Gavin watched as Claudia searched Silver’s desk

The morning sunshine highlighted her hair, and he thought of angels. The imagery struck him as ironic, especially considering the fact that Claudia Parrish was as likely a suspect as anyone in the ongoing corruption within the Homicide Unit. After all, the evidence tampering hadn’t ended when her partner’s life had. And the most recent involved one of Claudia’s own cases.

Gavin hadn’t been surprised to learn of Judge Warner’s dismissal of the Brown case. Reports of the missing gun were in the file his lieutenant had handed him weeks ago—a thick file that made Claudia Internal Affair’s prime suspect.

After five years on IAD, he prided himself on his ability to read people. Claudia Parrish, however, wasn’t easy to read. Either her defensiveness was an honest response, or there was more behind the sharp tone she’d adopted with him earlier.

He definitely had to be careful. He couldn’t afford to alienate Claudia. Not when he needed to get close to her—close enough to find out the truth.

Dear Reader,

My ongoing research with Baltimore’s Homicide Unit rarely offers a dull moment. Not only does it provide a constant source of ideas for stories, but these determined and dedicated detectives are inspiring models for the kinds of strong and intriguing characters that inhabit the pages of the books I love to write.

In creating Falling for Him, I wanted to represent these admirable men and women of the Baltimore Police Department as the everyday heroes they are, working exhausting shifts and dealing with aspects of life we can only imagine. I’ve seen the toll that such a job can sometimes take on an individual and the way detectives’ work often wears at their spirit and their personal lives. With that in mind, I created Detectives Claudia Parrish and Gavin Monaghan—both with their own strengths and weaknesses, both with the same drive and perseverance in their quest for what they believe in, in their jobs and in their hearts. I hope that the courage and integrity of each and every one of the Unit’s members has been captured in Claudia and Gavin’s story, as well as that enduring sense of hope and love we all need to embrace.

Sincerely,

Morgan Hayes

Books by Morgan Hayes

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

632—PREMONITIONS

722—SEE NO EVIL

773—DECEPTION

Falling for Him

Morgan Hayes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Lynette.

Also…

To The Hutch—I’d be lost without you gals!

To Jackie Navin and the rest of my stunning critique group.

And with very heartfelt thanks to Sgt. Steve Lehmann of BPD Homicide—a real hero.

And to the rest of the guys on the Unit: Mike, Cliff, Bill, Homer, Wayne, Joe and too many others to mention. You know I love you guys!

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

CLAUDIA KNEW HE WAS DEAD even before she’d brought her car to a skidding stop along that cold, dark street. She knew the second she heard the Federal Hill address crackle over the police radio. Her mind refused to grasp the idea, but in her heart, through her entire body, she felt it, as surely as if a part of herself had died.

The ambulance, the half-dozen squad cars with their revolving lights, and then the crime-scene van parked outside the two-story row house confirmed her fears.

Frank was dead.

Claudia leaped from the car, hardly registering the sharp pellets of icy rain slapping her face as she made her way through an already gathering crowd and ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape.

“Detective Claudia Parrish,” she said, giving the officer barely a second to acknowledge the silver shield she flashed, before mounting the front steps two at a time.

The stairwell seemed tighter than usual, hot, with a cloying mustiness that she didn’t recall in all the times she’d been up here. She was out of breath before she reached the top-floor apartment, but it wasn’t the two flights that had winded her. It was shock. It closed around her chest like a fist, clenching steadily until she thought each gasp might be her last.

Frank.

Even the entrance of the apartment didn’t seem right—it felt cramped and narrow. The splintered door, half-off its hinges, displayed the force that had been used to gain entrance.

The world tilted briefly, and she lifted her hand, about to catch herself against the ruined doorjamb. But she stopped. This was a crime scene. Instead, she buried her hands deep in the pockets of her trench coat. Not that it mattered—they would find her prints all over the apartment anyway.

“Detective Parrish,” she heard one officer say. Surprise lifted his tone as she stepped past him and several other uniformed officers.

“Come on, guys. Clear out.” She recognized Sergeant Gunning’s growling voice from farther back in the apartment. “It’s getting crowded in here. Everyone out except the techs, all right? Now.”

She moved through the apartment, each stride shakier than the last, until she drew near the open bedroom door. Frank’s bedroom.

He was dead. But she still expected to hear his voice above the others, analyzing the scene—after all, he was the squad’s best.

There was the bright flare of a camera’s bulb, the high-pitched whine of its recharge, and then another flash. Sergeant Gunning’s hulking figure filled the doorway, his head bowed and shaking in disbelief.

I shouldn’t have left you last night, Frank. The thought tumbled through her mind, over and over. I should have been listening instead of arguing. Instead of accusing. I should have believed you. Should have trusted you.

She stopped in the doorway, her gaze involuntarily drawn past the crime-scene technicians to the corner beside the bed. She caught a glimpse of his white leather sneakers, and the first wave of nausea churned in her stomach.

She must have gasped, because Sergeant Gunning turned to face her.

“Oh, damn. Claudia. What are you doing here?”

“I heard…on the radio…” Her sergeant’s exclamation alerted the others of her presence. They parted. And then Claudia saw him.

She took one unsteady step forward. Sergeant Gunning’s hand settled on her shoulder for a brief moment, as if intending to hold her back. But he didn’t.

“Frank.” His name didn’t echo only in her thoughts. Claudia heard her own voice, thin and wavering, fill the sudden silence. Her breath shortened, and her heart raced as she took in the scene.

Nothing, not ten years in uniform and another two in Homicide, could have prepared Claudia for seeing her own partner sprawled across the carpeted floor.

Even as she stood over his body, she expected him to move. It couldn’t be Frank’s lifeless body lying there, dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt…the Baltimore Ravens T-shirt she’d bought him just last month. But it was. Claudia choked back a sob and struggled against another rush of queasiness. She tried to focus, process this like any other crime scene.

Detach. Put your emotions aside. Think like a detective, Frank would have advised her.

Claudia scanned the room. There was no indication of a struggle. The bed was made with Frank’s suit laid on it for work. His pager and cell phone were on the dresser, and his shoulder holster hung over the back of the chair next to it. Empty. The 9mm police-issue Glock was in Frank’s hand instead.

“No signs of forced entry,” Claudia heard Gunning say behind her. “The boys had to use the ram to get in when no one answered. Neighbors reported the gunfire. Claudia? You gonna be all right?”

Her knees threatened to buckle as a numbness crept over her. She lowered herself to kneel next to Frank.

“No one was seen entering or leaving the apartment,” Sergeant Gunning went on. “Couple people heard the shot less than an hour ago and called it in. We’re going to conduct a thorough canvass, but…it doesn’t look like…”

Sarge’s voice faded from her awareness. As did the rest of the room and the people around her. She couldn’t detach. It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t just another victim.

This was Frank. Her partner of two years, her best friend…

The edges of her vision blurred until there was only Frank. Her hands shook when she reached for him. Part of her knew she shouldn’t touch him, but no one in that room would dare to stop her.

The sob Claudia had fought so hard to contain escaped at last. His hand was still warm as though there was life. She caressed it, turning it over and sweeping her fingers across his broad palm, feeling its softness. Strong hands, yet lovingly gentle, she thought, remembering how they had felt on her body, how they’d touched her and held her in a way no other man ever had.

She lifted his hand to her face and pressed it against her cheek. There was the faint trace of aftershave—the same smell she’d woken to this morning, lingering on her sheets from the day before…before their argument.

I’m sorry, Frank. I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Sorry I didn’t believe you. I should have been here.

She squeezed his hand, half-expecting a response. His hair was mussed, and she had to force herself not to brush her fingers through it. It was getting long again, she thought. He needed a cut.

She was about to touch his face when someone grasped her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Claudia. You can’t.”

She started to resist the person pulling her away, until she looked up. She recognized Lori Tobin from the crime lab.

“We’re not finished,” she told Claudia with an apologetic expression. “I’m really sorry.” Her whisper was sincere, and Claudia only vaguely noticed the woman’s sympathetic touch as she guided her to one side. For Claudia, there was only Frank.

She wanted to cry. No, she wanted to scream. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, to feel him with her once again—alive.

The fist around her chest clenched tighter, and Claudia swallowed hard against the bitterness that crept up her throat. She straightened her shoulders. She had to pull herself together. Frank would want that, she thought. He’d want her to be strong. To be professional, and to keep up appearances.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she managed to say, fighting the tremble in her voice.

“There’s nothing to make us think otherwise,” Gunning argued. “The door was locked from the inside. There’s no sign of a struggle.”

“This is not what it looks like,” she repeated, trying to convince herself against what was so painfully obvious.

“We’ve got a single shot, with a contact wound to his right temple.” Gunning placed one broad hand on her shoulder, but it did nothing to calm her whirling emotions as suspicion prickled along her neck. “I’m sorry, Claudia. I know you don’t want to believe Frank could have done this. No one does.”

“He didn’t kill himself, Sarge.”

“Claudia—”

“I know Frank.”

“His own gun’s in his hand, Claudia. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” She stepped away from him. “Frank did not kill himself. There’s something not right here. Something…I don’t know what, but this just doesn’t feel right.”

She shook her head and then madly scanned the room once more. This wasn’t right. When her gaze found Frank’s body again, there was the hot sting of tears. She clenched her jaw to dam them.

“He wouldn’t do this. It’s not his way. I know him, Sarge. I know Frank.” Better than any of them did. Better than any of them even realized. He was more than just her partner. More than her best friend. Frank was her lover, the one person she cherished more than life. And now…

What am I supposed to do, Frank? Tell me what I’m supposed to do? This time, when Claudia tried to lower herself to Frank, needing to feel his warmth once more before it was gone from his body forever, Sergeant Gunning held her back. And this time, nothing could stop the tears.

