“Yeah, some punks”— demons—“caught us as we were leaving Paradise Found.” He shook his head. “The uniforms sent out patrols, but”—Colin shrugged—“in that part of town, it’s easy to disappear if you don’t want to get caught.”
Colin pulled out the Myers file. “Hey, tell me, did you interview the girlfriend?”
“Yeah.” Brooks whistled softly as he leaned back in his chair. “One of those pretty, cover-girl types, a little too thin for my taste, but still—”
“Where was Gillian when Preston was killed?” Colin asked, cutting through his words. You had to do that when Brooks started talking about a pretty woman. Otherwise, the guy would just go on and on.
Brooks blinked. “Who the hell is Gillian?” He leaned forward, sitting straighter and motioning to the file. “The guy’s girlfriend was a Hilary Bishop. You know her, she’s the mayor’s niece and—”
“I’ve got it on pretty good authority that the vic was involved with a Gillian Nemont.” He paused a beat, waiting for the name to register. “Does the name ring a bell?”
His partner shook his head. “Never heard of her. And neither has the vic’s family, friends, or neighbors.” He smiled, his innocent-trust-me smile. “And believe me, if they knew about her, I would know by now.”
“We need to find her,” Colin said, tapping the file against the edge of his desk. So Gillian had been the vic’s dirty little secret…
But had she been the secret that had led to his murder?
Only one way to find out.
Less than an hour later, Colin and Brooks stood in front of Gillian’s apartment. When they saw that the lock was broken, that the door swayed drunkenly on its hinges, both men reached for their guns.
“I’ll cover you.” Brooks mouthed the words.
Colin nodded. He crouched near the wall, banged his fist against the wooden door. “Gillian Nemont! This is the police! We need to talk to you!”
No response, but then, based on the condition of the lock, he hadn’t really expected one.
One more try. “Ms. Nemont! We’re coming in!” He lifted his gun, took a deep breath, and shoved open her door.
He sprang inside, still crouching, searching the room in one fast glance.
The place had been trashed. Chairs were overturned, and the sofa was slashed to bits. Papers and books littered the floor.
Colin started inching around the right wall, heading toward what he thought was the bedroom. Brooks took the left wall.
Colin turned the corner. Found more chaos. A broken mirror, smashed dresser.
But no Gillian.
“Looks like someone beat us here,” Brooks murmured as he lowered his gun. “Damn, the woman sure must have pissed someone off.” He exhaled slowly.
Colin pushed his way to the small closet. “Her clothes are gone.” Not tossed onto the floor. Not shredded. Just gone.
He crossed to the bathroom. Brooks was already in the small room, looking around at the broken shards that had once been a vanity mirror.
“I don’t see a toothbrush, or toothpaste.” Brooks looked up at him. “Looks like our girl got out before the trasher arrived.”
“We need to get a crime scene unit in here.” Colin reached for his cell phone. He’d only touched the door when he’d entered.
Maybe they’d get lucky and find some prints in the apartment.
“What are the odds,” Brooks began slowly as they made their way back to the front door, “that this woman’s apartment—a woman you say was Preston’s lover—just happened to be vandalized?”
“I’d say the odds are pretty high…that Gillian knows something.” But if she was on the run, and it sure looked like she was, then they’d have a damn hard time finding her.
“You think he found what he was looking for?” Brooks scanned the living room, his eyes darting over the broken furniture, the smashed computer screen.
Colin shrugged as he punched in the number for the CSU. “Could be he wasn’t looking for anything.”
Brooks lifted a brow. “Think this was a message?”
They’d both seen situations like that before, of course. Homes trashed, cars vandalized, all to make witnesses too scared to talk to the cops.
“Yeah, I think it was.”
His partner’s brown eyes narrowed as he studied the floor. Crouching, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket.
“What’ve you got?”
Brooks shoved aside wood from the coffee table. “Looks like a day planner.” He lifted a small, blue book. “Maybe we can track our girl’s movements before she decided to skip out.”
Decided to skip out. Nice phrasing. “Don’t you mean before she ran as fast as she could from the psycho on her trail?”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” He flipped through the planner, skimming past the pages. “Let’s just see what our lady had planned for the day of Preston’s murder.” He whistled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
The CSU operator had picked up. He was asking for the scene’s address. “Hold on.” Colin’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
Brooks lifted the planner. “Take a look at Gillian’s one o’clock appointment.”
His eyes tracked down the page. Saw the small, neat feminine scrawl. 2301 Mistro Tower. Dr. Drake.
A hard tension swept through him. 2301 Mistro Tower. That was Doc’s office. Gillian Nemont had been to see Emily.
“Did the good doctor happen to mention that she knew Ms. Nemont?” Brooks’s voice was cool.
On the ride over, Colin had told him that it was he and Emily who had discovered the identity of Preston’s lover. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned the fact that a demon had tipped them off.
And now it looked like he might not be the only one withholding facts from a partner.
“Did she?” Brooks pressed, and there was suspicion in his eyes.
The CSU operator was muttering in his ear.
“No,” Colin finally said, his voice very soft. “She didn’t.”
And he sure as hell planned to find out why the doc hadn’t mentioned that important little fact.
Chapter 8
Colin arrived at her place just after eight, and the minute he walked into her house, Emily knew something was wrong.
Hell, it didn’t take a psychic gift to figure out the man was angry.
Colin stalked past her without a word and jerked off his rather beaten-up jacket.