for a private investigator.’
‘Are you licensed?’ Bashears asked. By the look in his eyes she knew he’d known exactly what she did for a living, just as he’d known about her ‘incident’.
‘Not yet.’
Morton took a half-step forward, stopping when Peabody growled. ‘Why do you think Elena Muñoz was shot in her vehicle, then shot again by a sniper?’
‘I don’t know,’ Paige said, and even she would have believed herself.
‘You’re a PI,’ Bashears said. ‘Were you working for her?’
‘No,’ Paige said, and that was actually the truth. Technically. Maria had approached her, begging her for help. Not Elena. A cold shiver raced down her spine as she realized that Maria might be in danger, too. ‘Are we done?’
‘Almost,’ Morton said. ‘Who do you work for, Ms Holden?’
‘The Silver Gym. I’m a trainer there.’
Morton leveled a stare that had become hostile in a single blink. ‘I’m talking about your PI job. Who do you work for?’
Bashears cut in smoothly. ‘We’d like to know in what capacity are you acquainted with Clay Maynard? He stood with you while you spoke with Detective Perkins.’
‘We’re associates. And friends.’
Morton lifted a brow. ‘And he had nothing to do with the fact that Elena Muñoz happened to crash into the lamppost next to your apartment?’
Paige didn’t back down. ‘No. Look, I’m tired and I’ve cooperated. Please leave.’
‘You haven’t told us the truth,’ Morton bit out. ‘But I’ll go, for now. By the way, when you see Mr Maynard next, tell him that Detective Skinner finally returned to work after months on disability. But he’ll never work Homicide again. He’ll sit at a damn desk until he’s old enough for his retirement Timex.’ She leaned closer, this time ignoring Peabody’s warning growl. ‘And you tell your associate and your friend that I’ll be watching you both. Because something stinks here and it reeks of him .’
Morton yanked Paige’s front door open, then turned for a parting jab. ‘If you know something you aren’t telling me, I’ll nail your ass to the wall. I don’t care how many YouTube hits you get or how many reporters are calling you a Good Samaritan.’
Wide-eyed, Paige stared at the two detectives as they walked down the stairs. Bashears looked annoyed, but with his partner, not with Paige. At least there’s that , she thought, closing her door and locking all three deadbolts. She turned, unsurprised to see Clay standing behind her even though he hadn’t made a sound. His jaw was hard, but his eyes were turbulent. And filled with guilt.
Wearily, Paige sank into the chair at her desk. ‘So who is Detective Skinner?’
Clay sat on her sofa, staring at her carpet. ‘Morton’s old partner. Skinner was shot by Nicki’s killer after I discovered her body. Because I didn’t tell the cops what I knew right away, Skinner almost died. When I heard Morton ID herself at the door I thought that there might be trouble. She doesn’t like me much.’
‘Yeah,’ Paige said dryly. ‘I got that. I have to tell someone. I don’t want a Skinner on my conscience. But I’m not gonna tell Morton. She scares the hell out of me.’
He glanced up to meet her eyes. ‘Me, too.’
Paige sighed. ‘So Ramon’s alibi was true. There was no way he could have killed Crystal Jones in a gardener’s shed six years ago. Yet the murder weapon was found in his bedroom closet, wrapped in a canvas apron, stuck down in one of Elena’s boots. It was planted. Maybe by cops. God, we sound so OJ.’
‘It’s been known to happen,’ Clay said. ‘Cops planting evidence.’
She studied him shrewdly. ‘And someday you’ll tell me about it?’
‘Probably not,’ he murmured. ‘Not one of my better memories.’
‘You didn’t . . .’ Paige let the thought trail and watched him shake his head.
‘Never. And I tried to stop it, but it was too huge.’
‘So you left the force.’
‘Yeah. If cops were
‘Are you licensed?’ Bashears asked. By the look in his eyes she knew he’d known exactly what she did for a living, just as he’d known about her ‘incident’.
‘Not yet.’
Morton took a half-step forward, stopping when Peabody growled. ‘Why do you think Elena Muñoz was shot in her vehicle, then shot again by a sniper?’
‘I don’t know,’ Paige said, and even she would have believed herself.
‘You’re a PI,’ Bashears said. ‘Were you working for her?’
‘No,’ Paige said, and that was actually the truth. Technically. Maria had approached her, begging her for help. Not Elena. A cold shiver raced down her spine as she realized that Maria might be in danger, too. ‘Are we done?’
‘Almost,’ Morton said. ‘Who do you work for, Ms Holden?’
‘The Silver Gym. I’m a trainer there.’
Morton leveled a stare that had become hostile in a single blink. ‘I’m talking about your PI job. Who do you work for?’
Bashears cut in smoothly. ‘We’d like to know in what capacity are you acquainted with Clay Maynard? He stood with you while you spoke with Detective Perkins.’
‘We’re associates. And friends.’
Morton lifted a brow. ‘And he had nothing to do with the fact that Elena Muñoz happened to crash into the lamppost next to your apartment?’
Paige didn’t back down. ‘No. Look, I’m tired and I’ve cooperated. Please leave.’
‘You haven’t told us the truth,’ Morton bit out. ‘But I’ll go, for now. By the way, when you see Mr Maynard next, tell him that Detective Skinner finally returned to work after months on disability. But he’ll never work Homicide again. He’ll sit at a damn desk until he’s old enough for his retirement Timex.’ She leaned closer, this time ignoring Peabody’s warning growl. ‘And you tell your associate and your friend that I’ll be watching you both. Because something stinks here and it reeks of him .’
Morton yanked Paige’s front door open, then turned for a parting jab. ‘If you know something you aren’t telling me, I’ll nail your ass to the wall. I don’t care how many YouTube hits you get or how many reporters are calling you a Good Samaritan.’
Wide-eyed, Paige stared at the two detectives as they walked down the stairs. Bashears looked annoyed, but with his partner, not with Paige. At least there’s that , she thought, closing her door and locking all three deadbolts. She turned, unsurprised to see Clay standing behind her even though he hadn’t made a sound. His jaw was hard, but his eyes were turbulent. And filled with guilt.
Wearily, Paige sank into the chair at her desk. ‘So who is Detective Skinner?’
Clay sat on her sofa, staring at her carpet. ‘Morton’s old partner. Skinner was shot by Nicki’s killer after I discovered her body. Because I didn’t tell the cops what I knew right away, Skinner almost died. When I heard Morton ID herself at the door I thought that there might be trouble. She doesn’t like me much.’
‘Yeah,’ Paige said dryly. ‘I got that. I have to tell someone. I don’t want a Skinner on my conscience. But I’m not gonna tell Morton. She scares the hell out of me.’
He glanced up to meet her eyes. ‘Me, too.’
Paige sighed. ‘So Ramon’s alibi was true. There was no way he could have killed Crystal Jones in a gardener’s shed six years ago. Yet the murder weapon was found in his bedroom closet, wrapped in a canvas apron, stuck down in one of Elena’s boots. It was planted. Maybe by cops. God, we sound so OJ.’
‘It’s been known to happen,’ Clay said. ‘Cops planting evidence.’
She studied him shrewdly. ‘And someday you’ll tell me about it?’
‘Probably not,’ he murmured. ‘Not one of my better memories.’
‘You didn’t . . .’ Paige let the thought trail and watched him shake his head.
‘Never. And I tried to stop it, but it was too huge.’
‘So you left the force.’
‘Yeah. If cops were
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