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"His wife?"
She stared at Ski for several seconds, then covered her face with her hands and began to cry in loud, wracking sobs.
Ski planted his feet wider on the bathroom floor tiles. "What happened here tonight, Ms. Malone?"
She moaned into her hands and shook her head.
"Is this your pistol? Did you shoot Lofland with it?" He didn't believe she had, at least not using the pistol now in his possession. But he wanted to see what kind of reaction he'd get by asking.
She dropped her hands from her face and gaped at him. "What?"
"Did you--"
"No!" She surged to her feet, reeled slightly, then steadied herself by placing a hand on the edge of the pedestal sink. "I didn't get out the pistol until after I'd called 911."
"After you'd called 911?"
Her head bobbed an affirmation. She gulped a breath. "I was afraid ... afraid he would come back."
"Who?"
Before she could answer, sounds of a commotion downstairs reached them. A door slammed. Voices were raised. Ski heard Andy telling someone that they couldn't come in. Just as insistently, a female voice, ordered him out of her way. Apparently Berry Malone recognized the woman's voice, because suddenly she gave a sharp cry and slipped past Ski through the bathroom door.
"Hey!" He was careful to hurdle the bloodstain on the rug as he chased after her. Midway across the bedroom, he made a grab for her arm but came up with only a handful of cotton fabric. She whirled around and yanked it from his grip, but not before he got an eyeful.
Then in a flash of bare skin and printed textile, she vanished through the bedroom door.
Ski went after her, crossed the gallery in a run, and bolted down the stairs, hot on her heels.
CHAPTER
1
WHEN HIS CELL PHONE'S JINGLE PULLED HIM FROM A deep sleep, Dodge figured the caller was Derek. Likely his employer had had one of his famous middle-of-the-night brainstorms and wanted Dodge to act upon it immediately.
Dodge couldn't think of what might be so crucial that it couldn't keep till daylight, but Derek paid him to be on twenty-four-hour call, if for no other reason than to act as a sounding board.
He fumbled for his phone in the dark and, without even opening his eyes, figuring he was about to be sent out on an errand he wasn't in the mood for, answered with an unfriendly and unenthusiastic "Yeah?"
"Dodge?"
Surprised to hear a woman's voice, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He reached through the darkness for the lamp switch and turned it on. Using his lips, he pulled a cigarette from the pack, then flicked on his lighter. As he took his first inhale, he wondered which woman, among the vast number with whom he was acquainted, he had pissed off this time. He didn't remember getting on anyone's fighting side recently, but maybe that was his transgression--disremembering.
Since he hadn't yet responded to his name, his caller asked with uncertainty, "Have I reached Dodge Hanley?"
He was reluctant to confirm it before he knew who was asking. He preferred keeping a low profile. He had a driver's license because it was a necessity. He carried a single credit card, but it had been issued in Derek's name. Dodge used it only when doing business for the law firm. Privately, he operated strictly on a cash basis, and not even Derek knew his home address.
"Dodge? Is that you?"
He replied with a sound that was half word, half dry cough. "Yeah."
"This is Caroline."
His lighter slid from his fingers and fell to the floor.
"Caroline King."
As if she needed to specify which Caroline. As if she needed to jog his memory.