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS HER LAST SHIFT of a week on midnights. Claudia glanced up from the file on her desk and out the windows of the sixth-floor Homicide offices. At five o’clock the city hall dome was taking on the first rosy reflections of the morning sun. Her optimism grew. The squad might just make it through the night without a call. One more hour and the next shift would be in to relieve them. Then she could go home to a long-awaited and well-deserved bath, and finally to bed.

Claudia stretched. She’d been up twenty hours straight, and every muscle was stiff with fatigue. From the main office around the corner where the rest of her squad had spent the night in front of the TV, she heard the early-morning news. Again she prayed for the phone not to ring.

If memory served her, she actually had the weekend off. And she planned to make it two glorious sleep-filled days. Turning back to her desk, Claudia confirmed her schedule on the wall calendar. Had she not looked, she probably wouldn’t have taken note of the day. October 16, the anniversary of their first kiss.

It hardly seemed an entire year ago. She could still recall the scent of Frank’s aftershave. Throughout their two-year partnership in Homicide she’d smelled it on him, but on that particular night, his very ordinary aftershave had suddenly become intensely arousing. She remembered the feel of his hand and the taste of his kiss, with the subtle hint of red wine. But then, it wasn’t a kiss easily forgotten, Claudia decided as images of that initial encounter whispered through her memory. And definitely not a night easily forgotten—filled with tenderness and passion, deep love and mutual respect. And the two brief months that followed had been the best in her life.

Claudia cast her gaze to the desk abutting hers. Frank’s desk—clean, neat…empty. After ten months, it continued to be unassigned, in part because of budgetary constraints, but primarily because it remained a silent memorial. Sarge had cleared out any necessary papers, but the rest went untouched. Even the calendar blotter was still there, left at last December, as though time had stopped after Frank’s death.

But hadn’t it? Hadn’t time stopped for Claudia since that night?

She glanced at the stack of open case files on her desk. Her work had certainly gone on, even if her life hadn’t. There had been no easy answers, no real way to deal with the loss. She’d spent weeks after Frank’s death arguing with herself and with others in the unit that he wasn’t capable of suicide, that Frank Owens wasn’t a quitter. It wouldn’t have mattered how intensely Internal Affairs had hounded him with their false allegations of evidence tampering, Claudia had contended. Frank had withstood the pressure and could have continued doing so. He would have pulled through IAD’s investigation, untainted, proved innocent and, most of all, alive.

Yet, as the months slipped by and the inquiry into his death had come to a conclusion, even Claudia had begun to wonder if Frank had been a quitter. She’d wanted to believe he’d been murdered, but in the end, she’d only been wasting time and energy searching for a nonexistent killer. The final reports hadn’t lied; the facts were there in black and white—suicide.

With no evidence proving otherwise, Claudia had found herself reevaluating the superb detective she’d known, the strong man she’d loved.

Claudia looked to his desk again, the empty chair, his folded reading glasses and an unopened box of Cracker Jacks that no one would even think about touching. In a way, she blamed herself; she should have listened to Frank that last time she’d seen him, when they’d argued about IAD’s unrelenting pressure. Maybe then she would have seen the signs.

But she couldn’t hold herself entirely responsible for Frank’s suicide, Claudia thought, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes. Internal Affairs was as much to blame—especially whoever had suspected Frank in the first place. If they’d done their job properly, the allegations would have been cleared up quickly, and the real person behind the evidence tampering would have been caught.

Instead, the department, the entire force, had let Frank take the fall. His suicide had sealed a guilty verdict in the minds of his co-workers and allowed the true perpetrator to go free.

Yes, IAD had pulled that trigger as surely as Frank had, Claudia decided long ago. And if there had been any way for her to find out exactly who had headed the inquiry into the corruption, she would have.

She’d tried early on. But from the start the IAD probe had been hush-hush. It had taken weeks of rumors before anyone even knew what it was IAD was looking into, and no one could identify the lead investigator. Not that it was general practice to publicize that kind of information. But usually with a few well placed questions to someone who knew someone else, an answer could be had. In this instance, however, Claudia had been met with nothing but closed doors and tight lips.

“Are you still alive back here?”

“Not really,” she said, her eyes shut. “You wanna call Homicide or should I?”

Tony Santoro laughed softly. Claudia heard the hard-soled click of his shoes as he crossed the room. And when she opened her eyes, she watched a playful smile brighten his usually careworn expression. After six years with the unit, there was no denying the job had taken its toll on Tony’s otherwise handsome face. Dark circles under his eyes and deepening creases along his forehead were telltale signs of the long shifts and too much overtime.

Frank had begun to take on that appearance, Claudia recalled. And when she glanced in a mirror she’d be greeted with similar features. It was definitely a hazard of the job.

Tony perched on the corner of her desk. “You do look sorta dead, Parrish. Why don’t I call it in?” he joked. “Any suspects?”

“Sure. You can start with the State’s Attorney Office.”

“Oh yeah, you had the Brown arraignment yesterday.”

Claudia nodded. “Not that it made any difference. Brown’s out on the streets right now, probably shooting someone else.”

“I heard they dismissed it. I’m sorry.”

She straightened in her chair and closed the Brown file, wondering why she’d even bothered to look at it again. Just another drug-related shooting.

“Oh well,” she said. “I guess that’s what happens when you can’t manage something as simple as maintaining a murder weapon. Without it, the State’s Attorney Office had no case.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No? It was my investigation. The evidence was my responsibility.”

Tony moved behind her and lowered his hands to her shoulders, gently massaging out the knots of tension for her. He seemed to recognize that no words were necessary. It had been ongoing and completely random—missing or tampered-with evidence. And, according to IAD, the source wasn’t Evidence Control. Claudia wasn’t the only detective in Homicide who had fallen victim to it. Even Frank, with all his careful work, had had three cases thrown out at the arraignment stage because of lost evidence. No doubt, this had been the reason IAD had targeted Frank.

Still, for Claudia, losing a case because of “misplaced” evidence was not something she ever figured would happen to her.

Obviously aware of the topic’s sensitivity, Tony changed it. “By the way, since you’ve been holed up back here working on your files all night, I bet you didn’t know the new guy was in.”

“New guy?”

“Yeah. Monaghan.”

“I thought he was with the other shift.”

“He was until today. He switched over. Been in Sarge’s office for about three hours. Swapping war stories. Sounds like he’s got some heavy-duty experience under his belt.”

“Oh, please. Are we talking about the same guy? Just finished a stint driving the commissioner’s car?”

“Yeah, for a year. But who can blame him for taking a cushy job after eight years with DEA, and several before that with Homicide in D.C. That’s pretty heavy-duty, if you ask me.”

Claudia nodded. Obviously she’d been too buried in her own work these past few weeks to catch enough of the rumors circulating the unit.

“So I guess this means Sarge is counting on Monaghan’s vast experience to boost our clearance rates, hmm?”

“Oh, no, Detective Parrish,” Tony said with comedic flourish as he reclaimed his position on the corner of her desk. “We’ve got you to do that for us.”

Claudia gave him a sarcastic smile and started putting her files away.

“So what do you think?” Tony asked, stretching his arms over his head. “Ready to pack it in? Other squad should be here soon. Guess we’re not going to get a call now.”

His words still hung on the last shred of silence in the office before it was shattered by the warbling ring of the phone.

“Kiss of death, Tony. You do it every time,” Claudia muttered as she reached for the receiver. “Homicide. Detective Parrish.”

Sure enough, it was a call. Over the phone, Central Dispatching gave Claudia the details, and by the time she had jotted down the address, she glanced up to see Sergeant Gunning enter the room.

“All right. We’re on our way.” Hanging up, she wheeled back her chair and stood. “Five hundred block of Boston Street,” she told her sergeant. “White male. Looks to be a shooting.”

“Do you want me to take it, Sarge?” Tony asked. “I think Claudia here is running on empty.”

Under normal circumstances, Claudia would already have been out the door, but today “running on empty” hardly began to describe her exhaustion.

“No,” Gunning responded at last, scratching at what had to be two-days’ worth of stubble. “I want Claudia on this one.”

She kept her groan to herself. Then again, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t use the extra work to keep her mind off other things.

“I’m on it, Sarge.” She took her gun from her desk drawer and holstered it, shoved a fresh notepad into her jacket pocket and started for the door. “I’ll just get my coat and—”

“And take Monaghan with you,” he added.

Claudia stopped dead. “Pardon me?”

“You heard me. You’re partnering up.”

“Sarge, I haven’t partnered on a case since—”

“I know. That’s why I want you to take Monaghan.”

“Uh, Sarge,” Tony interrupted, obviously hoping to rescue Claudia. “Look, why don’t I go with Claudia on this one. We’ll get it wrapped up before breakfast and be done with it.”

Gunning shook his head. “This isn’t Claudia’s case. It’s Monaghan’s. I want you to back him up, Claudia.”

“You’re assigning Monaghan as the primary detective?” She tried to curb the disbelief in her voice. “Come on, Sarge, he’s only just started with the squad. You can’t honestly tell me that he’s ready to lead his own investigation.”

And then, as if on cue, a man stepped around the corner. He cleared his throat quietly, and Claudia felt the immediate flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks.

There was no doubt in her mind regarding the man’s identity. In fact, he even looked the part of the commissioner’s driver, so clean-cut and crisp that she could easily imagine him in some chauffeur’s monkey suit. Immediately Claudia found herself hoping Tony was right about Monaghan’s experience, because the man bore little resemblance to a seasoned detective who’d reputedly been run ragged by Drug Enforcement and Homicide.

With his jet-black hair clipped short, the angular lines of his face seemed even more pronounced—regal, almost. They accentuated a strong jaw and square chin.

