I came back to work this week, I discovered there were some discrepancies in my books. Money missing. On paper, anyway. Since Emma wasn’t sleeping, I thought I could use the time to try and figure out where the problem is.”
Detective Fensom pointed to the wrinkled files and printouts that had been in the rain-soaked diaper bag with Emma’s things. Now the damp papers were in sealed bags and labeled as evidence on her desk. “Did you find the problem?”
“No. I was going to take them home and study them there. I’d already disrupted my daughter’s routine more than I should.”
“Do you think someone’s stealing money from you?” he asked.
“The people who work for me are also my friends.” Did she have to defend everyone who was on her side tonight?
The detective shrugged. “Sometimes, even friends can run into trouble and resort to doing something desperate.”
“None of my friends attacked me.” Robin tilted her chin up as the conversation went off on a whole new tangent about how long she’d known her employees, and how well did she trust them? She promised a list of names and addresses, as well.
Holding an ice pack over the deep bruise on her collarbone, Robin turned her head while Annie Hermann snapped a photo of Robin’s hand and then proceeded to scrape beneath her fingernails, collecting whatever she’d scratched off her attacker into a small manila envelope. “Looks like you got some trace off your attacker,” the criminologist speculated. “If we’re lucky, there’ll be enough here to get DNA.”
Nick Fensom shook his head. “Since when have we ever been lucky with this guy?” The CSI flashed him a chastising look and the detective quickly apologized to Robin. “Other than you turning this attack into an attempted rape, Ms. Carter, and not getting hurt any worse than you did.”
The EMT had said she was lucky, too. She might have a broken back and be paralyzed or dead if it hadn’t been for the diaper bag cushioning the most critical blows. As for the rape? She was still unsure why he’d opted for clubbing her in the head rather than pulling her pants down the rest of the way and completing the awful deed.
But luck had nothing to do with her surviving tonight. A mysterious man had stepped out of the shadows and saved her.
“Are you sure you didn’t see him?” Robin asked, turning the conversation away from accounting, serial rapists and possible motives. “He’s hard to miss. I can describe him for you.”
“Your attacker?”
“No. The man who rescued us.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as CSI Hermann processed the other hand. Robin owed him a lot more than a thank-you. “He had a broken nose.”
Spencer Montgomery pulled out his notebook again. “He got hurt?”
Robin shook her head, pointing out the details as if the marks were on her own skin. “They were old injuries. His nose was crooked and had one of those bumps from where it healed wrong. And he had scars—one here—” She traced a line along her jaw to her chin. “And there was one up here, running above his ear at his temple. He wore a buzz cut and his hair was silvery white.”
“He was an old guy?” Detective Fensom asked.
“Not with muscles like that. He was my age, maybe. Pale blue eyes. Very...” Masculine . She couldn’t think of a better way to describe her rescuer. He’d been all man, with no soft edges to lessen the feral impact he’d had on her.
“He was very...?” Detective Montgomery waited for her to finish her description.
She could hardly say that her senses were still humming with feminine awareness now that the shock of the attack and fear for Emma’s safety had receded. “When I was lying on the ground and first saw him, I thought he was a ghost. Or a giant. I don’t know that he was unusually tall—six-two, maybe. Not as tall as your Officer Taylor.” She stretched out her uninjured arm, indicating the breadth of those shoulders and chest. “But he
Detective Fensom pointed to the wrinkled files and printouts that had been in the rain-soaked diaper bag with Emma’s things. Now the damp papers were in sealed bags and labeled as evidence on her desk. “Did you find the problem?”
“No. I was going to take them home and study them there. I’d already disrupted my daughter’s routine more than I should.”
“Do you think someone’s stealing money from you?” he asked.
“The people who work for me are also my friends.” Did she have to defend everyone who was on her side tonight?
The detective shrugged. “Sometimes, even friends can run into trouble and resort to doing something desperate.”
“None of my friends attacked me.” Robin tilted her chin up as the conversation went off on a whole new tangent about how long she’d known her employees, and how well did she trust them? She promised a list of names and addresses, as well.
Holding an ice pack over the deep bruise on her collarbone, Robin turned her head while Annie Hermann snapped a photo of Robin’s hand and then proceeded to scrape beneath her fingernails, collecting whatever she’d scratched off her attacker into a small manila envelope. “Looks like you got some trace off your attacker,” the criminologist speculated. “If we’re lucky, there’ll be enough here to get DNA.”
Nick Fensom shook his head. “Since when have we ever been lucky with this guy?” The CSI flashed him a chastising look and the detective quickly apologized to Robin. “Other than you turning this attack into an attempted rape, Ms. Carter, and not getting hurt any worse than you did.”
The EMT had said she was lucky, too. She might have a broken back and be paralyzed or dead if it hadn’t been for the diaper bag cushioning the most critical blows. As for the rape? She was still unsure why he’d opted for clubbing her in the head rather than pulling her pants down the rest of the way and completing the awful deed.
But luck had nothing to do with her surviving tonight. A mysterious man had stepped out of the shadows and saved her.
“Are you sure you didn’t see him?” Robin asked, turning the conversation away from accounting, serial rapists and possible motives. “He’s hard to miss. I can describe him for you.”
“Your attacker?”
“No. The man who rescued us.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair as CSI Hermann processed the other hand. Robin owed him a lot more than a thank-you. “He had a broken nose.”
Spencer Montgomery pulled out his notebook again. “He got hurt?”
Robin shook her head, pointing out the details as if the marks were on her own skin. “They were old injuries. His nose was crooked and had one of those bumps from where it healed wrong. And he had scars—one here—” She traced a line along her jaw to her chin. “And there was one up here, running above his ear at his temple. He wore a buzz cut and his hair was silvery white.”
“He was an old guy?” Detective Fensom asked.
“Not with muscles like that. He was my age, maybe. Pale blue eyes. Very...” Masculine . She couldn’t think of a better way to describe her rescuer. He’d been all man, with no soft edges to lessen the feral impact he’d had on her.
“He was very...?” Detective Montgomery waited for her to finish her description.
She could hardly say that her senses were still humming with feminine awareness now that the shock of the attack and fear for Emma’s safety had receded. “When I was lying on the ground and first saw him, I thought he was a ghost. Or a giant. I don’t know that he was unusually tall—six-two, maybe. Not as tall as your Officer Taylor.” She stretched out her uninjured arm, indicating the breadth of those shoulders and chest. “But he
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