When No One Is Watching

“Valentine brought the flowers. Maybe they’re part of his pretense in entering the apartment, or maybe he has them on hand as his calling card. Regardless, my theory is that he was in the kitchen putting water in the vase when the boyfriend walked in. He panicked, threw the vase at him, breaking the glass. Then he reached for a knife.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “If it’s Valentine, he killed him in a panic. He didn’t plan it.” She pointed to the blood. “I’ll bet you have two blood types here.”

“The boyfriend’s and Valentine’s,” Gray finished.

“Right. You’ll want to talk to area hospitals in case he’s sought treatment. And look.” Mia pointed to streaks of droplets on the cabinets. “That looks like cast off from the knife. CSU may be able to get an idea of the suspect’s height based on the location of those droplets.”

“And if the boyfriend’s dead,” said Gray, “what did Valentine do with the body?”

“He let him bleed out for a while, based on that puddle. There are drag marks on the tile, right there. But then they stop.” Her forehead tensed. “The bed was empty. It didn’t even have sheets on it.”

Without explanation, she again left and headed toward the bedroom. Gray heard her talking to herself as he followed. “Valentine may have wrapped the body in the sheets and comforter to move it. You know, to make it easier to slide him across the floor.”

Gray stood by the bedroom door. Mia was opening the only window in the bedroom and looking out. “Here’s a fire escape, and there’s a Dumpster below.” She turned around. “Did CSU check the Dumpster?”

Gray nodded gravely. “Sure did. That’s exactly where we found him.”

“You—what?” She spun around, her eyes wide with confusion. “You found him already?”

“One Gregory Stoddard,” said D’Augostino, reading from a small notepad. “Wrapped in a bloody blanket and sheets. He was still wearing the suit and tie he wore to work.” He folded the notebook and placed it in his pocket. “Apparently he’d been pulling a long day.”

“Wait a minute.” The confusion in Mia’s eyes slowly turned to anger. “You let me go through this entire exercise when you already knew what had happened? Why?”

Gray shrugged. “I wanted to see how you work and how you’d respond to a Valentine scene.” After the incident at the hotel, when he’d thought she’d been about to fall apart, he’d had to make sure Mia was up to the task. He gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “You had some good ideas. You passed, Mia. You’re on the team.”

“I don’t believe this.” She yanked her shoulder out of his reach. “You lied to me. You asked me for my professional assistance, and then you lied to me.”

“Now, wait a minute. I never lied to you. I just didn’t tell you everything we’d found.”

Gray suspected it didn’t matter what he said just then. Her cheeks were heated, her eyes hot with rage. She’d clenched her fists, and he wondered how difficult it was for her to fight the urge to strike him. “You’re the one who wanted to work this case, remember?” He tried to keep his voice from rising, but he didn’t like the way she was looking at him. “Now, I think you’re good. I like the way you worked the scene. But this is how I work, and if you don’t like that, then I’ll show you the door. It’s nothing personal, Mia.”

She glared at him, frozen in her anger and no doubt struggling to keep her control. “You withheld information from me. I can’t work with someone like that.”

“Me, neither,” Gray said, “which is why I had to make sure you weren’t deceiving me when you said you were comfortable working a Valentine scene. It’s simple. If you don’t want to work with me—”

“No.” Her voice was calmer, despite her still-flashing eyes. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He looked her up and down. She had every right to feel enraged, but she’d maintained her self-control. He admired that. “Good,” he said, and meant it.

* * *

When Gray had offered her a ride home, Mia had refused, but she’d accepted one from D’Augostino. Gray had shrugged. What did he care if she was mad at him? As long as she helped him to find the missing girl.

He entered his apartment at almost two in the morning, but he couldn’t sleep. His bed felt uncomfortable, his apartment too warm. He took a cold shower, then sat on his couch wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and read through some of the Valentine files he’d taken home. Sleep wasn’t a priority. Somewhere, some sick freak was torturing a young grad student. Her time was running out, and Gray had to find her.

His brain felt unusually cluttered, and he had difficulty focusing. Maybe it was because he was looking at the Lena Perez file, but thoughts of Mia kept disrupting his work. He did things his way and never felt a twinge of guilt. It was just part of his job.

Yet he couldn’t get that look on her face out of his mind—the one she’d shot him when he’d told her he’d been testing her. She was just another professional consultant, so why should he care what she thought of him? But he’d hated seeing that look in her eyes. The look of disappointment. He gritted his teeth. Maybe he’d try to smooth things over with her, but an apology was out of the question. He’d done nothing wrong.

He pored over the documents for hours, watching the time pass on the clock on his wall. Three in the morning, then four, then five. Gray was never far from a clock. Lives depended on his willingness to work, no matter the hour. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when the phone rang, he opened his eyes, disoriented and with a stack of papers on the floor beside him.

“Bartlett,” he growled into the phone.

“Lieutenant. It’s Mindy, from CSU. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Gray glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. He bolted upright and rubbed his eyes. “No, I was just heading out the door. What’ve you got?”

“We have an ID on that body you found by the Charles last week. The vic’s name is Samantha Watkinson. Sound familiar?”

His mind was a fog. “Not really.”

“She’s a reporter for the Globe. That’s the second Globe reporter who’s been killed in the past year. You remember that Jake Smith turned up dead not too long ago?”

“Any connection?”

“I had Ballistics check the bullets. Same gun, Lieutenant.”

Gray gave a low whistle as the news settled, unsure of what the implications were. Mindy took a breath. “There’s something else. I understand Mia Perez is working with you.”

Word sure traveled quickly. “Yes, she is.”

She hesitated. “She was at the scene last week, right? Were you watching her the entire time?”

He sat up straighter. “What are you asking, Mindy?”

“This sounds crazy. I mean, I’ve worked with Dr. Perez, and she’s always been so professional, but...was she wearing gloves? Did she happen to touch anything at the scene?”

Gray thought back. Of course he’d made Mia put on gloves. He made everyone at the scene wear gloves...right? His gut worked into a knot. “Mindy, just get to the point.”

He heard her take another breath. “I don’t want to get anyone into trouble, but you might want to ask Dr. Perez a few questions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, why are her fingerprints all over the gun that was used to shoot Samantha Watkinson and Jake Smith?”

Chapter 4 (#ulink_dcf5d124-876a-5f7a-bab3-76e72872bd8c)

“You had me worried last night,” Mark said as Mia walked down the front steps to her apartment building. “You took off after the ceremony like the place was on fire.”

“Sorry. Everything’s fine.” Her cell-phone reception was spotty again, and she felt as if she was yelling into the phone. “I ran into a contact at the police department and he had some questions about a case, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah? Are you working again?”

“I don’t know,” she replied as an ache unfurled in the center of her chest. She’d been unable to sleep last night as her heart hammered, thinking about that awful crime scene. Maybe she should count her capacity to compartmentalize her professional work among the many things she’d lost. “I miss Lena so much. It was hard enough to return to the classroom last semester, and now to get involved with police work again...” She realized she was staring down at the sidewalk as she spoke, and she lifted her head to cross the street to the neighborhood café. Be alert. “I don’t remember being this bothered by these things before.”

“That’s understandable,” said Mark.

He was silent then, and she felt oddly ashamed by her confession. She and Mark weren’t those kinds of friends, and she shouldn’t be showing him weakness or confiding in him. He had his own problems to work through. “Sorry. I’ll feel better after breakfast. Thanks for calling.”

“As I said, I was concerned, that’s all.” He cleared his throat. “Got to run. I’m about to meet with an investor.”