He towered over Claudia, and as he looked down at her, his mouth curved into a charismatic smile. But it was Monaghan’s eyes that riveted Claudia. They were absolutely penetrating, and every bit as dark as the brows that arched over them in an almost expectant expression. It was obvious he’d heard her last remark.

“Claudia, Gavin Monaghan,” Gunning introduced. “Gavin, this is our illustrious Detective Parrish. You can just ignore the foot in her mouth. And don’t let her give you any grief. If she does, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

Monaghan extended his hand in greeting. “It’s good to meet you, Claudia.”

She should have anticipated his smooth voice. It matched his looks, rich and seductive. The kind of voice that probably swept most women off their feet at the mere sound, Claudia decided, returning his firm handshake with one she hoped would make him flinch. He didn’t.

“Sergeant Gunning’s told me a lot about you.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get to hear my side of the story sometime,” she said quickly, wishing she could break her gaze from his. “But right now, I have…I mean, we have a homicide.”

“I’ll get our coats,” he offered, turning on the heel of one perfectly polished black wing-tip oxford. His stride was assured as he walked down the corridor. She watched him, unable to resist admiring the impressive outline of his body, his broad shoulders and tapered waist. The expensive suit looked good on him, she decided. Probably better than any monkey suit. Then again, with a body like that, Gavin Monaghan probably looked good in just about anything.

“He needs to get his feet wet,” Sarge said, as Claudia saw Gavin veer into the main office out of sight. “He’s put in his time with Homicide in D.C. In fact, I’m sure he could even teach you a few tricks, but I still want you to show him the ropes around here.”

As though foreseeing the impending argument, Tony mumbled something and made a hasty exit.

“Sarge—”

“No, Claudia.” He held up one thick hand. “No arguments. I’ve catered to your wishes long enough. You know this unit works on the premise of partnerships. I can’t exclude you from that any longer. It’s time. You gotta put the past behind you. You’re working with Monaghan.”

In his hard, gray-eyed stare, Claudia recognized that protest would get her nowhere. She took a deep breath and adjusted her suit jacket. “Fine. I’ll show Monaghan the ropes.”

Sergeant Gunning gave her a solemn nod. “I’m expecting you to make this partnership work,” he told her over his shoulder as he left for his office.

Optimism, Claudia thought as she watched Gavin Monaghan step into the corridor again. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt, and with any luck he’d prove to her that all his experience counted for something.

He held her trench coat in one hand and clipped his holster with the other as he joined her. “I’ve got the keys,” he said, heading for the elevators. “I’ll drive.”

AT FIVE IN THE MORNING, with minimal city traffic, it took only fifteen minutes to drive from Central to the Eastern District. Still those minutes seemed like an hour for Claudia. She wondered if she should apologize to Monaghan. He’d been silent during the entire drive, and no doubt he’d stay that way unless she spoke first.

She snatched another quick glance at him, as she had throughout the drive, then cleared her throat. “Listen, Gavin, about what I said back in the office…I should probably explain.”

“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation.” He flashed her a look of apparent understanding. “I’ve been around long enough. I know no one likes being saddled with the new guy until he’s proved himself.”

Claudia felt another twinge of regret. “Actually, that’s not the real reason I objected. Honestly. I know you’re not a rookie. It’s just—”

“No, but you probably think I’m burned-out. Driving the commissioner’s car around for the past year doesn’t exactly give people a lot of confidence in my abilities.”

Studying his chiseled profile in the soft shadows of morning, Claudia had to admit she appreciated his candor.

Gavin slowed the white unmarked Lumina at a red light, double-checked for traffic and accelerated through the intersection. “Look, if it makes you feel better,” he said, “I promise you won’t be stuck picking up after me on this investigation. But there’s something else, right?”

He caught her quick glance this time.

“You can’t escape the rumors,” he continued. “I’m aware that you’ve refused to work with anyone else on the squad since your partner died.”

“You mean since my partner shot himself, don’t you?”

“I was trying to be tactful.”

“Well, if we’re going to be partners, you don’t need tact. Besides, I’ve dealt with it.”

She directed her gaze out the windshield and saw the sign for Boston Street zip past them. “You missed the street,” she said, and Gavin braked. “I guess the Commissioner never had much need to come out to this armpit of the city, hmm?”

She caught the enticing amusement in his glance before he turned the Lumina around. “All I’m saying is I respect the fact that you prefer working alone. It seems to me Gunning is determined to partner us up, but if you’re going to have a problem working with me, perhaps we should speak to him together. I can certainly handle a homicide on my own.”

“Oh right, and you actually believe you’ll get out of working with me that easily? I don’t think so. If you screw up, it’ll be me taking the grief from Sarge.” She wasn’t sure why she said it; she should have welcomed Gavin’s offer to work on his own, to relieve her of playing his shadow on every move in this investigation. Perhaps it was that honesty and candor of his, but for the first time in months, the idea of working with a partner—particularly Gavin Monaghan—was beginning to have appeal. Besides which, as Sarge said, it was time. And what better time to put Frank behind her than on the day of their anniversary. Not to mention the fact that maybe she could learn a thing or two from Gavin.

The north side of the five-hundred block of Boston Street was lined with aging row houses, some boarded up, others literally crumbling to the sidewalk. The south side of the seemingly deserted street was dominated by the old Marmack Bed & Mattress Company, a weather-beaten red-brick warehouse that had been converted, apparently unsuccessfully, into a series of offices. Parked outside the building’s main entrance were a couple of police cruisers, and Claudia realized that in the time it had taken her to argue with Sarge about Gavin, the crime-scene unit had got the jump on them.

Gavin pulled to the curb, and Claudia was out the door before he’d taken the key from the ignition. In moments he was at her side, his long stride keeping easy pace with hers as they headed down the sidewalk to the main doors. She directed another glance at him, half-expecting to find Frank at her side. It felt odd, she thought, responding to a scene with someone else.

And she wasn’t the only one who seemed to think so. The uniformed officer who greeted them at the door—a young rookie she recognized from previous scenes—gave her a quizzical look, obviously surprised to see her with someone.

“Detective Parrish.” His greeting had a questioning lilt.

“Hey, Marty. How’s it going?”

“Good.” He touched the brim of his cap and then eyed Gavin.

“This is Detective Monaghan. He’s in charge.”

“Oh.”

“Can you tell us what we’ve got? Or is it a surprise today?”

“Nah. No surprises. Looks like a shooting,” he said. “Maybe a burglary gone wrong. Who knows? That’s your job, Detective.”

“Do we have a name on our victim?”

“Early-morning cleaning staff found him. They verify it’s James Silver. Runs a PI business.” He pointed to the Silver Investigations sign in the only lit window on the first floor.

Claudia nodded slowly, muttering a thank-you, and started for the doors. James Silver. A numbness came over her. She struggled to cover the reaction, but it didn’t work.

Gavin put a hand on her arm, stopping her in the foyer. “What is it, Claudia? You okay?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Yeah. Of course. I’m fine.”

“Do you know this guy? James Silver?”

She looked down the hall to the sign over the PI’s door.

“Claudia?” he prompted her again.

“Yeah,” she said at last, and headed toward the open doorway. “Yeah, I know him.”

CHAPTER TWO

“CLAUDIA, WAIT.” Gavin put his hand on her shoulder and spun her around to face him.

Almost immediately he regretted doing so. The second she lifted her gaze to meet his, Gavin felt as though the corridor had suddenly become too narrow. She stood close enough that he caught the residual traces of her perfume. He’d smelled it in the car, as well—something seductively intimate, with the slightest hint of jasmine. But at least while driving, he hadn’t been challenged by the added allure of staring directly into those captivating gray-green eyes.

Those same eyes had caught him by surprise when she’d first looked at him, back at headquarters. Sure, he’d studied the photo in her file: he’d stared at it for the past five weeks—a newspaper clipping taken from the Baltimore Sun two years ago when she’d been presented with the Maryland Officer of the Year award.

The faded black-and-white photo hadn’t done justice to the vibrant golden highlights in her hair or the glow of her perfect skin. But in the picture, Claudia had been smiling, and in the weeks he had studied her file, Gavin had imagined seeing that lush smile in person. Instead, there was concern on her face; it furrowed lines across her forehead and tightened her mouth as she gazed up at him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This guy Silver. You know him?”

“I told you, yes.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be here then.”

“If it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about, Gavin, forget it. I met the man a couple of times, but haven’t seen him since January. He was an acquaintance at best.”

Gavin wondered if the subtle twitch at the corner of her right eye indicated a lie. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure. Now are you coming in or do I have to conduct your investigation?”

She slipped her arm from his grasp, and her trench coat whirled in the air behind her as she turned once more. Gavin watched her and wondered how it was that someone who stood barely five foot five in heels could command such presence.

It shouldn’t have surprised him though, he thought. After all, her file was chock-full of commendations and an endless stream of laudatory reviews from her sergeants, past and present. And besides the award, there had been the bronze star four years ago. Gavin had been impressed from the moment his lieutenant had handed him her file back in the Internal Affairs offices.

“Okay, guys, what have we got?” Claudia’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

He watched her pull a notepad and pen from her pocket and then just as quickly shove them back in, obviously remembering her role as the secondary detective on the scene.

“This is Detective Monaghan.” She gestured an introduction. “He’s the primary, so any details you’ve got go to him.”

She wasn’t liking this one bit, Gavin decided. It wasn’t her case, she wasn’t in control, and she hated that fact. Frustration appeared to stiffen her stance.

