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The Nobles’ house was in the Garden District, and it was difficult to qualify it as solely a house. It was way too grand for that. In the fading afternoon light, the white colonnades glowed, beautifully framing the bright yellow home’s classic lines. It would’ve been picture-worthy in every sense of the term, if not for being the scene of a crime. Red tapes were still sealing the perimeter, and a police car was stationed there as surveillance.
As they parked on the street, Noelle noticed people walking by, but being a child of the city, she knew those onlookers were only rounding the corner to come back at a better angle to check everything out once more. Many folks here lived on gossip.
Brandon didn’t acknowledge their presence; instead, he hopped out of the car, rounded it to let her out, and even offered his hand as she stepped out. As soon as they touched, it felt the same as when they’d first met at the bar. His hold tightened until she was flush against him, and that tremor expanded to an earthquake. Even in the humid heat, her body shivered at the connection, and when she looked up, Noelle feared she’d melt on the spot.
The intensity made her step back, but she’d forgotten about the slim skirt of her dress and high heels and nearly toppled over like a falling tree.
It wouldn’t be the first time her ass connected with the pavement, but instead, two arms came around and secured her firmly against the wall of warm muscles.
“Hey, careful there.”
Her high heels redeemed themselves when Noelle realized how close she was to his face. Every single cell in her body wanted to lean forward, indulge in his warm, musky scent, and find out how his golden beard felt against her cheek. But Reeker’s image popped into her mind, reminding her who was holding her so intimately in his arms.
“You can let me go now, lieutenant.”
The second the words were out, Brandon let her go.
“Not that I’m complaining, in those heels you look fantastic, but you might want to be careful. Unless you want me to catch you again. If that’s the case, stay close.”
The rascal didn’t wait for her reply and grabbed her kit from the backseat before heading for the house.
Breathless, Noelle had to shake herself to disperse the fumes of need that invaded her very logical, brilliant brain. She may have the hots for the forbidden fruit that was Brandon Turner, but he only needed her for work, nothing more. For a moment, Noelle had forgotten how she looked and that men like Brandonwere out of her league and were only interested in her brain or connections.Chin up and shoulders back.Noelle kept that in mind when she followed the detective inside.
He’d already unlocked the front door, and the first thing she detected was the rancid smell of dried blood. Past the entrance, it was easy to follow her nose into the vast living room. The bright light streaming through the windows gave an even more horrendous feeling to the crime scene.
The chalk outline of the body was stark white on the waxed wooden floor. The blood had been wiped away, but traces clearly showed a gruesome crime scene.
During her training, Noelle had visited countless crime scenes, and each time, it was difficult to detach herself from the emotions that occurred there, of the lives that were lost or impacted forever. It was the reason she preferred the sterile surroundings of her lab, although it was a privilege to come here and offer advice.
A few deep breaths allowed her to distance herself and examine the room with her scientist’s filter.
Brandon walked around. “This is where everything happened. We didn’t find any signs of violence anywhere else. The only signs of blood were in here.”
“If not for all that blood, it would be difficult to know an act of violence happened here.”
Brandon nodded and pointed at a corner. “Only that big vase was toppled over. That’s it.”
“No trace of blood in any of the sinks?”
Again, the detective shook his head. “No, and the way we found the suspect confirmed that she didn’t wash off the blood at all.”
“Unusual. Normally, suspects or victims try to wash away the blood from their skin, especially their hands.”
Brandon sighed. “Yeah, but not this time. Lottie Noble was right here, lying on the floor, shaking and unsteady, obviously in shock.”
Noelle turned her back to the scene and walked toward a wide opening that led to a home office of gleaming dark woods, ceiling-high bookcases and a vast desk that occupied most of the space. On the tiny bit of wall space available were a few diplomas and accreditations.
“Her husband was a family lawyer?”
Brandon stood beside her, hands in pockets. “Orson Noble was fifty-two years old, been with Lottie since high school, got married right after. Three kids. An ordinary, normal family, upstanding citizens, respected, loved, appreciated.”
“Not a hiccup until that night, right?”
Noelle looked on the desk and saw pictures of this perfect family. She knew fingerprints would’ve been taken by now, so she didn’t worry about moving the papers around. Mostly scribbles, notes, phone numbers. One sticky note caught her eye that contained female writing, flowery—something about remembering a dentist appointment with a smiley face and a heart.
“How can a woman who obviously still loves her husband turn into a cold-blooded killer and slit his throat?”
Brandon was immediately by her side, and she handed him the note. “After all those years, she still draws a heart on her notes for him. I’m no handwriting expert, that’s more Marina’s alley, but it doesn’t strike me as someone writing in anger.”
