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JOANNA

The rich scent of coffee greeted me as I opened my eyes, and I smiled instinctively, but my smile vanished as memories from yesterday returned. No matter how sweet West might be to make sure I was caffeinated as soon as I woke, he was keeping secrets from me.

An image flashed into my mind. West’s big, strong hand wrapped around the dainty hand of the pretty blonde who’d been at the coffee shop with him. I couldn’t help wondering whether, if I’d stayed around longer, I’d have seen him kiss her.

Suddenly, the coffee didn’t smell so appealing.

With a sigh, I dragged myself out of bed. I padded across the carpet on soft feet, hoping not to alert West to the fact I was up and about. I chose a pair of long, dark pants from the closet, paired them with a navy blouse and a black blazer and dug out a set of underwear and socks from a drawer.

I shut myself in the attached bathroom and locked the door. When we’d moved in together, we’d asked why anyone would put a lock on a private bathroom, but now I was grateful for it, because it meant West couldn’t catch me unawares.

I showered, dressed, and took my time moisturizing my face and applying a little mascara—not something I’d normally do, but it delayed my inevitable encounter with West and had the added benefit of making me feel prettier. Perhaps if I made an effort more often, my husband wouldn’t be out holding hands with other women.

I snorted at myself in disgust. As if I could be in any way responsible for his being unfaithful. If another woman had made a comment along those lines to me, I’d have told her the only one to blame for a cheating husband was the cheat himself. Not the other woman. Not the wife. Only him.

Somehow, it was hard to remember that when faced with the reality. But West knew who I was when he married me. He knew I don’t wear dresses, do my makeup, or get around in high heels. He’d claimed to love me just the way I am, and until yesterday, I’d had no reason to doubt him.

So why was I doubting him now?

He’d told me there was nothing between him and that other woman. Why was I having such a difficult time believing him? Perhaps because his excuse had been flimsy. I’d been trained to detect lies, and something in his expression, or his tone, had given him away.

I stood in front of the mirror and scanned my reflection as steam billowed around me, my mind once again wandering to the curvaceous blonde. I was as different from her as night and day. My hips were narrow, my breasts barely a B cup, my hair long, straight, and black. I’d always liked it, but many men preferred blondes. Was West one of them?

Or maybe it wasn’t my appearance that caused him to stray, but my work hours and obsession with the job. Between my long shifts and his unusual bartending hours, we didn’t see each other as much as I’d like.

No. None of that was a valid excuse for unfaithfulness.

Assuming he’d been unfaithful in the first place.

Stop jumping to conclusions , I told myself. It gets you nowhere. Now, pull yourself together and face him.

I turned away from the mirror to unlock and open the bathroom door. I grabbed my bag and put my service weapon inside, then carried it out to the living area. West was sitting at the table, eating from a bowl, a cup of coffee to his right. Another bowl and coffee were stationed on the opposite side of the table.

His gaze warmed as it landed on me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Not at all.

I forced my lips to curve upward, so he wouldn’t suspect. “Yes, thank you. Have you been cooking?”

He nodded. “I made fried noodles the way your mama does. Hope you’re hungry. I might have overdone it a bit.”

I moved closer. “It looks great.”

I pulled out the other chair and sat. The noodles honestly did look delicious. West was a great cook. But I still had no appetite.

I sipped the coffee instead, closing my eyes to savor the rich, bitter taste. I’d grown up drinking more tea than coffee, but caffeine quickly became a staple for all detectives.

“You’re up early.” I looked across at him. There was a note of accusation in my voice, and I hoped he didn’t hear it. He usually woke later than me since he worked later into the night. Was this breakfast a peace offering because he had a guilty conscience?

He shrugged. “I woke up around five and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

I studied him more closely. Shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes, so perhaps he was telling the truth. “Sorry. I hope I wasn’t snoring or anything.”

“No.” He gave me a thin-lipped smile. “My mind was busy, and it wouldn’t quiet.”

I was tempted to ask what had been keeping it busy but decided not to. If I wanted him to think I’d believed him last night, then I couldn’t question him too much.

I settled for saying, “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here.”

“Thanks.” His expression said he wouldn’t be taking me up on the offer. He gestured toward my bowl of noodles. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten I was supposed to be eating. I dug my fork in, twirled it, and loaded the noodles into my mouth. The delicious flavors of onion, soy sauce, and sesame hit my tongue. My stomach rumbled in response, apparently deciding I could eat after all. I chewed and swallowed.

“Very tasty, as usual.” I helped myself to more, but stopped when it began to feel heavy in my stomach.

“Would you like me to pack leftovers for your lunch?” he asked, setting his fork down and pushing his bowl away from himself.

“I can do it.”

He drained his coffee and stood. “Let me.”

I narrowed my eyes as he carried his dishes to the kitchen. Was it just me, or was he being a little too solicitous?

He returned with a plastic container full of fried noodles and placed it to the side of me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

I finished my coffee and stood. “I’d better get going. Hanson and I have a lot to do for our new case.”

