said, squaring her shoulders and moving slightly away. “I’d like you to go now.”
For one long moment she was sure he intended to argue the point, but to her surprise, he didn’t.
“I’ll be outside all night,” he said, instead. “When I go, one of my men will take over.”
She nodded, too grateful now for a bodyguard of sorts to be angry.
With one final, lingering look, he turned and made his way back into her living room. She followed, suddenly painfully conscious of her meager furnishings and less-than-spectacular housekeeping skills. She wasn’t exactly a slob, but she wasn’t neat, either.
At the door he hesitated. “This door doesn’t have a peephole or a dead bolt. Think about getting both installed. In the meantime, at least ask who’s there before you open the door.”
Oddly, she sensed his words were well meant. That he cared what happened to her.
Yeah, right.
He only wanted to keep his prime suspect alive and well until he could nail her for murder and close the case.
“Thanks for the advice.” She failed miserably at sounding appreciative.
His gaze bored into hers. “I’m serious, Elizabeth. I don’t want you to end up dead.”
With that profound statement he left.
For several seconds after the door closed, she could only stand there absorbing the impact and ramifications of his words.
Two of Ned’s patients had been murdered in the past seventy-two hours. Coincidence? Apparently the FBI didn’t think so.
Cold, bony fingers of fear clutched at her. Maybe MacBride was right. Maybe her life was in danger. Before the thought fully formed in her mind, she turned the button on the knob locking the door. She hurried over to the front window and drew back the curtain. Just as he promised, MacBride backed out onto the street and parked directly in front of the house. Relief flooded her.
Vanessa Bumbalough was dead. Deana Dell was dead.
Who would be next?
Elizabeth half stumbled to the sofa in her haste and snatched up the phone. She punched in Gloria’s number and paced the floor as she waited for her friend to answer. Please, God, she prayed, let her be home. And safe.
When a groggy hello came, Elizabeth blurted, “We have to talk!”
Mac waited patiently for Duncan to answer his cell phone. “They find anything else?” he asked without preamble.
“Nothing. The techs found dozens of different prints. The lady apparently had a lot of guests. Since she and the Bumbalough woman ran in the same circles, there’s no telling how many sets matching the previous scene they’ll find.”
A lot of nothing leading nowhere. Mac rubbed his eyes and stared up at the light in the window of Elizabeth’s apartment. He had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.
“I’ll maintain surveillance on Elizabeth Young tonight,” he informed his partner. “I’ll need you here to relieve me by eight in the morning. Tonight, I want you to track down a Brian Novak of Design Horizons and have him meet me at my office at nine sharp.”
Duncan snorted. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Mac. How can I—?”
“I don’t care if it’s Christmas,” Mac shot back. “Death doesn’t observe weekends or holidays. Have the guy at my office at nine sharp.”
“Will do,” Duncan replied sheepishly. “Anything else?”
Mac exhaled a weary breath. “That’s it. Call me if there’s any news from the ME.”
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the console. It was going to be a long night. Shifting until he found a comfortable spot, he considered the layout around Elizabeth’s apartment. She had no security, and the surrounding area was an intruder’s wet dream. Everyone went to bed early and likely didn’t hear as well as they used to. If someone wanted her, getting to her would be easy. She worked long hours and probably slept like a rock during the few hours of rest she got.
If she was the innocent she insisted she was and the latest turn in this case evolved into what he suspected, she
For one long moment she was sure he intended to argue the point, but to her surprise, he didn’t.
“I’ll be outside all night,” he said, instead. “When I go, one of my men will take over.”
She nodded, too grateful now for a bodyguard of sorts to be angry.
With one final, lingering look, he turned and made his way back into her living room. She followed, suddenly painfully conscious of her meager furnishings and less-than-spectacular housekeeping skills. She wasn’t exactly a slob, but she wasn’t neat, either.
At the door he hesitated. “This door doesn’t have a peephole or a dead bolt. Think about getting both installed. In the meantime, at least ask who’s there before you open the door.”
Oddly, she sensed his words were well meant. That he cared what happened to her.
Yeah, right.
He only wanted to keep his prime suspect alive and well until he could nail her for murder and close the case.
“Thanks for the advice.” She failed miserably at sounding appreciative.
His gaze bored into hers. “I’m serious, Elizabeth. I don’t want you to end up dead.”
With that profound statement he left.
For several seconds after the door closed, she could only stand there absorbing the impact and ramifications of his words.
Two of Ned’s patients had been murdered in the past seventy-two hours. Coincidence? Apparently the FBI didn’t think so.
Cold, bony fingers of fear clutched at her. Maybe MacBride was right. Maybe her life was in danger. Before the thought fully formed in her mind, she turned the button on the knob locking the door. She hurried over to the front window and drew back the curtain. Just as he promised, MacBride backed out onto the street and parked directly in front of the house. Relief flooded her.
Vanessa Bumbalough was dead. Deana Dell was dead.
Who would be next?
Elizabeth half stumbled to the sofa in her haste and snatched up the phone. She punched in Gloria’s number and paced the floor as she waited for her friend to answer. Please, God, she prayed, let her be home. And safe.
When a groggy hello came, Elizabeth blurted, “We have to talk!”
Mac waited patiently for Duncan to answer his cell phone. “They find anything else?” he asked without preamble.
“Nothing. The techs found dozens of different prints. The lady apparently had a lot of guests. Since she and the Bumbalough woman ran in the same circles, there’s no telling how many sets matching the previous scene they’ll find.”
A lot of nothing leading nowhere. Mac rubbed his eyes and stared up at the light in the window of Elizabeth’s apartment. He had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.
“I’ll maintain surveillance on Elizabeth Young tonight,” he informed his partner. “I’ll need you here to relieve me by eight in the morning. Tonight, I want you to track down a Brian Novak of Design Horizons and have him meet me at my office at nine sharp.”
Duncan snorted. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Mac. How can I—?”
“I don’t care if it’s Christmas,” Mac shot back. “Death doesn’t observe weekends or holidays. Have the guy at my office at nine sharp.”
“Will do,” Duncan replied sheepishly. “Anything else?”
Mac exhaled a weary breath. “That’s it. Call me if there’s any news from the ME.”
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the console. It was going to be a long night. Shifting until he found a comfortable spot, he considered the layout around Elizabeth’s apartment. She had no security, and the surrounding area was an intruder’s wet dream. Everyone went to bed early and likely didn’t hear as well as they used to. If someone wanted her, getting to her would be easy. She worked long hours and probably slept like a rock during the few hours of rest she got.
If she was the innocent she insisted she was and the latest turn in this case evolved into what he suspected, she
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