Page 24 of Shadowed Witness (The Secrets of Kincaid #2)

Allye’s questions continued to ring in Eric’s mind as he combed the streets of Kincaid, searching again for Dion.

What had been the purpose of Friday night’s break-in?

Assuming it had all happened in the first place.

With a body in the morgue testifying to the veracity of her initial report, he hesitated to dismiss her other accounts out of hand.

But he still couldn’t deny how preposterous some of the details sounded.

Most of it they could explain away. Even the guy’s abandonment of her could be chalked up to him getting spooked by something Allye hadn’t seen or heard.

If only it weren’t for that green glow. But that element coupled with the other would overshadow everything else she claimed had happened that night, and they’d cast serious doubt on the other encounters.

If they caught this guy—which he fully intended to do—Allye would be the star witness in the murder trial. And he could only imagine how viciously a defense attorney would rip her and her testimony apart if he caught wind of this story. And he would. There was a police report on file.

Eric scrubbed at his hair. He didn’t even know whether he believed the break-in had happened.

He believed she believed it. But after the trauma of seeing a murder in progress and being attacked herself?

Hearing her attacker’s voice again on the trail could have triggered a night terror of some sort.

That would make a lot of sense actually.

He could work with that assumption. After all, he’d seen the marks on her neck the day after the initial encounter. Something had obviously happened.

But a defense attorney wouldn’t leave it at that. He’d pounce on the green glow and use it as proof that Allye’s testimony couldn’t be trusted. Her credibility, perhaps even her sanity, would be questioned.

And there was nothing Eric could do about that. His job was to figure out who committed a crime and to collect enough evidence for the courts. Allye’s testimony was part of that, but especially now that they had a body, he would have more to work with.

There was strong evidence their John Doe’s murder hadn’t occurred out in the woods, at least not where he’d been dumped.

There was no sign there’d been a struggle in the immediate area, and Starnes had pointed out a notable discrepancy in the amount of blood on the victim’s skin and clothes compared to the almost negligible amount found elsewhere in the grave.

Plus, he’d discovered bits of gravel stuck to the man’s back, inside his waistline and pockets, and in his hair—gravel that matched what was outside Allye’s studio.

“Lord, I could use some extra help with this one. I need to find this guy and find the evidence to convict him—with or without Allye’s testimony.

” He executed a left turn. “And, Lord? Help Allye too. Something is going on with her, and the stress of all this can’t be making it better.

” He raked his gaze over the sidewalks and down side streets as he passed them.

“While I’m at it, protect Dion too. If Allye’s right, he’s playing with fire.

Keep him safe and help us find him before he gets into worse trouble. ”

Dion’s likely involvement with drugs weighed on him.

He wasn’t surprised, really. Family cycles were hard to break.

But he’d hoped for better for the teen. Tried to make a difference in his life and the lives of other teen and preteen boys in the community, like Officer Mike had done for him.

Lot of good he’d done. Some of the boys did all right, but so many of the ones without strong family support dropped out of the church program soon after the pressures of high school hit—or as soon as they were old enough that their parents no longer needed free babysitting.

He’d seen something in Dion though. The kid had courage, determination.

A fierce desire to make something of himself.

And to protect his little brother. Eric believed his denial of doing drugs himself.

Probably foolish of him. He knew better than most how convincing an addict’s lies could be.

But his gut said Dion was telling the truth, and he’d seen no signs of drug use in the hours they’d spent together last night.

His eyes had been clear, pupils normal. No telltale sores or track marks. No trembling as if he needed a fix.

But Eric hadn’t gone through his belongings for “product.” He’d trusted him. That had been an oversight on his part. No, he hadn’t had a warrant, but he wouldn’t have been looking for prosecutable evidence either—just assurance that no drugs were being brought into his home last night.

He sighed. If Dion was dealing, good chance he’d been lying about not knowing who’d supplied his mom with the drugs that ended her life.

He might have sold them to her himself. Eric prayed that wasn’t the case.

Legal ramifications aside, it would be a heavy burden the teen would carry for the rest of his life.

As he reached the outskirts of town, he finally acknowledged that he wouldn’t find Dion today.

He’d known when he left Allye’s that spotting him on the streets would be a long shot at this point.

The teen had likely found shelter or at least a new hiding place by now.

And he was smart enough to know he was being looked for.

Eric executed a three-point turn and headed for the police station.

He had a lot to do. Allye had promised to drop by around four to look through mug shots.

If they were lucky, her attacker’s face would be among them.

That would make this whole thing much easier.

If not, his next order of business would be to contact one of the larger departments in the area and see if they might be willing to lend their forensic artist to work with Allye on a sketch of her attacker.

One way or another, they needed to identify this guy and find him fast. Regardless of whether Allye’s Friday night break-in had actually happened, he had no doubt she would be in real danger once news got out that they were actively investigating the murder she witnessed.

AT FIVE MINUTES TO FOUR, Allye loaded her bags into her car and climbed in beside them. She took a few seconds to catch her breath before inserting the key into the ignition. Click.

Really? She tried turning the key again, but the engine refused to wake.

She eyed her dashboard. Checked the headlights.

And groaned. She must have left them on yesterday.

She did vaguely remember the car dinging a warning as she got out, but she’d reached back in to grab her keys from the ignition and assumed that was the sole problem. Apparently not.

