come to visit her, she'd been heavily drugged and half asleep.
But, ingrained in her mind, clear as crystal was the image of her father turning to the attending nurse. "What's the world coming to?" he had asked her. Then, turning back to Casey, he said, "I've lost all three of my girls to different monsters." It was as if he were speaking to Casey's corpse. He had died four weeks later.
"Casey," Billy called.
She blinked hard and looked at him.
He stared from the door to her and back again. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Is it safe to open the door?"
She shrugged. "It's some inspector."
"This is not normal, Casey. You need a good alarm system, not a long-distance guard dog."
She glared. "Answer the door and tell him to go away. I'm going to my room."
"Don't you move," Billy commanded, his voice harsh. His mean voice, she called this one; it was a good octave below his usual. Billy opened the door and started.
Casey struggled to suppress a smile, and Billy shot her a glare.
"I'm Inspector Gray with the San Francisco Police Department." The man at the door was black and trim, easily six-foot-four, two-ten. His deep eyes fixed on her, an air of law-enforcement authority exuding from his every pore. Still, she had learned a hard lesson. With her hands the way they were, she didn't have a chance in hell of taking him. And God knew Billy wouldn't help much. He'd practically been blown over by the wind in the doorway.
Casey scolded herself, knowing Billy's size had more to do with the disease that was killing him than his inborn fragility. She looked at the cop at the door and hoped Swain was right.
Casey glanced down, relieved to see his feet were way too big. She'd known he probably wouldn't be the killer she had tracked, but somehow seeing his shoes made her feel better. Leonardo had a man's size ten shoe. This guy's were easily twelves or thirteens.
For months after the attack, whenever she spoke to anyone, from doctors to psychiatrists to attorneys and law officials, she'd been unable to keep her eyes from drifting to their feet. Perhaps it was another reason she liked Billy so much. His were men's size seven, hardly larger than her own size-eight women's. She thought about what Billy had said earlier. Maybe he was right. She needed to learn to trust people—at least some people. She didn't trust law enforcement—that came with knowing the inspector wanted something. But Billy's friend the tax accountant—she could trust a tax accountant.
At least the detective guy was using the right name. "I thought they only had inspectors in England," Casey mumbled, holding her ground.
"You behave," Billy commanded.
Casey glanced over in time to see the cop's jaw drop and his deep brown eyes widen.
"I want to see ID," Casey demanded.
Billy gasped.
"That's quite all right," the inspector said, opening his coat and showing them his pocket before slowly removing his badge and handing it to her.
Casey rubbed her knuckles across the badge, studying it carefully before giving it back. As he returned the badge to his pocket, Casey watched him.
Billy turned back to the man and waved him in. "Come on in, Inspector."
"Thank you. Please call me Jordan." After wiping his feet on the mat, Jordan ducked his head and entered.
Standing in her foyer next to pale, thin Billy, the inspector looked like an African god in height and stature.
Her hands fidgeting, Casey made her way to a drawer and pulled out a cigarette. Gripping the butt in her hand, she lit it and took a long drag.
"Put that out." Billy came rushing at her, his arms in the air. "Good, God. Are you trying to kill us all?"
She lifted the cigarette out of his reach and put her other hand out. "Touch this cigarette, and I'll start with you."
"I certainly didn't mean to interrupt," Jordan interjected, looking awkward standing in the low doorway.
Casey took another drag on her cigarette. "Of course you did. The question is why." She met his gaze and held it. "You here to see
But, ingrained in her mind, clear as crystal was the image of her father turning to the attending nurse. "What's the world coming to?" he had asked her. Then, turning back to Casey, he said, "I've lost all three of my girls to different monsters." It was as if he were speaking to Casey's corpse. He had died four weeks later.
"Casey," Billy called.
She blinked hard and looked at him.
He stared from the door to her and back again. "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Is it safe to open the door?"
She shrugged. "It's some inspector."
"This is not normal, Casey. You need a good alarm system, not a long-distance guard dog."
She glared. "Answer the door and tell him to go away. I'm going to my room."
"Don't you move," Billy commanded, his voice harsh. His mean voice, she called this one; it was a good octave below his usual. Billy opened the door and started.
Casey struggled to suppress a smile, and Billy shot her a glare.
"I'm Inspector Gray with the San Francisco Police Department." The man at the door was black and trim, easily six-foot-four, two-ten. His deep eyes fixed on her, an air of law-enforcement authority exuding from his every pore. Still, she had learned a hard lesson. With her hands the way they were, she didn't have a chance in hell of taking him. And God knew Billy wouldn't help much. He'd practically been blown over by the wind in the doorway.
Casey scolded herself, knowing Billy's size had more to do with the disease that was killing him than his inborn fragility. She looked at the cop at the door and hoped Swain was right.
Casey glanced down, relieved to see his feet were way too big. She'd known he probably wouldn't be the killer she had tracked, but somehow seeing his shoes made her feel better. Leonardo had a man's size ten shoe. This guy's were easily twelves or thirteens.
For months after the attack, whenever she spoke to anyone, from doctors to psychiatrists to attorneys and law officials, she'd been unable to keep her eyes from drifting to their feet. Perhaps it was another reason she liked Billy so much. His were men's size seven, hardly larger than her own size-eight women's. She thought about what Billy had said earlier. Maybe he was right. She needed to learn to trust people—at least some people. She didn't trust law enforcement—that came with knowing the inspector wanted something. But Billy's friend the tax accountant—she could trust a tax accountant.
At least the detective guy was using the right name. "I thought they only had inspectors in England," Casey mumbled, holding her ground.
"You behave," Billy commanded.
Casey glanced over in time to see the cop's jaw drop and his deep brown eyes widen.
"I want to see ID," Casey demanded.
Billy gasped.
"That's quite all right," the inspector said, opening his coat and showing them his pocket before slowly removing his badge and handing it to her.
Casey rubbed her knuckles across the badge, studying it carefully before giving it back. As he returned the badge to his pocket, Casey watched him.
Billy turned back to the man and waved him in. "Come on in, Inspector."
"Thank you. Please call me Jordan." After wiping his feet on the mat, Jordan ducked his head and entered.
Standing in her foyer next to pale, thin Billy, the inspector looked like an African god in height and stature.
Her hands fidgeting, Casey made her way to a drawer and pulled out a cigarette. Gripping the butt in her hand, she lit it and took a long drag.
"Put that out." Billy came rushing at her, his arms in the air. "Good, God. Are you trying to kill us all?"
She lifted the cigarette out of his reach and put her other hand out. "Touch this cigarette, and I'll start with you."
"I certainly didn't mean to interrupt," Jordan interjected, looking awkward standing in the low doorway.
Casey took another drag on her cigarette. "Of course you did. The question is why." She met his gaze and held it. "You here to see
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