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Alex didn’t wait to hear any more. Anger and terror twisted into a painful knot inside her, and she swallowed hard to prevent vomiting. Ignoring the choking lump of panic in her throat, she ordered herself to think.
She could freak out later. When she was safe. Right now, she had to get out of the house without being heard. Go to the police.”
She would not lose her cool.
She slipped silently into her office and retrieved her tote, then hurried back to the mudroom. Southern Accent’s soft voice reassured her. He and Jerry hadn’t heard her.
Sliding into her stilettos, wishing she’d worn something more comfortable today, she stepped into the garage, closed the door silently, then exited through the side door.
She knew Jerry cut corners in his business, but she hadn’t realized he’d been laundering money. Stealing some of it.
She’d been smart to pay attention to the tiny voice that had whispered keep your money separate when he’d wanted joint accounts. She had her own checking and savings accounts. They both contributed to the household account. Thank God she’d resisted his attempts to make him the beneficiary in her will.
Instead of running to her car, which every instinct screamed to do, she walked. Got in, set the tote on the seat beside her, and started the car. Drove back downtown and pulled into the police station parking lot.
Gripping her tote, she hurried inside. Stopped at the desk and waited until the grey-haired officer looked up. “Help you?”
“I need to speak to a… to a detective,” she said. “About a crime I witnessed.”
The officer nodded. “Who’s the detective on the case?”
Alex shook her head and swallowed the ball of fear in her throat. “I just need to speak to a detective. Please.”
The cop’s gaze swept over her, taking in her expensive suit. The leather bag. Her pricey haircut. Thank God she hadn’t had a chance to change out of her ‘court’ suit.
“Your name?” he asked, his pen poised above a piece of paper.
“Alexandra Conway.”
His pen scratched across the paper. “Address?” he asked without looking up.
She rattled it off.
After entering it in his log, he nodded. “I’ll buzz you in. Up the stairs behind the doors. Bullpen’s on the left. Should be a detective there.”
“Thank you, officer,” she said, then grabbed for the door as soon as it buzzed and hurried up the stairs.
The bullpen was deserted except for one detective wearing a sports coat, shirt and tie. Drawing a deep breath, she walked over to his desk.
He looked up at the sound of her heels hitting the wooden floor. Smiled. “Can I help you?”
She didn’t like his smile. It wasn’t friendly or welcoming. It was assessing. And as his gaze lingered on her chest, it turned smarmy.
“Yes, Detective…” she glanced at his name tag, “Detective Summers. I need your help.”
He waved his hand toward the chair on the side of his desk. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”
“I got home late this evening, and my husband was in his office. Talking to someone whose voice I didn’t recognize.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He was hiring a man to kill me.”
“What?” The detective’s smirk vanished and he leaned in. “You sure you heard right? Didn’t misunderstand?”
“Positive. They were discussing accidents. Jerry said it had to be an accident, so the insurance company would pay out quickly.”
Summers leaned back in his chair. “You sure they weren’t joking around? Kidding about something else?”
“Didn’t sound like kidding to me,” Alex shot back.
Summers sighed. “Okay.” He pulled a form from a stack of papers. “What’s your name?”