“Anything you’d like to talk over?” he asked. He often provided a willing set of ears to listen to my theories and for me to bounce ideas off, but for some reason, I didn’t feel able to do that right now. Perhaps because letting him in on my cases required a level of trust I was having difficulty maintaining.

“Maybe later.”

I packed the noodles into my bag and left, making sure to kiss his cheek on the way out, in an attempt to smooth over any awkwardness from breakfast. We certainly hadn’t been as easy with each other as usual, and I wondered whether he knew I still wasn’t convinced he’d been truthful with me yesterday.

I drove to work, parked in the basement garage, and took the stairs up to our floor. I stashed my lunch in a refrigerator in the break room and ducked into a private meeting room. I brought up a number on my contacts and hit ‘Call’ before I had time to change my mind.

“Hey, Jo,” Zeke drawled, as laid back as ever. “Why are you gracing me with a phone call so early in the day?”

“You owe me a favor.” Blunt. No-nonsense. If I prevaricated, I might lose my nerve.

“Oh?” His tone sharpened. “What do you need?”

I exhaled slowly, grateful he hadn’t argued. I’d worked alongside King’s Security several times over the past few years, and I’d let them get away with more than I probably should have because I knew they always acted with the greater good in mind.

I lowered myself onto a chair and set my bag on the ground at my feet. “Yesterday, I spotted West in a position with another woman that could be considered… compromising.”

He muttered something inaudible, then, “Shit, Jo, I’m sorry. Want me to wreck his credit score? Get him fired? Have him arrested?”

“No.” I rubbed my temples, preferring not to think about how he’d go about doing any of those things. It certainly couldn’t be legal. “The thing is, it could have been innocent, but when I asked him about it, I’m fairly certain he lied to me.”

“Okay.” He sounded intrigued. “Tell me what you saw.”

I explained, and when I was finished, he hummed in thought.

“I agree it could be innocent,” he said after a while, “but the fact he wasn’t honest about it doesn’t bode well. What do you want me to do?”

“Dig into his life.” The words were simple, but the weight behind them was not. “I want a deep dive into his background. His family, friends, career, financials. If there are skeletons in his closet, I want to know what they are.”

“Done. I’ll make it a priority.”

“Thank you.” I wouldn’t consider Zeke a friend, but I appreciated that he was someone who understood the importance of maintaining tit-for-tat relationships with people who could be useful.

“If I find out he’s been sleeping around, I know people who could make him disappear for you,” he said darkly.

I barked out a laugh. “Are you admitting to an officer of the law that you consort with criminals?”

He chuckled. “I’ll have the info soon. Don’t worry. King, Kade, and I have your back.”

My throat tightened and tears prickled my eyes for the second time in as many days. I blinked them back, furious with myself for allowing my emotions to get the better of me.

“Thank you, Zeke.”

“No worries.” The line went dead.

I placed my phone on the table and released a shaky breath. What had the world come to that I was relying on someone as reckless and morally gray as Ezekiel Watts to be on my side when my own husband wasn’t?

I pulled myself together and headed to my desk. Hanson had just arrived, and a take-out cup of coffee sat beside my keyboard. I glanced at it warily. Hanson didn’t bring me coffee. We weren’t that type of partners. We did our business, tolerated each other, and lived our own lives.

“What’s with the drink?” I asked, jerking my chin toward it.

“Green tea with jasmine,” he said. “You like that herbal shit, right?”

“I do.” I dropped onto my chair and started up my computer without looking at him. “Why?”

Was this some kind of pity gift?

Hanson looked awkward. “Just drink it, Lee. Don’t make this weird.”

“There’s the Hanson I know.”

It seemed the old grouch was capable of cheering me up after all.

He cleared his throat. “The Sloane autopsy is scheduled for nine.”

“Great.” Autopsies were far from my favorite part of the job, but they were an excellent way to get answers.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Great. I’m gonna need half-a-dozen Tums to get through this.”

I turned away so he wouldn’t see my smirk. Even though Hanson had been on the force for far longer than me, he still got green at autopsies. He’d tried smearing menthol rub beneath his nose, chewing gum, and even positioning himself so he didn’t have a proper view of the body, but nothing seemed to improve his queasiness.

Not even his beloved Tums.

I checked my watch. “I guess we’d better head down.”

He groaned but followed as I grabbed a notebook and strode to the elevator. We took it to the second-lowest floor, where the medical examiner’s office was housed. Dr. Kelly was making preparations to begin the autopsy and her assistant, Dr. Leonard, was jotting notes on a tablet.

“Good morning,” I said, coming to a halt a respectful few yards from the table.

“Morning, Detectives,” Dr. Kelly said. She glanced at Hanson and her lip curled. “How’s your stomach today?”

“Fine,” he grunted, even though his usually rosy complexion was already paling.

“Of course it is.”

Dr. Leonard snickered, then immediately covered his mouth and ducked so he wouldn’t have to meet Hanson’s eyes.

