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Kirby cursed silently, realizing then that he was goading her intentionally. She sat back in her chair. Pain twinged down her spine, but she ignored it and regarded the detective stonily. “I have a fifty percent chance of being right, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do,” he said. “But we both know you know more than what you’re saying. And you will tell me, Miss Brown. Eventually.”
“If you’re going to lock me up, you owe me a phone call.” Who she’d call she wasn’t entirely sure. Doyle was missing, and she had no idea how to get in contact with his friends. Or even if they’d be willing to help her.
“I have no intention of locking you up. Not yet, anyway. I do, however, recommend police protection.”
She snorted. “Fat lot of good it did me last time.” Besides, the last thing she needed right now was the weight of more deaths on her conscience.
“It’s in the interest of your own safety.” He looked around as the door opened and a blue uniformed officer stepped in, handing him a sheet of paper. He read it quickly and looked up, his expression grim. “Seems you have some high-powered friends somewhere, Miss Brown. I’ve been ordered to release you immediately.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, not believing him for an instant. The only person in power she knew was the janitor at the local municipal offices.
“You keep in contact and let us know where you’re staying, or I’ll have a warrant out for your arrest and your ass back in this station so fast your head will spin.”
She blinked at the anger in his voice. “Then I am free to go? You’re not kidding?”
“Not in anything I’m saying,” he said, stony-faced. “Officer Duncan will escort you to the front desk. Collect your things and leave a contact number.”
She rose quickly, then hesitated. What if the person who arranged for her release was the killer? What if she was walking out into another trap? “How will I keep in contact with you? Should I just ring the station?”
He handed her a business card. “I want to know where you’re staying, Miss Brown, and I want a number where I can reach you at any time.”
She nodded and followed the younger officer from the room. Five minutes later she was outside, blinking at the bright summer sunshine. It wasn’t warm, not by a long shot, but at least the rain had finally cleared. Maybe summer would arrive back in Melbourne after all.
“About time they released you,” a sharp voice beside her said. “This concrete gets a bit hard on old bones after a few hours, you know.”
Kirby jumped and spun, calling to the fire as she did so. Only the voice belonged to a woman she recognized—Doyle’s friend Camille. She was perched on the planter box at the base of the steps, silver hair gleaming in the sun, her expression a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Scared you, huh? Because that’s a pretty impressive play of energy you have dancing across your fingers.”
Kirby clenched her fists and extinguished the lightning. “Did you arrange for my release?”
Camille smiled. “I called in a favor or two.” She hesitated, her sharp gaze darting around. “We’d better get you out of here. Come along, dear.”
She hopped off her perch and marched down the street. Kirby glanced briefly at the police station and saw the brown-suited officer watching her from a window. She stared at him for a second, then turned and followed the old woman. Right now, she trusted Doyle’s friends to keep her safe more than she trusted the police.
“Where are we going?” she asked once they were in Camille’s beat-up van and driving toward the city.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” Camille replied. “I gotta hunch I might be tagged, so I’m going to create a few illusions and drop you off at the nearest car rental.”
“Why? I’ve got a car. I don’t need another.”
“Yes, you do. Your car’s probably been booby-trapped, just like your handbag was. The killer certainly has had the time to do it. So you’ll rent a car and go find Doyle.”
“He’s safe?” she said, a huge sense of relief sweeping through her.
“Madder than hell, but yeah, he’s safe.” Camille cast her a sly grin. “You’ve got yourself a good man there, you know.”
“He’s a thief,” she muttered. She pulled her gaze from Camille’s, heat creeping across her cheeks. “And he’s not my anything. I barely even know the man.” And yet here she was, trusting him, and trusting his friends. Why? She wasn’t entirely sure, and that scared her more than the heat that simmered between her
and Doyle.
“What he may have been in his life isn’t what he is, remember that,” Camille said. “And sometimes you don’t have to know someone to love him. Sometimes love is just predestined.”
Kirby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Two souls fated to meet through time and the ages, and all that crap.”
Camille’s smile was wry. “Not one ounce of crap involved, believe me. Especially in his family.”
