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“Well, yeah,” Faith said. “Not even you have self-esteem low enough to be the other guy in an affair.”
“Hey, take it easy,” Michael said, growing irritated. “I’m not the other guy, okay? She’s separated. Has been since before I met her. She lives on her own in the city, and her husband has his new girl in their house out in Bald Lake.”
“And he knows about you?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “He doesn’t care. He barely acknowledged it when she told him.”
“And she told you this,” Faith said.
Michael glanced over at her. “If you have something to say, Faith, I’d appreciate it if you said it.”
Faith lifted both of her hands and said, “I’m just saying be careful. I’m sure she likes you.”
“She does,” Michael insisted.
“I’m sure she does,” Faith repeated, “but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s still married. Sometimes people think they’re ready to move on, but they aren’t.”
“You don’t know her, Faith,” Michael said.
“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “I just want you to be careful, is all.”
He didn’t reply to her. He hated that her words angered him so much. More than that, he hated that she was right. Any objective examination of the case would tell Michael that he was treading dangerous ground with Ellie.
But she was different. He hated how childish that thought was, but childish or not, it was true. He had seen the empathy in her eyes when he told her of his father’s death, his mother’s descent into alcoholism, his brother’s incarceration, and even his brief romance with Faith. She had listened, and she had cared, more than anyone he’d ever known.
He trusted her. He had been an investigator for fifteen years. He could tell when people were lying to him. She wasn’t lying.
He glanced at Faith again and could tell that she didn’t feel the same as he did.
Well, she didn’t know Ellie. When she met her, she would know Michael was right about her. That was the answer. He would introduce the two of them.
Eventually.
CHAPTER THREE
“So, we can’t see the first crime scene?” Faith asked.
“You can see it,” Travis said, “but I’ll be surprised as shit if the husband hasn’t cleaned it up already. I can’t imagine he wants to see the outline of his wife’s body in blood every night.”
They had landed in Tucson at six-thirty. After navigating their way through baggage claim—Michael grousing the whole way—they were met outside by two police officers in plainclothes.
The older of the officers introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Travis Brown. He was in his late forties, five-foot-ten and about 240 pounds, barrel-chested, and husky. He lacked only the trench coat and fedora to look like an old-school, hardboiled detective from a film noir movie.
The younger officer was still a few years older than Faith, around Michael’s age. He was a few inches taller and a good sixty pounds lighter than Travis, possessed of a lean, athletic build—a runner’s build, Faith guessed. He introduced himself as Detective Derek Chapman.
“We’ll review the forensics reports,” Michael said, “and we’ll interview the husband too. For now, we’ll go look at the second scene while it’s still fresh.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s fresh,” Travis said. “It’s been two days since Mrs. Montgomery was killed, and CSI’s picked through it pretty clean.”
Faith frowned. Travis’s pessimistic attitude concerned her. The last time she’d dealt with a pessimist, his incompetence had nearly derailed their investigation. Well, pessimism and incompetence weren’t necessarily the same thing. No one would call Faith an optimist, but no one would deny that she was competent either.
Unless it came to the copycat Donkey Killer. Then she was just worthless without her little psych clearance.
Well, now look who had a pessimistic attitude. She grinned slightly as she realized that this case would prevent her from making her psychology appointment tomorrow.
“Something funny, Agent?” Travis asked.
“Just happy to be here,” she said, smiling at him.