“We’re ready to begin,” Dr. Kelly declared, switching on an audio recording device. “The time is 9:02 a.m. This is the autopsy of Miss Sasha Renee Sloane. Present are myself, Dr. Erika Kelly, my assistant Dr. Jeffrey Leonard, and Detectives Joanna Lee and Dennis Hanson of the Homicide Department.”

With the introductory spiel done, Dr. Kelly moved on to the more practical aspects of the autopsy. I watched, trying to maintain a clinical detachment. I almost succeeded until Dr. Kelly made a sound of surprise.

“What is it?” I demanded.

She leveled me with a look that said she didn’t appreciate my impatience. “Miss Sloane was pregnant.”

My heart sank.

“Pregnant?” Hanson was aghast. “Someone murdered a pregnant woman?”

“It would seem so.” She sounded grim. “She was in the early stages of pregnancy—perhaps only ten weeks along. It’s likely that no one would have known unless she told them—and that’s assuming she was even aware of it herself. That early, it’s possible she hadn’t realized yet.”

I turned to Hanson, whose back was toward the body. “Did her family mention a boyfriend when you notified them?”

“No.” His voice was tight. “I specifically asked, and her parents said that, as far as they knew, she wasn’t seeing anyone.”

I considered that. “She could have gotten pregnant from a one-night stand, or even have used a sperm bank, but it seems more likely to me that she just didn’t tell her parents about the man in her life. Perhaps they hadn’t been seeing each other for long.”

“Perhaps,” Hanson allowed. “She could also have been… you know.”

I swallowed as my throat constricted. “Any sign of sexual violence?”

“No obvious indications,” Dr. Kelly replied without looking up. “But if it had occurred six weeks ago, she’d likely have healed by now anyway.”

“When we’re done here, I’ll check the database to see if she ever reported a sexual assault or laid a complaint against a former lover,” Hanson said, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands against either nausea or disgust.

“I’ll get her phone for someone to go through. Hopefully, they’ll be able to find evidence of whether she was dating anyone.”

The autopsy concluded without any further surprises. Sasha Sloane had bled out as a result of having her throat cut. No foreign DNA was found on her body, but traces on her hands indicated that they may have been wiped down with a chemical cleaning agent.

Hanson and I ran our respective errands and reported back to our desks.

“Sloane never reported any crimes,” Hanson said, his breath gusting from him as he dropped onto his chair. “She had one speeding ticket, a couple of parking fines, but other than that, she hadn’t had any interaction with the police as far as I can tell.”

“Damn.” So that was a dead end. “Tech is working on the phone, but they haven’t found anything immediately obvious. Let’s eat, then go back to her apartment. Maybe we missed something.”

“Eat?” Hanson scowled. “Who the hell could eat after the horror show downstairs?”

I rolled my eyes. “Have a donut. It’ll make you less cranky.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m off donuts.” He puffed out his chunky chest, obviously proud of himself. “Debs and I are on a diet.”

“Good for you.” I had no doubt it was all Deborah’s doing. She was trim and fit. Her husband, not so much.

I ate my noodles at my desk while Hanson chowed down on a homemade salad. We cleaned up after ourselves and Hanson drove us to Sloane’s apartment in one of the pool cars. As had been the case yesterday, there were no parking spots directly outside the building, so we parked a couple of blocks away and walked.

As we passed the coffee shop, I couldn’t help glancing inside. Fortunately, West wasn’t among the patrons, nor was the mysterious blonde. Hanson nudged my arm and harrumphed in an unspoken show of support.

We took the elevator to the third floor. There was no one stationed outside today but crime scene tape was wrapped around the door handle and spread across the doorway. I used my pocketknife to slit the tape and inserted a key into the lock.

The apartment was a wreck. It was a good thing the crime scene technicians would have taken plenty of photographs prior to searching the place because they hadn’t left it in the same shape they’d found it. Fingerprint powder coated most surfaces and the drawers and cupboards had been opened, their contents strewn about.

I grimaced. Gathering evidence was a critical part of building a case, making an arrest, and getting a successful prosecution, but it often felt like a second violation of the victim when their personal space was treated so carelessly.

“I’ll start in the bedroom,” I told Hanson, wanting to preserve what little of Sasha Sloane’s privacy I could.

“I’ll take the dining area.”

I nodded and went through to the bedroom. As with the living area, it was a mess. I went through her dresser, sifting through the contents, taking note of anything interesting, and checking for false bottoms on the drawers and anything out of place.

When I’d finished with her bedroom drawers, I went through the closet, checking the pockets of each item of clothing and feeling along the seams to make sure nothing had been sewn into their lining. I got down on my belly to look under the bed and inspected her blankets the same way I had the clothes.

I grabbed one of her pillows and stilled. Something inside was firmer than it ought to be. I pulled the pillow out of its case and examined the surface, noting a rectangular shape, with a small slit cut into the pillow. Carefully, I slid my hand inside and withdrew a mobile phone.

Since the tech team already had her phone, this must be a second one.

A secret phone.