But when she stood over the victim, Claudia’s expression softened. In his years on patrol, then in Narcotics and finally Internal Affairs, Gavin had seen his share of violent deaths. It struck him now, however, that he’d never worked one with a woman. As Claudia studied the body of James Silver, a look of compassion seemed to wash over her face. It was a look rarely seen on the faces of seasoned detectives, and Gavin couldn’t help wondering if there was, in fact, more to her relationship with Silver than she’d admitted.

She hadn’t clarified the context in which she knew the private investigator. And then, as Gavin scanned the PI’s office, he saw the Baltimore Police cap on one bookshelf and the framed academy diploma on the wall.

He joined her, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Tell me how you know this guy.”

“This isn’t the time, Gavin.” Her response was barely audible, her focus never leaving the body crumpled in the corner amid a scattering of files.

“He was a cop. Did you work with him?”

She didn’t respond.

“Because if you worked with him, you know Sarge will have to take you off—”

She turned on him, a flare of impatience in her eyes as her whisper sharpened. “I told you, I hardly knew him. Now, are you going to take charge here, or do I have to?”

“Fine.” He withdrew his own notebook from his pocket, flipped to a fresh page and clicked his pen. “I want you to start by getting the report from the responding officer, and then arrange for an initial canvass of the area. After that, I need you to interview the custodial staff. Talk to whoever found him, see what they know about his hours, if they saw or heard anything. Do you think you can handle that, Detective Parrish?”

It was clear Claudia hadn’t expected him to take such swift authority. She stared at him for a moment, and Gavin wondered if it was a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips instead of the indignation he’d expected.

Then she gave him a subtle nod. “That’s more like it, Detective Monaghan.”

THE MEDICAL EXAMINER HAD removed Silver’s body at six o’clock, and by seven the crime-scene technicians appeared to have breakfast in mind as they hurried to wrap up their work. She and Gavin had been on the scene for close to two hours now, and throughout Claudia had watched him. She couldn’t deny that she was impressed.

Gavin’s command of the scene had been almost immediate. As Claudia had spoken to the responding officer and waited for him to write up his report, Gavin had stood over Silver’s body for the longest time, both hands buried deep in the pockets of his trench coat. At first, Claudia had wondered if perhaps he’d forgotten his past work. Then she’d seen how carefully his gaze scrutinized the area, locking on details, assessing the surroundings, studying the position and condition of the body, until he’d finally moved on to talk to the ME at length.

Obviously a one-year stint chauffeuring the brass around had not robbed him of his experience. The investigation was in capable hands. And yet, if there had been any way for her to take the case, Claudia would have jumped at the opportunity.

From the moment she’d heard James Silver’s name, she’d wanted this one. She hadn’t lied to Gavin about knowing James Silver, about meeting him. It had been only twice, but Silver had been more than the “acquaintance” she’d told Gavin he was. He’d been a good friend of Frank’s, and his partner on patrol years ago in the Eastern District. It had been a decade since Silver had worn a uniform, yet his friendship with Frank had remained loyal.

She knew enough about James Silver to know he’d been a good man, a good cop, and a good friend to Frank. So good, that he was the one person who may never have been convinced by the evidence indicating Frank’s suicide. She hadn’t spoken with Silver since three weeks after Frank’s death. It had been a brief phone call, and they’d done nothing but argue: Claudia explaining the evidence, and Silver determined to dispute it.

Seeing Silver now—shot dead in his own office, lying behind his desk, his chair toppled, and his files and drawers rifled through as though his death was only an inconsequential result of a burglary gone awry—Claudia regretted that last contact with the PI.

Maybe she should have listened to his theories. But at the time, she’d been attempting to resign herself to the truth and come to terms with her loss of Frank. Silver’s disbelief had been more than she’d been able to bear. Now she would always wonder what theories Silver had concerning Frank’s death. And she would wonder if he’d ever given up.

“How’s the canvass going?” Gavin came to her side, flipping his notebook closed and lifting a hand to loosen his tie a notch.

“Nothing yet. Half the row homes across the street are vacant. And with the few that aren’t, it’s not looking as if anyone heard anything. We’ve got officers still knocking on doors, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

He nodded to where Silver’s body had lain. “So what do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Detective, that’s not how this works. You’re the primary. What do you think?”

He contemplated the scene again before speaking. “Well, I’d have to say that he was most likely seated at his desk when his attacker arrived. Perpetrator came through the door, probably already had his gun out, and fired as soon as Silver looked up. One bullet caught him in the left shoulder, and the second took him in the chest as he started to stand. Considering Silver’s background as a cop, he either knew his assailant and was surprised, or the shots were fired rapidly, giving him no time to take cover or return fire. His own weapon is still in his desk drawer.

“As for the disarray of the office,” Gavin went on, “it has the appearance of a random burglary, but my gut feeling is that our perpetrator was looking for something specific. Then again, until I find out what kind of stickler Silver was for organization, I can’t rule out the fact that some of this might be the usual state of his office. It doesn’t help that he didn’t have a secretary. Even if something was missing, we’re not likely to know about it.”

“You got a real whodunit here, Detective Monaghan,” Claudia told him, scanning the office again, hoping she’d missed some obscure yet crucial clue. “Hardly the kind of case you’d want to start with, I’d say.”

“What are you suggesting? That I can’t handle it? That I should give this case over to you and wait for the next one?”

Claudia shrugged casually. If she appeared too eager to take over his investigation, he was sure to balk. “All I’m saying is that for your first homicide in this city—your first case on the board—you’re better off with one that’s going to go down. This…I don’t know. It could be a tough one. You’ve got a dead PI. A former cop. He probably has a list of enemies longer than your arm, not to mention the fact that you’ve got zero witnesses so far.”

She dared to glance up then. Was it amusement she saw sparkle in those dark eyes?

“You really want this case, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” she lied. “It’s just probably not the ideal case to get your feet wet.”

His smile broadened. “Well, why don’t you let me worry about my own feet, okay?”

“Claudia.” Lori Tobin called to her, and Claudia was grateful for the interruption. She wasn’t sure how long she would have been able to hold Gavin’s penetrating stare.

She turned as Lori crossed the office to join them. The younger woman snapped off a pair of latex gloves and wadded them into one hand. She tucked a stray wisp from her dark ponytail behind one ear.

“How are you doing, Claudia?” As usual with Lori, the question was more than simple courtesy. Her sincerity and concern was punctuated with a hand on Claudia’s arm. The gesture reminded Claudia of that night ten months ago.

Lori had guided Claudia from Frank’s bedroom to the living room and then consoled her. She had even phoned a couple of times to check on her afterward. In fact, Claudia had almost admitted the truth about her relationship with Frank to Lori. In the end, though, she’d remained silent.

“Looks like you’ve got an interesting one here,” Lori said. “So far we’re not coming up with anything useful. We’ll probably need another hour, but I didn’t know if you wanted us to box up all the files and paperwork, as well.”

“No, we’ll take a look at everything here before—”

Gavin cleared his throat behind her.

“Actually,” Claudia corrected, “since this is Detective Monaghan’s investigation, you should ask him. I doubt you two have met. Lori Tobin, Gavin Monaghan.”

Claudia watched the technician’s face brighten somewhat as she gazed past Claudia’s shoulder and up at Gavin.

“So you’ve finally got yourself a partner.”

“It would appear that way,” Claudia answered.

“Good to meet you,” Gavin offered in his smooth voice as he shook the technician’s hand. “And I think Detective Parrish’s suggestion is fine. We’ll look through the files here and submit the relevant material ourselves.”

“Very good.” Lori nodded, and Claudia couldn’t help noticing how the woman’s gaze lingered on Gavin for a moment before she turned back to her work.

“So what now?” Gavin asked.

“Now? Now I suggest we head down to Jimmy’s for coffee and a bite to eat. We’re only going to be in the way here, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not willing to wade through any of this paperwork until I’ve had a good kick of caffeine. The techs will seal the office when they’re done, and then we can go through this mess and figure out just who might have wanted James Silver dead.”

JIMMY’S WAS CROWDED as usual. To Claudia, there seemed no rhyme nor reason behind the high demand for tables at the greasy spoon down on the waterfront in Fells Point, but without fail, seating was scarce. It had to be the coffee, she thought as she took another sip. It certainly couldn’t be the food.

Across the table of the window booth they shared, Gavin was finishing his own breakfast. Claudia watched him spear another piece of omelette and fought back the urge to reach across with her fork to sample some. She’d have done exactly that, a year ago, when it would’ve been Frank sitting with her. And, while she did that, he would have been stealing her last slice of bacon.

As usual, she tried to clamp down on the nostalgia.

“So you met James Silver only a couple times?” Gavin had asked the question already once after she’d explained Frank’s connection to the dead PI. Even so, a glimmer of suspicion wavered in his voice as he studied her over the rim of his juice glass.

“That’s right,” she assured him again. “What? You think I’d lie about something like that? Why would I?”

“Maybe so you could stay on the case?”

“Please. Give me a little credit for professionalism. I understand what conflict of interest is. If I had actually been friends with Silver, I’d remove myself from the case, all right?”

“All right.” The defensiveness in his voice attested to the bite she’d heard in her own, and immediately Claudia regretted her harshness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s just…I’ve had a long twenty-four hours, you know?”

“Sure.”

Gavin reached across the table and snagged her last piece of bacon on the end of his fork. Speechless, she watched him take one bite and then pop the rest into his mouth. For ten months, she’d been returning to Jimmy’s for breakfast, and for ten months, she’d always left that last slice of bacon. Until this morning no one had touched it.

He must have seen her surprise because he said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you saving that?”

“Not at all.”

He nodded, finishing the bacon. “Look, you’re right. It’s been a long twenty-four hours for you. Maybe you should just call it a day. I can look through Silver’s files myself and—”

“No way.” She took another swig of coffee. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’m still among the living. Another cup of coffee and I’m good to go. We’ll head back and check out Silver’s office, see if we can figure out what cases he’d been working on these past few days, who he’s been talking to, and who he may have ticked off.”