She turned the lights off—not that it mattered at the moment—and tried to think.

Bryce and Corina would both be at work. Mom had indicated she had a busy day today.

She looked to her neighbors’ driveway. Cornell’s car was here, but if he’d been working nights, she didn’t want to disturb him. And Shannon’s car was gone.

There were other people she could try, but finding someone available could take a while. Defeated, she leaned her head back and dialed Eric’s number.

“Hello, Allye.”

“Hi. Um, I have a little problem.”

His concerned answer came quickly. “Did something else happen?”

“Not a problem like that,” she assured him. “But my car won’t start. I think the battery’s dead. I’m going to have to find someone to help me jump it before I can come to the station. I’m so sorry.”

“No worries. Why don’t I come to you instead? I have a few things to finish up here, but I could head your way in about an hour. I’ll bring the mug shots for you to look at, and I’ll jump your battery while I’m there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I would really appreciate it, then. And you could stay for dinner. It won’t be anything fancy, but it’s the least I can do if you’re making another special trip out here.

” She paused for a half second as her good sense caught up to her words.

“I’m sorry. You’re probably busy or have other plans.

I blurted it out without thinking. Just ignore that—”

“Allye. Hold up.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I do have a lot to do with these cases piling up, but I still have to eat.”

“Would you like to stay, then?” She could kick herself for how hopeful she sounded. After all, she was just offering him dinner as a thank-you.

“I’d be honored.”

“It’s a—” She bit her tongue before the word date came out of her mouth. “A plan, then.”

“Be there at five.” He ended the call, and Allye dropped the phone from her ear.

Had she really just invited Eric Thornton to dinner?

And he’d accepted? Eight or ten years ago, she’d have been ecstatic.

She’d been a hopeless romantic back in high school, but even now, the thought excited her more than it should.

Of course, she reminded herself, it wasn’t a date, and she was in no position to start a rela tionship anyway.

This was a thank-you dinner following official police business. Nothing romantic about it.

She snorted at the ridiculous image of the two of them sitting catty-corner at her kitchen table, candles burning as she and Eric bent their heads over an album of mug shots. Yeah, she’d leave the candles in the drawer.

But she did need to get dinner started and straighten the kitchen before he arrived. It was still a mess, and she didn’t have the slightest idea what to make. She stifled another groan and reached for the door handle. An hour. She had an hour. She’d whipped up a meal in less.

Back inside, she eyed the disarray of her kitchen.

No time to put everything in order, but she could prioritize.

And cheat if necessary. She cleared out the dishwasher first, then placed anything dirty inside—including the hand-wash-only pots and pans that she would have to pull back out before running it.

No time to fully clear the table, but she relocated the piles of mail and receipts to her desk and moved everything else to one end. It would have to do.

Ignoring the urge to sit for a few moments, she instead made a quick decision about tonight’s menu.

She pulled out a gallon bag of frozen broth and transferred it to a large pot.

She added extra water and a few spices, then placed the pot on the stove.

The broth would thaw in a matter of minutes, and with a few carrots, some leftover rotisserie chicken, and her grandma’s measured-with-the-heart dumpling recipe, she’d have a comfort meal ready in no time.

She leaned against the counter and glanced at the time.

Might even be able to get a pan of brownies in the oven before Eric arrived. If not, there was always ice cream.

Promptly at five, her doorbell rang. She slid the brownie batter into the oven and set a timer. She knew better than to answer the door first and hope she’d remember when she returned to the kitchen. That done, she hurried to let Eric in.

She greeted him with a smile, noting the tablet tucked under his arm in lieu of the photo album she’d been expecting. Of course mug shots would be electronic now—even more of a blow to her silly romantic dinner imaginings from earlier. She returned her gaze to his face, and she found him grinning.

“What?” She tucked an escaped curl behind her ear.

He bit his cheek like he was trying not to laugh. “You’ve been baking.”

“Yes?” She sniffed the air. The brownies hadn’t been in the oven long enough to spread their aroma throughout the house, but the chicken and dumplings smelled delicious.

He grazed her hairline, then held up his finger. Brownie batter.

Her hand flew to her hair. Just as she made contact, she realized she still had batter on her fingers and had probably just added another glob to her curls. Floor, swallow me up now.

It didn’t. Unfortunately. Heat rose in her cheeks as she rushed to wipe the remaining batter on her apron. Which was covered in flour. That was probably what Eric had originally been referring to. Oops. She raised her eyes to meet his, an apology on her lips.

But his lips were twitching, and there was a glint of merriment in his eyes she’d rarely seen from him. He was obviously trying to hide his amusement, not willing to embarrass her further. The gesture put her at ease.

“I, uh, hope you like brownies. Baked and sans hair?” She couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter, and Eric joined her. “Come on in.”

She ushered him into the kitchen and pointed to the cleared side of the table. “Have a seat. I’m going to make myself presentable.”

“You look fine.”

“I’m floured. And chocolate-covered, apparently.”

“A chocolate-covered hostess isn’t the worst thing I could have arrived to,” he said.

She laughed. “Maybe not, but I still don’t want it in my hair.

I’ll only be a moment.” She fled to the bathroom and almost cracked up again at her reflection.

Besides the batter smeared in her hair and flour covering her apron, she had cocoa powder and more flour streaked on her cheeks and forehead.

How had she managed that? Better question, how had Eric managed to keep an almost-straight face?