Page 22 of Deathmarch

“Captain.”

“Do I need to come back?”

“No, sir.”

Captain Ethan Bing was spending two weeks at the FBI’s training center at Quantico. The feds were providing advanced training to police chiefs around the country on how to handle civil unrest.

“Chase updated me on the crime scene,” the man said. “He told me you were making an arrest.”

Detective Chase Merritt was substituting for the captain during his absence.

“Allie Bianchi is in the interview room,” Harper said. “Waiting for her lawyer.”

“Is Tony back?”

“Killed in federal prison last year, according to Allie. I haven’t had a chance to confirm it yet, but I don’t think she’s lying. It’s too easily checked.” Harper turned his back on the coffee machine and looked down the long hallway, toward the interview room, making a decision he had no doubt he was going to regret. “I’d like to take the case, sir.”

A moment of silence on the other end. “Chase is processing the crime scene.”

“I’m the one who led him there. I figured out that a crime might have been committed. I’m the one who found the only viable suspect so far.”

“Why don’t you tell me about that?”

Harper filled the man in on the events that led to him calling for the wellness visit on Lamm. Then he added, before the captain could bring it up, “I spent a lot of time with Tony Bianchi in my misspent youth. I know how his mind worked. I’m thinking this could be something he set up before he died.”

“You had a personal relationship with the suspect.”

“Ten years ago. We haven’t met or talked since they left.” And then his last piece of ammunition. “Allie is more likely to talk to me than anyone else.”

The captain took his time while he considered possible conflicts of interest.

“All right,” he said eventually, in a tone ofdon’t make me regret this. “It’s your case. Until further notice. You’d better head out to the crime scene. Chase will file a report, but you have to see it for yourself.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Harper hung up, filled a Styrofoam cup from the steaming pot, then added milk and sugar. Then he swung by the back room again and grabbed two large evidence bags, one for Allie’s clothes and one for her boots, shoving them both under his arm.

“There’s fresh coffee in the back,” he called to Leila on his way to the suspect in what was now officiallyhiscase.

“Thank you. I could use some. Attorney’s on his way.” She shot a speculative look at Harper. “That Bianchi girl grew up pretty.”

“Not going to go there.”

“What did your mother say?”

“Haven’t talked to her yet. Might have to borrow a bulletproof vest.”

As Leila laughed—but did not insist that Harper wouldn’t need protection—he walked back to the interview room.

He pulled the cuffs off his belt before he stepped inside, and ignored the murderous look Allie flashed him as soon as she saw them.Treat her like any other suspect.

“There’s no need for those. I didn’t do it.” She spat the words at him, her mouth and every muscle in her body tight, enough sparks in her eyes to set his hair on fire. “I didn’t kill Lamm. Or anyone else.”

At one time, those bottomless brown eyes could convince Harper of just about anything. Not anymore. If she thought she was going to play him, she’d better think again.

And yet… When they were standing this close to each other… A mix of emotions swirled inside him, half of which he wasn’t allowed to feel.

No emotions.