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“I’ll have someone ready to book him. Nicely done, McKittrick. Tell Robinson, too.”
“I will. Sir, what about—” Kit cut herself off, not wanting to mention Faye Evans’s possible involvement in front of Dominic. If they had to play one against the other, Kit wanted to be able to control the flow of information. “What about the other person you’re having watched?”
“So far she’s driven from Shady Oaks to the grocery store, and then home, where she’s been all evening.”
“Good. Have a good night, sir.” Kit pocketed her phone. “Brittney, get a pair of shoes and a jacket. I’ll have a police officer bring you back to pack your things as soon as we get your statement.” She looked around. “Did Archie live here, too?”
Brittney gave an unladylike snort as she went up the stairs. “Sometimes. But most of the time he lived with his mommy, two blocks over. Did he buy her house, too?”
Kit didn’t answer her and Brittney seemed okay with that. A minute later she was coming down the stairs, shoes on her feet, a jacket on her body, a purse over her shoulder, and a hairbrush in one hand.
“You can search my purse if you need to.”
Kit did a cursory search. “Thank you.”
“Please tell everyone how cooperative I’ve been.”
“I will,” Kit promised. “Next time, maybe do a little more due diligence on your boyfriends.”
“Oh, I will. You can be sure of that. Asshole,” she muttered as Connor took Stanza to their car. “Do I have to ride in back?”
“No. I’ll ride in back with Stanza.”
She looked up at Kit, her eyes vulnerable and scared for the first time since the altercation had begun. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“Just be more careful. I don’t know if these guys are violent and I don’t know exactly what they’ve done, but I’ve got at least two murder victims in the morgue. I’d have hated for you to be their next victim if you learned too much.”
Brittney paled. “Murder? Holy shit. Can I make a call to my father? I’ll need him to pick me up.”
“Make the call in the car,” Kit said gently. “Let’s go.”
Carmel Valley, California
Tuesday, November 8, 10:30 p.m.
Every muscle in Kit’s body ached as she pulled into the driveway at McKittrick House. She’d been closer to her boat in the marina on Shelter Island after leaving the precinct, Dominic Stanza having been handed off to the officers who’d book him. She’d even turned her car toward the marina.
But then she’d crumpled inside, not that she’d admit that to anyone. She’d been stopped at a red light and realized that she’d been clutching the cat-bird carving that Harlan had made for her six months before.
She didn’t want to go to her boat tonight. It was cold and empty and she had no food in the fridge.
She was hungry and she needed…something. Her parents. Her dog. A good meal, a snuggle with Snickerdoodle, and maybe even a hug.
From Sam Reeves? Maybe. That she didn’t instantly deny it was telling.
He’d held her once, six months ago, and he’d felt so…solid. So safe. Like he wasn’t going anywhere. But then he had because she’d pushed him away, then run like she’d been chased by the hounds of hell.
She’d questioned that decision too many times, usually when she was tired like this. Not tonight. She couldn’t think about Sam tonight. Not about his compassion, nor his calming persona, and especially not the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
He was lonely, too. Lonely and sad, and she hated that. He was too nice a man to be lonely and sad, grieving the loss of his friends.
She could help with that, at least. She couldn’t bring his friends back, but she could bring whoever killed them to justice.
But not tonight. Tonight she needed to sleep. And she really needed that hug, so she’d headed north. To the only real home she’d ever known.
She got out of her car and just drank in the sight of the house. There were lights in the windows, despite the time. Betsy might be asleep already, but Harlan would be awake.
She should nag him to get more sleep, but she’d do it after she got that hug.
