Page 2 of Trap ’N’ Trace

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, forcing himself to view the crime scene as a trained agent would, not as a friend of the victim.

Unfortunately, there were no surveillance cameras anywhere. People who hired PIs generally wanted their affairs to remain private. Peep cams would have cut Becca’s clientele in half.

Stacked on the desk were a few manila file folders. No laptop that he could see, but he didn’t doubt she had one. Several desk drawers were partially open, as if someone had searched them and hadn’t found what they were looking for. Other than that, nothing appeared out of place. Except for Becca.

She’d been stabbed multiple times in the chest, neck, and abdomen. That level of violence usually indicated either a crime of passion, or one of intense hatred. Becca’s relationship with her husband was solid, so he’d go with intense hatred.

He didn’t know Ted Garman well but was relieved Becca’s husband was in Seattle on a business trip. They had no reason to believe Ted killed his wife, but when a victim’s body was cut up by so many stab wounds the husband or boyfriend was always at the top of the suspect list. Thankfully, Ted had a rock-solid alibi by virtue of being three thousand miles away. The man was catching a flight home that evening, as were Becca’s adult children.

The CSU tech’s camera clicked and flashed. Behind him, the detective assigned to the case, Mike Paulson, took down information from the uniformed cop who’d been first on scene. Paulson was about to interview the witness who’d discovered the body.

According to this witness, the front door had been closed but unlocked. The entire office had already been dusted for prints. If they were lucky, they’d get a hit, but it was never that easy. They’d have to pore through Becca’s files, her laptop, and her cell phone, searching for clues. Then they’d interview all the neighbors in case they saw anything suspicious.

“I understand you knew the victim.” Paulson waved his pen in the direction of Becca’s body. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He cleared the lump from his throat. “Yeah, thanks.” He felt guilty for not staying in touch with Becca more after she retired. She’d seen things in him no one else had. She made me a better agent. “Mind if I listen in when you talk to the witness?”

Paulson hesitated, twisting his lips slightly and giving Dayne the clear impression that he did mind. “Sure thing.” The detective executed a stiff about-face and headed for the back door.

Early in his career Dayne figured out that a lot of PDs resented it when the feds crashed their party. The FBI didn’t normally get involved in straight-up homicides, but because the victim was a former FBI agent, they couldn’t be certain if her murder was connected to a case she worked as a PI, or something she did while employed by the FBI. Dayne had been directed to keep tabs on the case until a determination could be made.

He followed Paulson down the hall, sidestepping some dog toys and an overturned dog bowl by the back door, although he hadn’t seen a dog anywhere.

Patrol cars and dark sedans lined the road, their red-and-blue strobes flashing. Several reporters and videographers crowded the sidewalk outside the police tape.

It was a beautiful early-spring day, warm enough that he’d shed his jacket and lowered the windows of his Interceptor so Remy could get some fresh air. His K-9’s brown and black head stuck out the window, bobbing up and down as she took in all the scents in the air.

Flowerbeds with bright yellow daffodils and red tulips swaying in the breeze surrounded the house. Becca loved her garden. She’d once told him April flowers were a sign of rebirth.

Dayne nearly choked on the irony. Today, they were a sign of death and the funeral yet to come.

A white Escalade sat at the curb, its passenger door open. The woman on the seat held a squirming golden retriever puppy.

Dayne frowned. Whoa. “Is that Katrina Vandenburg?”

“The one and only,” the detective said over his shoulder as they took the last few steps down the sloped yard to the sidewalk. “Once it leaked out that she found the body, the press swarmed in like sharks at a feeding frenzy.”

Great.

Dayne had only met Katrina Vandenburg once, a month ago when his best friend’s fiancée was picking out a dog at the Canine Haven. He and Katrina hadn’t exactly hit it off.

He couldn’t think of a single reason why the woman would be meeting with a private investigator. She had enough millions in the bank to buy her way out of anything. Actually, she’s got billions.

As they approached, Katrina Vandenburg looked up. If he’d had any doubt as to her identity before, there was absolutely none now. Nobody else had eyes like hers. Amethyst. Other than that, she looked nothing like the image he hadn’t realized until now had been seared into his memory.

She’d been wearing a glittery, silver evening gown and sporting enough diamonds to fill a display case at Tiffany’s. She’d whipped on a long silk wrap, practically smacking him in the face with it, then slid gracefully into a white limo.

Today, her attire surprised him. Jeans, sneakers, and a light blue sweatshirt. Deep chestnut hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The only jewelry were the small diamond studs twinkling from her delicate earlobes.

“Miss Vandenburg, I’m Detective Paulson with the Orangetown Police Department, and this is FBI Special Agent Andrews.” Paulson indicated Dayne with a quick nod. “I’d like to ask you some questions. I understand you discovered the body.”

He raised a brow at Paulson’s repeated use of the word I, instead of we, a not too subtle dig that this was Paulson’s interview, not Dayne’s.

“Yes, I did.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, calling attention to the fact that she wore no makeup and was still pretty as hell.

“What time did you get here?” Paulson asked.

“About ten this morning.”