“Honestly, Claudia, I can handle it.”

“It’ll take us half the time working together. Besides, I have the next couple days off. After this, I’ve got a twelve-hour power nap scheduled, followed by a full-night’s sleep.” She flagged down the waitress for one more refill and the check. “Besides, I could use some work to help me forget yesterday.”

Gavin nodded. “I heard about the Brown case.”

Of course he had heard. By now the entire unit would know about her case being thrown out of court.

“Yeah. Lamont Brown.” Closing her eyes briefly, Claudia massaged the bridge of her nose. She was tired, and if it wasn’t for her personal interest in Silver’s murder, she would take Gavin up on his offer and go home right now.

“I heard the judge dismissed for lack of evidence.”

Claudia nodded. “I shouldn’t let it bother me. It was just another drug-related shooting, you know? So what if Brown walks on this one? He’s a punk. In no time he’ll be back, clogging up the system, arrested on some other charge. He’ll do his time eventually.”

“You’d just hoped it would be your charge that put him away, right? Hey, you don’t have to explain to me. I understand.”

When she looked across to Gavin, she met his reassuring smile. It was the kind of don’t-let-the-bad-guys-get-you-down expression Frank would have given her, and at that moment, Claudia hated that Gavin reminded her of him, that their working relationship—so new—had already begun to take on nuances of what she’d had with Frank as a partner.

She blinked. Again forcing back the unwanted memories.

“Of course it would’ve been nice if my charge had been the one to put Brown away,” she said, trying to stay focused on the conversation. “I put a lot of time into that case, piecing it together, interviewing dozens of witnesses, preparing the reports. Only to have it all thrown out because the murder weapon went missing. That gun was on the scene. I pointed it out to the techs. Heck, I even saw them bag it, and then I saw it down at Evidence Control myself. But somewhere between me and the lab, that gun must have grown legs and walked off on its own, because it was never seen again. I had Lori turn the place upside down trying to find it.”

“And they hadn’t run any tests on it before it disappeared?”

“No ballistics. No fingerprints. Nothing. They hadn’t gotten a chance before it went missing. And now it’s as if that gun never existed except in the crime-scene photos. It’s my own fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

Claudia shrugged. “I should have walked the gun down to the lab myself. I should have watched them run the tests I needed.”

“That’s not your job, Claudia.”

“No, but it’s my job to see that the investigation is run properly, that witnesses and suspects…and especially evidence is handled correctly. And in this case, it wasn’t. So, instead of a smoking gun with the suspect’s prints all over it, we got zilch. It falls on me. Doesn’t make me look too good. Not to mention the fact that the state’s attorney is all over me with accusations.”

“Accusations?”

She’d said more than she should have. Even to Tony—with whom she’d worked for three years—Claudia hadn’t revealed as much about the Brown case, nor had she mentioned the state’s attorney’s threats.

But for some reason, with Gavin Monaghan, Claudia felt more willing to discuss yesterday’s proceedings at the courthouse. Maybe she was tired, she thought as she stared at him across the Formica-topped table. Or maybe it was Gavin’s eyes. Something about him made her want to trust, even though trusting had never come naturally to her.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said, trying to minimize its importance.

“Come on, Claudia, accusations from the State’s Attorney Office aren’t generally ‘nothing.”’

“It was just a warning really. After the judge dismissed it, the state’s attorney pulled me aside and basically implied that if it weren’t for my otherwise flawless record, the office would suspect me of getting rid of the gun for a bribe, and they’d be looking to accuse me of evidence tampering.”

Gavin seemed to consider her revelation for a moment before responding. “Well, I wouldn’t let it get to you. It happens to the best of us,” he offered, calmly wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin onto his empty plate.

“It doesn’t happen to me. I mean, maybe that sounds arrogant, but as much work and precision as I put into the Brown case—all my cases—well, that gun going missing…it shouldn’t have happened. It’s a sign of sloppy police work. Bottom line.”

“So is that how you explain what happened to your partner then? Seems he had a similar problem with evidence ‘growing legs.’ Are you saying that was sloppy detective work?”

Maybe ten months of grieving had drained most of the fight out of her. Maybe, after finally believing that Frank had taken his own life, Claudia no longer felt as strong an impulse to jump to his defense. Or maybe it was just something about Gavin. Because instead of the usual surge of resentment that a comment like his would have normally spurred within her, Claudia found herself able to bite her tongue and respond calmly.

“Frank was never sloppy.”

“Fine. But he did have more than one case thrown out when evidence went missing, correct?”

Claudia studied Gavin. Was he attacking Frank’s reputation or simply using it as an argument to defend hers?

“You seem to know a lot about a unit you’ve only just joined, Detective,” she said.

“I hear rumors.”

“Oh yeah? What kinds of rumors?”

“Both sides,” he explained as he leaned back from the table. “For instance, you’ve got some who say your partner folded under the pressure of that whole IAD investigation. And then you’ve got others—fewer, mind you—who still think maybe he knew too much and was silenced because of it.”

“And which theory do you favor?”

She watched Gavin take his wallet from his back pocket and toss two fives onto the table.

“I don’t know,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I worked Homicide in D.C. I know it’s tough—the responsibility, the pressure, the expectations from your fellow detectives, your sergeant, the State’s Attorney Office. Not to mention the kinds of cases and suspects you deal with on a daily basis. But still, by the time a cop makes his…or her way to the level of Homicide, you figure that most of the weak ones have been weeded out. Face it, the burn-out rate in this job is high, but for the guys in Homicide? I think it takes more than an IAD probe to push someone over the edge once they’ve achieved those ranks.”

Claudia scrutinized Gavin, wishing the twitch of suspicion would leave her. It was breakfast conversation, she tried to reason; two detectives having coffee, new partners getting to know each other, that was all.

Why then did she get the feeling Gavin was on a fishing expedition?

“So based on that assessment,” she asked at last, “you’re suggesting it’s more likely someone killed Frank?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. After all, why should I have an opinion? I never met the man. You’re the one who was closest to him, being his partner. What do you think happened?”

But Claudia was already pulling money from her wallet. This was not a conversation she intended to pursue with Gavin Monaghan, or anyone else for that matter. Especially today.

“I think either way it’s history,” she replied briskly, hearing the sharp tone of defensiveness in her own voice as she tossed down her five and picked up one of his. She handed him the bill and reached for her coat. “And right now, Detective, we’ve got a fresh homicide to develop our own theories on.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE PATROL CARS WERE GONE from the front of the former Marmack Bed & Mattress Company when Claudia parked the Lumina along the curb. The yellow crime-scene tape had been stripped, as well, except for one broad band fixed over the suite door. James Silver’s office was clear of technicians and officers; the only remaining pieces of evidence that a crime had occurred were the black powder smudges and the dark stain on the floor behind the desk.

They spent an hour going through the PI’s file cabinets and drawers, sifting through endless paperwork on the remote chance they might uncover some lead. They listened to the incoming messages on Silver’s answering machine, but there were no obvious links to the man’s brutal slaying. Even so, Claudia confiscated the machine and its tape, boxing them up with several other items of possible relevance.

“Looks like you might have a next of kin here,” Claudia said eventually, breaking the silence.

Gavin glanced from the files he’d been searching to where she sat at Silver’s oak desk.

“Eileen Silver. Probably his mother.” She handed him the address book she’d just thumbed through. “It’s a Key West address. You might want to contact authorities down there to break the news to her, instead of telling her by phone. That’s about it though. No other Silvers or anything else that appears to be family.”

It was the most she’d said to him since they’d left Jimmy’s. From the moment he’d asked about Frank Owens, Claudia’s reserve had grown. Her response to anything he’d asked had been clipped and to the point, leaving him to wonder if perhaps he’d made his move too soon.

In retrospect, he might have done better to not bring up the subject of her former partner during their very first encounter. On the other hand, the conversation over breakfast had taken a natural turn in that direction. It might have seemed even more obvious had he not asked for her opinion regarding her partner’s death.

He watched her continued exploration of Silver’s desk. As the morning sunshine slipped through the wooden slats of the blinds behind her and touched the highlights of her cropped hair, Gavin thought of angels. The imagery struck him as ironic, especially considering the fact that Claudia Parrish was as likely a suspect as anyone in the ongoing corruption within the Homicide unit. After all, the evidence tampering hadn’t ended when Owens’s life had. And the most recent involved one of Claudia’s own cases.

Gavin hadn’t been surprised to learn of Judge Warner’s dismissal of the Brown case yesterday. Reports of the missing gun were in the file Gavin’s lieutenant had handed him five weeks ago—a thick file compiled by the previous IAD agent who had failed in his attempt to expose the corruption. Failed like the two IAD investigators before him. And it was because of their failures that Lieutenant Randolph had at last caved in to Gavin’s request to be reassigned to the case. Only this time, Gavin vowed, it would be different.

A year ago, Gavin had been appointed to oversee the first investigation into the corruption that seemed to surround Baltimore’s Homicide unit. Back then, however, the direction of the investigation had been dictated by others. By the time he’d come on board to head the probe, Owens was already IAD’s primary target.

From the start, Gavin had been uncomfortable with the case. He’d tried to turn it around, slow it down, anything to give him time to prove that Owens was truly guilty. He’d tried to reopen past investigations into Evidence Control and Violent Crimes, suspecting the problems might come from there instead, but the brass had only come down on Gavin for straying—Owens was their target. IAD had increased their pressure on the seasoned detective, stopping only once Frank Owens had killed himself. IAD didn’t seem to care, but Gavin had never been able to rest easy. He’d spent the past ten months wondering…suspecting Owens’s innocence and knowing that the man had died because of the investigation he had led.

