of note?”

He didn't answer.

The guard stepped forward, took Tim's arm. Tim tried to pull free.

Jamie stood up and rapped on the window to get Tim's attention. ”What did the note say?”

The guard yanked Tim to his feet. The phone clattered against the gla.s.s.

Jamie banged against the thick plastic window. ”Answer me,” she shouted.

Tim shook his head, kept silent.

”Christ, what did the note say?” she yelled.

He met her gaze. His words were barely a whisper. They struck her ears like thunder.

”That I couldn't live without her.”

Chapter 12.

Hailey Wyatt parked the department's brown Taurus in a spot at the far end of Was.h.i.+ngton Square just below Russian Hill. The residential neighborhood was quiet at lunch time. Anywhere else, she would have flipped down the police lights on her sun visor and parked in the red. Not here. When she was here, she didn't want to call attention to her car. Or herself. They always arrived separately. She always left first. Her rules, not his. There was too much at stake professionally and privately to get caught.

She sat in the car, stared across toward Buck's building, wondering the same thing she always did when looking at this view. Why was she here? There was plenty to keep her occupied with Natasha's murder. CSU and the lab were scrambling to solidify the evidence against Tim Worley. She and her team were interviewing everyone to identify any witnesses. Though they were trying to narrow the window, the time of death was currently estimated between eleven and two. Even at that hour, Hailey had to believe someone saw something. It was always that way. There was always a case that required her attention, more to do to finish off the workload, tie up one murder as another landed on her desk. This one was worse. This was the murder of a police officer. Everyone was putting in one hundred and ten percent. The pressure was as heavy as she'd ever felt it. And despite all that-or perhaps because of it-Hailey was here.

She pictured John kissing her good-bye that morning, saw the girls in their bath the night before. They'd had a good night. As near perfect as ever. So why did she do this? Why wasn't that life enough?

She imagined how she'd grown up-the comings and goings of her mother's men. Men Hailey never knew, a long line of shadows whose faces never had the chance to imprint. That had been her mother's choice. Not to keep those men around. She didn't want a partner; aside from the occasional companions.h.i.+p, relegated to the hours when her daughter was sleeping, she didn't want companions.h.i.+p. Hailey wasn't her mother. Nor did she blame her for her own failings. That would be pointless. Still, she knew the answer lay somehow in that past.

Giving in to her desire, Hailey stepped from the car and crossed through the park. The sun cut between two fat clouds that looked like unshorn sheep grazing in a blue pasture. A woman in sweatpants ate a McDonald's hamburger and fed bread to pigeons. She spoke to them in a low jabber that Hailey a.s.sociated with mental illness. The pigeons didn't seem to mind.

The woman reeled her arm back over her head and threw bread to the far reaches of the flock like a fly fisherman casting. She paid no attention to Hailey.

Head down, Hailey hiked the steep block of Union Street, then turned in to the familiar marble facade on August Aly. She stared at the bell, felt more guilt. Rang apartment number 10. The door buzzed and clicked open. Without a word, she climbed the two flights. The halls were empty. His door was cracked. The first time she'd made this trek, a nest of rattlesnakes had been hatching in her belly. Now, just the eager flutter of a dozen b.u.t.terflies.

She let herself in, closed the door behind her, turned the lock, and made her way into the kitchen.

Buck drank ice water from a tall plastic cup, handed it to her. She took a thirsty gulp before he pulled it from her hands. He set it down with a splash and yanked her to him. She heard her breath seize as he took her mouth, pressed against her. Intense.

His mouth on hers, he backed her down the hallway toward the bedroom. No words. Her jacket dropped to the floor. He unfastened her b.u.t.tons, kissed her neck, the small of her throat. He hung her s.h.i.+rt off the bathroom doork.n.o.b. They fell onto the bed, the rest of their clothes soon a tangled mess on the floor.

”G.o.d, I missed you,” he said when they were done. The first words they'd spoken.

She smiled, rolled over, and leaned her chin on his chest. ”Me, too.”

He tucked an arm under his head, wound a finger through her hair.