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Fiona had taken the podium and was talking to the crowd. Someone really needed to teach her to dress. She was in a pencil skirt that was too big for her and a shlumpy sweater that was at least two sizes larger than her wonderfully curvaceous figure needed. Her hair wasn’t in the popular ‘messy bun.’ It was just a mess. He’d been so focused on admiring the beauty she was hiding, he hadn’t been really listening closely, but then her words caught his attention.
“There in the middle of the clearing on what appeared to be a make-shift altar made of stone, the victim lay spread-eagled—his feet and hands staked to the rock. Blood had poured freely from those wounds when his heart still beat. But it was easy to see it beat no more.”
What the hell?She was describing Daniel’s murder scene. He focused his attention on Fiona’s words.
“Freya checked the clearing, moving back into the trees and circling around, sweeping the area as she spiraled closer and closer to the victim. Keeping her gun at the ready, she got close enough to examine the body and fought back the urge to vomit. The man’s eyes and ears had been removed. As she looked closer, she saw his tongue was missing as well.
The body had been carved and painted with ancient runes and symbols of high magic. His wrists had been slashed and his throat cut…”
There was no fucking way that the scene she was describing was coincidental. Her book was already published. Slade knew that took time to happen. He needed to shut her down and take her into custody.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Ms. Fowler, I’m going to need you to come with me.”
“Slade, what is wrong with you?” hissed Jessica.
Fiona smiled, which he thought was an odd reaction to having her reading interrupted, especially by a man she knew was a homicide detective.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.
Slade made his way through the standing audience to get to her on the podium. She seemed remarkably composed for someone who was describing Daniel’s grisly murder. He cupped her elbow, which could be interpreted in many ways by a casual observer, but which took her in hand. Should she try to escape, Slade could easily stop her.
“Yes, I’m going to need you to come with me,” he said in a calm, level voice.
The last thing he wanted to do was arrest Jessica’s friend, especially in front of an audience and the press, but there was no way he wasn’t taking her into custody.
“I’m a little bit busy. All these people,” she nodded toward the audience who she could see were hanging on every word, “came to hear me finish this reading and then meet and talk with me and three other author friends—Jessica being one of them.”
She was a cool customer. She’d put him on notice that others were watching and that they both knew her friend. It didn’t matter, he didn’t get bluffed or intimidated that easily.
“I’m afraid this can’t wait,” he said. “Perhaps your friends could take over for you.”
“What’s going on, Slade?” asked Jessica, clearly agitated. As soon as he got Fiona into an interrogation room, he would call Thorn and give him a heads up.
He turned his attention to Jessica but kept hold of Fiona’s elbow so he could keep an eye on her. “This doesn’t concern you, Jessica.”
“The hell it doesn’t, Slade. Fiona is one of my closest friends.”
This is not going to go well.Slade barely muffled a groan before turning back to Fiona. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. You can come with me voluntarily, or I can put you in handcuffs.”
“As much fun as that might be in a different scenario, I think I’ll pass on the bracelets.”
Again, it seemed odd to him that she could make a joke about it. On the other hand, the idea of a naked Fiona Fowler handcuffed to his bed did have some appeal. His cock began to tighten, and Slade chastised it internally.Down, boy. She’s a murder suspect.His cock didn’t seem to care. Slade shook his head, banishing the inappropriate thought.
“Jessica, can you take over?” asked Fiona. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
Slade led her out of the door and almost made it to his SUV when an older woman with silver-gray hair and the confidence and stance of a veteran cop confronted him. “I’m Christie Crofton, Baltimore Homicide, retired.”
Damn. This is not what I need; some retired cop defending her friend.As Slade recalled, there had been four of them—mystery writers who had formed a ‘murder club’ to solve cold cases. He’d forgotten one of them was a retired homicide detective.
Taking a deep breath, he addressed Christie Crofton in a level, professional voice. “Even if you weren’t retired, Ms. Crofton, you would be out of your jurisdiction. I need for you to stand aside.”
Christie stood for a moment, gave a light nod in acknowledgement that he was right and then looked at Fiona. Hopefully, he’d shut that line of support down.
“Don’t say a word,” Christie said.Apparently not as shut down as I thought.“Not one damn word until we know what this is about and get you a lawyer.”
“I haven’t arrested Ms. Fowler…” he said, trying to defuse the situation with Christie, but still keeping an air of authority with Fiona—a delicate balancing act he wasn’t sure he could do as an image of Daniel’s mutilated body flashed in his mind’s eye.
“Yet,” challenged Christie. “But we both know you’re taking her into involuntary custody.”