He’d demanded to be taken off the assignment, and Lieutenant Randolph had complied. Since then, the probe had practically ground to a halt. Gavin had watched the blunders of the next three agents, until finally his conscience had forced him to step in. But he’d insisted they would now do things his way.

“I want to start from square one, Lieutenant,” he’d told Randolph. “I want to look into everything, not just Homicide.”

“Monaghan, you’d be wasting your time. We’ve done all that. The corruption stems from the Homicide unit. There’s no doubt. Weapons and critical evidence in murder cases are going missing, and someone’s taking a payoff. It has to be a detective, someone with connections to the street and the capacity to reach, and deal with, the suspects. No one in Evidence Control would have that kind of access.”

“Fine. Then put me undercover. Let me work within the unit.”

Lieutenant Randolph shook his head. “We don’t operate that way, and you know it. Only for extreme—”

“This is extreme, Lieutenant. A man lost his life. A good detective.”

“Let it go, Monaghan.”

“I can’t let it go. Frank Owens killed himself because of the allegations against him. And honestly, I don’t know for certain they were valid allegations.”

“Yeah, well, we also don’t know that he wasn’t guilty, do we?”

“No? Then how do you explain the fact that the evidence tampering hasn’t stopped?”

Randolph handed Gavin a file.

“What’s this?”

“Claudia Parrish. Owens’s partner. The one person who was probably close enough to him to know about the corruption, and the one person who might be continuing his practices. Or, who knows, maybe she was in on it from the start? She was the secondary detective on all three of Owens’s bad cases. It could have just as easily been her taking payoffs from the start. It could have been her implicating him.”

Gavin opened the file and fingered through the reports as Randolph continued.

“And just recently, Detective Parrish had a case of her own go bad. No doubt, it’s going to be thrown out of court just like Owens’s were.”

“So she’s your target?”

“Definitely.” Lieutenant Randolph nodded, and Gavin experienced déjà vu. This was the Frank Owens investigation all over again.

“I’m not going on another witch hunt, Lieutenant,” he said, closing the file, prepared to hand it back if his superior disagreed. “We do this my way, or I’m out. If Claudia Parrish is guilty, if she is the source, I’ll flush her out for you. But I’m not starting any fires until I know for certain.”

Fortunately, Randolph had accepted his terms. And by the end of the afternoon, they’d compiled a cover story for Gavin, right down to the believable detail of his having been the commissioner’s chauffeur. With a false background in place, coupled with the fact that IAD so rarely went undercover, Gavin felt confident he would raise few, if any, suspicions from the detectives he’d be working with. Most importantly, from Claudia Parrish.

Now, in Silver’s office, knowing Claudia for barely five hours, Gavin wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction to his bringing up the question of Owens’s death. She’d defended the integrity of her dead partner, as Gavin would expect any respectable detective to do, and her voice had remained relatively calm throughout. But her expression had wavered, and in it Gavin sensed the emotion just beneath her calm exterior.

After five years with IAD, Gavin prided himself on his keen ability to read people. Claudia Parrish, however, seemed beyond his comprehension. Either her defensiveness was an honest response, or there was more behind the sharp tone she’d adopted seconds before she snatched up her coat and stalked out of Jimmy’s.

Gavin hoped her edginess was only exhaustion. He definitely had to be careful. He couldn’t afford to alienate Claudia.

She seemed calmer now, as she opened one of Silver’s desk drawers and lifted out another stack of papers. She, as well, had surrendered to the stifling heat of the office; her suit jacket lay draped over the back of one chair. When she stood at last and stretched, Gavin let his eyes take an appreciative sweep over her small, trim figure. Her short-sleeved turtleneck puckered where the leather straps of her shoulder holster pulled at the delicate fabric. But from there, the formfitting top left little to the imagination, hugging every sensuous curve leading to her slim waist.

Keeping an eye on Detective Parrish was certainly not going to be an unpleasant aspect of his assignment.

He watched her pace, admiring the lithe movement of her body. Fine lines creased her forehead, and Gavin wondered if she was thinking of Owens or Silver, or quite possibly both; he wondered if she, too, toyed with the theory that there may be some relation between the two deaths.

She stood at the window for a long moment, staring at the traffic crawling down Boston Street. When she turned suddenly, her gaze caught his, and Gavin knew she’d been aware of his perusal. But she remained silent. She returned to the desk and set to work once again.

A full twenty minutes passed before she spoke again.

“I think we might have something here,” she said so quietly Gavin had to look up to be sure she’d actually said something.

He crossed the office to stand next to her chair, as she flipped through one of two hard-bound journals.

“Silver’s date books?”

She nodded. “Obviously he didn’t want them found. They were jammed at the back of the drawer. Look at this.” She turned to the end of last year’s journal, traced one slender finger across the page and stopped at a scrawled entry.

“This was last December. Silver met with Frank. On the fifth. On the sixth. And here again on the eighth.” She pointed to one entry after the next, working her way to the date of Owens’s death.

“Of course he met with Owens,” Gavin offered. “You said yourself they were friends.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she continued through the pages, and he doubted it was from the four cups of coffee she’d had.

“But he documented the meetings. Made appointments. I doubt he’d do that if they were just social visits. And it appears they were discussing the allegations against Frank.” Her finger stopped at the bottom of the page. There, in bold, block letters was written: IAD. With a blue ballpoint, Silver had gone over each letter several times so that they practically glared off the page.

“And take a look at this.” Claudia opened the next journal. “After Frank’s suicide there’s nothing really. The entries are haphazard—scattered references to other cases he was working, people he met with, names, numbers, addresses. Nothing remarkable until last week.”

Claudia drew Gavin’s attention to the margin. Again in Silver’s block letters: CC# 2L5915.

“What’s that?” Gavin asked, even though he recognized the number immediately.

“It’s the incident number from the investigation into Frank’s suicide.”

“So you’re suggesting Silver was looking into Frank’s death?”

She shrugged.

“Why now, after all these months?”

“I don’t know. But maybe that’s what got Silver killed.”

They were definitely thinking along the same lines, Gavin decided. He leaned closer, one hand on the back of her chair and the other planted firmly on the desk beside this year’s journal. He was close enough to smell that subtly provocative perfume of hers again. And definitely close enough to feel the heat of her body as his hand brushed past her wrist to turn the page. He let out a silent breath, trying to ignore the way his body responded to that brief touch. He focused on the journal entries. Scanning each page, he noted names and numbers, none of which rang any bells. Until he reached the bottom of one page.

The date: October 13. Only three days ago. There was no missing it. The name was written out in bold red ink along with her home phone number and address: CLAUDIA PARRISH.

Gavin straightened abruptly. “I thought you said you hadn’t seen Silver since January.”

“I don’t know what my name’s doing in there.” Gavin pointed at the journal. “Well, my guess would be he intended to call you.”

“That might be, but I didn’t speak with him.” Did her voice carry a twinge of defensiveness? Gavin wondered.

“I didn’t,” she repeated, “I swear, I haven’t talked to Silver recently.”

He reached out and turned another page. October 14. Again, Claudia’s name, but with this entry there was a location scrawled on the line below: JIMMY’S.

Gavin didn’t have to say anything.

“I don’t know why he wrote these entries in his date book,” she said. “Obviously he intended to call me, but he didn’t.”

“You didn’t have breakfast with him two days ago?”

“No. I told you, until this morning I haven’t seen Silver since just after Frank died.” She must have noted the skepticism in his expression, because she added, “You don’t believe me?”

He shrugged. “I just have to wonder. After all, you did hesitate when we first arrived on the scene this morning.” As though she knew what was waiting for them in the office, Gavin thought but didn’t dare say.

“And I admitted to you then that I knew Silver. Of course I hesitated when I found out he was our victim.”

“So you don’t know what Silver was working on? There’s nothing you’re not telling me?”

She pushed the chair away from the desk and stood. “There is nothing I’m not telling you.” Her gaze locked with his. “What is this really about, Monaghan? Are you suspecting me of something? Because if you are, I’d appreciate if you’d just come right out and say it.”

He didn’t respond, but, instead, watched her, searching for something that might convince him she was telling the truth.

“You don’t trust me, do you?” she challenged. “You think I have something to do with this? With Silver’s murder?”

“Well, you can’t deny that it does appear a little suspicious. Our victim’s got your name, your number, even your address. And obviously he was intent on calling you, judging by the exclamation mark beside your name.” He picked up the journal. “Then a couple days later he turns up dead.”

He flipped a few more pages in the journal, but there were no more references to Claudia or anyone else in the last two days of Silver’s life.

“You gotta admit,” he said, “you’d be coming to the same assumptions if the tables were turned.”

“Assumptions? So what kinds of ‘assumptions’ are you making then? That he contacted me, and over a plate of greasy eggs we had a disagreement about Frank? And because of that, I came over here last night and shot him? Is that it? Well, I think you’ll find some flaws with your theory, Detective Monaghan. For one, I was on shift last night.”

“I didn’t ask for an alibi. But since you mention it, the squad wasn’t on until midnight.”

She let out a sharp breath, a caustic smile pursing her lips. “So just because my name’s in his date book you’re going to view me as a suspect? Is that it? Well—” she crossed the office and snatched the journal from his grasp, snapping it shut and practically tossing it back at him “—you’ve really got your work cut out for you then, Detective, because there are a hell of a lot of names in there.”

She turned from him, as if to storm from the office, but Gavin caught her arm. When she tried to tug free, he tightened his grip and pulled her around.

“Claudia, listen to me.”

He waited for her gaze to meet his and was struck by the quiet fury that darkened them.

“Look, I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here.”

“Well, I’m not sure about the other units you’ve worked with, but accusations aren’t generally the best foundation for a partnership.”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

“No? It sounded like it to me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s my first case.” He tried to adopt a tone of sincerity, hoping to convince her. He couldn’t afford to lose her trust so soon, in spite of his own suspicions. “I just want to be sure I’m getting all the facts,” he said calmly.

“Truly, Gavin.” He was glad to hear her adopt a softer tone. “I have given you all the facts. I told you how I know Silver. I told you we had little contact in the past. And in spite of what his date book might imply, I never met with him two days ago. I’ll even go one step further and admit that yes, I was at Jimmy’s for breakfast that day. But I ate alone. I was going over my files to prepare for the arraignment hearing on the Brown case. I didn’t meet anyone at Jimmy’s. And I most certainly did not meet with James Silver.”

“All right. I believe you.”

Claudia looked exhausted, spent, even more than she had when he’d met her. She combed her fingers through her hair with obvious frustration as she closed her eyes and turned away from him. Releasing a long breath, she peered through the slats of the blinds and lifted a hand to her neck in an attempt to massage the stress that no doubt had settled there.

“Claudia, we’re both tired. Why don’t we call it a day? Get some sleep. We can box this stuff up, take it in, and look at it when we’re more awake. Less on edge.”

She nodded silently, her gaze fixed out the window.

Gavin tossed the two date books into the box, along with several other files he’d set aside, and folded the top closed. Claudia was still staring out the window when he came to her side and handed her her jacket.

“Thanks.” Even her voice sounded weary as she slipped her jacket on and tugged the bottom over her holster. “And I’m sorry for snapping. I need sleep.”

“No apology necessary.” He liked the smile that struggled to her lips, giving her mouth a wry but sensual curve. It was only a smile, Gavin reasoned; yet he felt himself respond—a low, warm tug deep in his gut—when he imagined what those lips might feel like against his.

But imagining was all he’d be doing when it came to Claudia, Gavin resolved as he turned from her to the box on Silver’s desk. Suspicions or no suspicions, she was definitely off-limits. He was hardly going to jeopardize his case, his entire career, for the sake of a woman. He’d never done it in the past, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now, no matter how alluring Detective Claudia Parrish was.

AFTER SHE AND GAVIN HAD closed up Silver’s office, Claudia drove them back to headquarters. Gavin’s car had been parked in a lot along the way, and she’d dropped him off before hauling the box of Silver’s files to Evidence Control. She hadn’t bothered to go back to the office after that, but went directly to the garage to get her own vehicle. It was noon by the time she steered her weather-beaten Volvo onto Shakespeare Street.

She parked halfway up the block, outside a yellow-brick three-story Victorian row house. Shouldering her briefcase, she took the marble steps to the massive oak doors and shoved one open.

From the first-floor apartment, she could hear Mrs. Cuchetta playing the baby grand piano she used for lessons, but as Claudia staggered up the stairs, exhausted, the thick walls of the old, converted row home swallowed the classical melody. And when Claudia finally closed her door behind her and threw the dead bolt, there was nothing but silence. Gratifying silence.

She dropped her keys onto the front hall table and stepped into the small but cozy apartment she’d called home for the past three years.

Shedding her jacket and holster and kicking off her shoes, she put some water on for tea.

On the corner of the kitchen bar, next to a mounting stack of bills, the answering machine blinked. She tossed a tea towel over it, covering the demanding red light. It hardly mattered; even before she’d finished pouring her tea, the phone rang.

“Faith, I just got in,” Claudia told her sister after being verbally censured for not returning her calls.

“Well, I wanted to be sure you were all right. October sixteenth and all.”

Claudia stirred sugar into her tea. Leave it to her little sister to remember anniversaries that weren’t even her own. Faith remembered everything to do with family; not at all like Claudia. The only things she managed to remember these days were the details of her cases. It hadn’t always been that way, of course. Before Frank’s death, before she’d immersed herself so completely in her work that it seemed there was nothing else, things had been different.

Now, faced with Faith’s concern, Claudia wondered if maybe she should never have told her sister. It might have been easier to let the secret die along with Frank, so that no one could remind her of the love she’d shared so briefly with him.

“Look,” Faith was saying. “Greg mentioned just this morning that it’s been a while since you’ve been out here. And you know it’s only a forty-minute drive. You’d think it was a forty-minute flight given the number of times we’ve seen you in the past year. So what do you say to dinner tonight? I know it’s short notice, but it wouldn’t be if you actually listened to your messages.”

Claudia didn’t respond. She yanked the tea towel off the answering machine, the red light blinking as insistently as ever. James Silver. What if he had tried to call her? With preparations for the Brown arraignment, she hadn’t checked her messages in days.

“Faith, I’ll have to get back to you on that. Maybe tomorrow? I’ve been up since yesterday morning. I’m exhausted. But I’ll call.”

There was a pause before Faith finally complied. Making Claudia promise to call, and assuring herself that her big sister was really okay, Faith at last hung up.

Claudia’s hand hovered over the answering machine for a moment before she at last pressed Play.

As predicted, three of the messages were from her sister. But there were five others—all hang-ups. Using her Caller ID, Claudia wrote down the number, and within a minute she’d confirmed her hunch. The Yellow Pages lay in her lap, open to the listings for private investigators.

James Silver had called her five times in the past three days. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t tried her at the office, not if her suspicions were correct. If Silver had been looking into Frank’s death again, then the Homicide office was the last place Silver would have risked calling. But why hadn’t he bothered to leave even one message? Maybe because he thought this too would be a risk?

Claudia stared at Silver’s ad for a long time, her mind staggering over the countless alternate scenarios that might have played out had he actually been able to reach her. Would he be dead now? Would they have uncovered something new about Frank’s death? Could she have intervened?

Switching off both the machine and the phone, Claudia moved to the living room couch and turned on the TV. But the aimless flicking through channels did nothing to divert her thoughts from Frank and Silver. If she knew one thing for certain, it was that Silver had been taking a second look at Frank’s death. It was the only explanation behind his attempt to reach her.

But why? What had prompted him to relaunch his investigation into Frank’s death?

Claudia set down the remote control and reached under the couch. She groped for the orange pressboard binder that had been hidden there, unopened, for at least six months. Sliding it out, she brushed the thin layer of dust from its cover.

CC# 2L5915.

It was one thing to remove a case file, or any portion of it, from headquarters. The breach of security was done on occasion by detectives and overlooked by their supervisors. But to duplicate an entire file, from cover to cover—all the reports from officers and supervisors alike, from the Chief Medical Examiner’s office and the various crime labs, interview transcripts, detective’s personal notes, even crime-scene and evidence photos—was completely against department policy. Not to mention punishable by suspension, Claudia thought, as she eased the thick binder into her lap.

For Claudia, copying the file had been worth the risk. Ten months ago she had believed that Frank couldn’t have killed himself, and that everything in the reports must have been a cover-up.

She probably should have destroyed the file once she’d submitted to the consensus that Frank had taken his own life.

Yet, now Claudia was grateful she had kept it. After all, maybe questions remained to be asked and answers to be found. Obviously Silver had believed so. But had there actually been new information? Or had he simply been grasping at the same old straws he’d had the last time they’d spoken?

Claudia opened the file, trying to avoid the pages of photos. She was unsuccessful. The four-by-six color images brought back that unforgettable night as though it had been only yesterday. She relived the disbelief and the horror. And then the utter emptiness she’d felt when she held Frank’s hand for the last time.

She remembered crying, and then Lori trying to console her. It wasn’t until Claudia had caught sight of the picture on Frank’s mantel—a photo of the two of them receiving their bronze stars—that Claudia had finally pulled herself together that night. For Frank, she’d kept up appearances. For him, she’d never once let on that he’d been anything but a partner to her.

Claudia stared at the open binder in her lap. The crime-scene photos blurred with her tears. Frank couldn’t have killed himself, she thought for the millionth time. The Frank she had known, the man she’d loved…he hadn’t been a coward or a quitter. And yet, what else could she believe now that all the reports were in?

God, but she missed him.

She missed his voice and his laughter. She missed the excitement of working a case with him, having him by her side and knowing she was with the best detective on the force. And she missed the little things about Frank—the familiar gestures and wisecracks that could bring laughter to any gray day, his knowing smile when he’d look up from his desk to where she sat across from him, the light that would touch his eyes when she’d open her apartment door and find him standing on the landing, and the way his hand had felt in hers—rough, warm and secure. She missed the feel of his body against hers, and she missed the way he’d whisper his love for her and tell her they would always be together.

But in spite of her longing for him, Claudia wasn’t certain she could ever forgive Frank for giving up. With the file open in her lap, she closed her eyes and settled her head against the top of the couch. Maybe that was the real reason she hadn’t gotten rid of the case file—maybe she felt that by hanging on to it she still held a piece of Frank. And maybe she would never be able to let him go. He lived in her heart, along with her anger and her resentment. No one could ever come close to touching her the way Frank had.

Inexplicably, Gavin Monaghan entered Claudia’s thoughts. She’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a glimmer of attraction there. It was certainly the first time she’d felt anything like it since Frank. And she hadn’t been the only one who’d toyed with such thoughts—she’d seen the way Gavin had looked at her when they were in Silver’s office.

She remembered the effect his smile had had on her when she’d dropped him off at his car and apologized again for her behavior in Silver’s office. He’d had every right to question her. If the roles had been reversed, she would have demanded the same from him. He’d accepted her apology and given her a smile. Her entire body had responded to that smile with a quick shiver of excitement.

Claudia closed her eyes. She had to push Gavin Monaghan from her thoughts. It was ridiculous to think she was attracted to a man she barely knew. She was, Claudia rationalized, only because he’d done a couple of little things that had reminded her of Frank. That was all.

Besides, how could she possibly have feelings for anyone when her heart still belonged to Frank?

CHAPTER FOUR

GAVIN BROUGHT HIS FIST against the upper panel of the door at the top of the stairs. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to find the three-story row house in Fells Point that corresponded with the home address he had for Claudia. And he would have thought that those fifteen minutes should have cooled his temper. He’d been wrong.

He raised his hand a second time, the resounding thud echoing down the narrow stairwell. It was enough to wake the dead. Certainly enough to cause the tenant on the first floor to stop playing the piano and listen.

Where the hell was she?

Gavin took a deep breath, hoping to quell his impatience, and was about to knock a third time when he heard movement from inside. There was the slide of a dead bolt and the scrape of a chain before Claudia opened the door.

She wore the same suit he’d seen on her earlier, only now the pants and turtleneck were creased. Her hair was a tousle of blond curls and she lifted a hand in an attempt to arrange them.

“Did I wake you?”

She rolled her eyes, puffy with sleep. “What do you think? I hardly slept in two nights.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Can I come in?”

She held his stare, as though debating the wisdom of allowing work into her home. Finally she stepped aside.

The apartment had the same charm as the building’s facade, Gavin noted as he brushed past her into the tiled foyer. With the day’s light dying behind the half-drawn blinds, the living room beyond the arched portal lay in shadow. Even so, there was an immediate homey feel to it, a lived-in sense that evaded his own row house across the city. And there was an underlying scent that permeated the apartment, very similar to the one he’d smelled on Claudia earlier, one that was rapidly becoming enticing.

But he wasn’t here to be enticed.

Claudia began switching on lights in the adjoining kitchen and the living room. He watched her scan the apartment as if checking that everything was in order.

“Sorry for the mess,” she stated, even though there wasn’t one—only her jacket and holster slung over the back of a chair, and a few newspapers strewn about the room. Even the kitchen was spotless in comparison to his own. A toppling stack of mail was the only sign of disarray.

“Why are you here, Gavin?”

“I tried to call.” He curbed the impatience in his voice.

“I had the phone turned off.”

“And your pager?”

“It’s in my briefcase. I mustn’t have heard it.”

Again she lifted a hand to her mussed hair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He’d definitely woken her from a sound sleep; her voice held that sleepy quality, deep and a little raspy.

And undeniably seductive, Gavin thought.

“No, I’m fine.” He watched her move behind the breakfast bar to the fridge and take out a bottle of water.

“So what is this about?” she asked, twisting open the bottle and taking a long drink.

“I’m looking for the journals.”

“The journals?” she repeated.

“You know, Silver’s date books.”

“Looking for them? Why? They’re in Evidence Control. I told you I was going to submit the box after I dropped you off this morning.”

“I thought maybe you’d brought them home instead,” he offered, still struggling to contain impatience and anger, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Why would you think that?”

Confusion tightened her face then, and Gavin could only wonder if it was genuine. She set the bottle on the counter, the force sending a few droplets of water spraying onto the thin fabric of her shirt.

“Because they’re not in Evidence Control, Claudia.”

Her expression tightened another notch. “What do you mean they’re not in Evidence Control?”

“Exactly that. I went down there, figuring I’d take a closer look at the journals myself, and when I searched the box there was no sign of them.”

In his years with IAD, he’d done his share of staring corrupt cops in the eye. He’d watched them attempt to lie their way out of a variety of situations. But none of them could come close to Claudia’s convincing performance. She stepped around the counter, the look of disbelief deepening, creasing fine lines at the corners of her eyes and furrowing a small series of ridges along her forehead.

When he’d rummaged through the box and discovered the journals missing, the flare of suspicion had been immediate. There had been no doubt then that Claudia had disposed of them in order to eliminate evidence of her connection with Silver, not to mention her possible motive for wanting him dead.

But now, seeing her standing before him, her eyes and voice heavy with sleep, and that soft femininity and allure accentuated by the warmth of her own surroundings…Gavin wished the surprise on her face was real.

“Where are they, Claudia?” he asked, unable to drop the accusation in his tone.

She maintained a calmness he’d not expected.

“Look, Gavin, there’s obviously been a mix-up. I don’t know what you think I did with those journals, but I can assure you the last time I saw them they were in that box. And I submitted it.”

“So you don’t think they might have…accidentally fallen out?”

“Fallen out? No. That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even open the box, so if they’re not there, then maybe they got mixed up with some other evidence submitted at the same time. Or maybe Sarge took an interest in the case and went down to see for himself what we brought in. I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t even look in the right box.”

“It was the right one. I checked the inventory list.”

“And?”

“And there wasn’t a single notation indicating anything resembling a journal.”

Her awareness of his suspicion was clear. She studied him, as though sizing him up. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am not going to let you stand in the middle of my apartment and accuse me of something I didn’t do. This is insane.”

He caught the brief flash of anger in her gray eyes, before she turned on her heel. Pulling the hem of her top from the waist of her pants, she stalked from the living room and headed down the short corridor, switching on lights as she went.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“To shower and change.” The light came on in the room at the end of the hall and through the half-open door Gavin saw a four-poster pine bed with a matching trunk at its foot. And before he could look away, he saw Claudia’s naked back as she stripped off her top and pulled it over her head. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking the toned lines of her shoulders and slender back caught in the warm yellow glow of the bedroom lamp.

Gavin tried to look away but couldn’t. Either Claudia wasn’t in the least bit shy, or, more likely, she was too upset by his accusations to realize she was in plain sight.

“I’ll find the journals myself,” she called out as the shirt joined the tangle of sheets and duvet piled high on the bed. She moved away from the door, but Gavin could still see her in the reflection of the full-length mirror. Only when she reached behind her for the clasp of her bra, did Gavin at last look away, ashamed at his voyeurism.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll ride over with you,” she shouted. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge if you want.” If she said anything after that it was drowned out by the sound of running water, followed by the hiss of the shower.

Gavin moved to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, his gaze falling to the near-empty shelves. Claudia needed to do some serious grocery shopping. It was as bad as his own fridge, he thought, reaching for the last can of Coke. Mayo, pickles, several shriveled apples, an unopened bottle of wine along with a couple beers, and some questionable containers of juice and milk. No wonder her place was so tidy; Claudia was probably never home to mess it up.

Snapping open the can, he wandered into the living room. Traces of Claudia’s personal life—what little there must be, given the hours he knew she worked—were scattered aesthetically on several side tables and shelving units. Family photos, trinkets and keepsakes—some were precious, while others had obviously been found on the beach. He scanned her shelves of books, wondering where she found the time to read, or if she even did now that she worked Homicide.

The light from the two stained-glass lamps gleamed against the few patches of polished hardwood floor that weren’t covered with elaborate woven throw rugs. Pacing the narrow room, Gavin marveled at the sense of home around him—everything from the half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table to the throw blanket flung over the back of the couch. He’d bought his handyman’s row house two years ago, and with all the renovations, coupled with his hours, the moving-in process was still very much under way. He’d almost forgotten that a home wasn’t normally cluttered with half-unpacked boxes.

He rounded the coffee table and lowered himself into the ample sofa. Exhaustion quivered through his body. He’d been up hours, as well, and were it not for the twinges of suspicion he’d had all day regarding Silver’s possible connection to Frank Owens’s death, and now to Claudia, he might have succumbed to sleep himself. Certainly given the soft invitation of Claudia’s sofa and the immediate comfort of her apartment, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Glancing over his shoulder and down the corridor, Gavin saw that the bedroom door remained ajar. A cloud of steam billowed past the opening from the en suite. He turned his attention to the newspapers on the coffee table, hoping to banish the image of Claudia in the shower before it could take root in his mind.

However, it wasn’t the Baltimore Sun that managed to divert his imagination. It was the unmistakable orange cover of a case file. Only a corner of it peeked out from under the sofa, but it was enough for Gavin to know immediately what it was. With the steady thrum of the shower in the background, he slid the thick file out and understood why Claudia had attempted to hide it.

It was the Owens case. Gavin recognized the incident number instantly.

Had she taken the file out of the office this morning, after going to Evidence Control? Had she felt the need to study it again, believing there to be a connection to Silver’s murder? If so, why would she take the risk?

Gavin thought of the case files at his house. IAD files. The most recent one being on Claudia. But then, he had to take files home, especially when working a case undercover, so that his comings and goings from the IAD offices were kept to a minimum.

The Homicide unit, however, like others in the Criminal Investigations Bureau, worked under a completely different set of regulations. There were strict rules and penalties for removing a case file.

Gavin opened the binder and his shock doubled. This wasn’t even the official file. Claudia had copied the entire contents: case notes, reports, investigative entries, even a complete set of the crime-scene and autopsy photos.

Understandably, Claudia would have a vested interest in the investigation into her partner’s death, but surely not to the extent of compromising her career by pulling such a stunt. Unless, of course, she had something at stake in Owens’s death. Unless she needed to protect herself with information in the event she was questioned.

“Claudia Parrish was the secondary detective on all three of Owens’s bad cases,” Lieutenant Randolph had told him five weeks ago. “It could have just as easily been her taking payoffs…it could have been her implicating him.”

Again, the niggling suspicion mounted. Gavin leafed through the file. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen many times before—the reports, the photos of Frank Owens dead in his bedroom.

Ten months ago, Gavin had been shocked to learn of the detective’s death. Randolph had called him the second the news had hit the police radios that night, and Gavin had demanded to go to the scene. He’d wanted to head the investigation himself. But Randolph wouldn’t allow it. He’d been adamant Gavin not reveal himself as the man behind the probe. At that point, though, Gavin hadn’t cared if the entire unit found out. He’d wanted to be there. He’d felt responsible.

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