interested in being jerked around.”
His jaw tightened with displeasure. “Vincent wasn’t bluffing about that arrest warrant, you know. I have it right here,” he said, patting his suit pocket. Today’s was dark blue, with a crisp white shirt underneath. He looked immaculate, but she hadn’t been lying about the odor. A vaguely swampy, fishy scent clung to him. “You can come willingly, or unwillingly, it’s all the same to us.” Letting his eyes sweep down her trembling form, he added, “But I don’t think you’d like the booking process. There’s a lot of…manhandling.”
“I have a business to run,” she said, hearing desperation edge into her voice. “I’m the only employee.”
“You get a lunch break, right? This shouldn’t take much more than an hour.”
Sidney looked to Bill, who offered no support. “Can you come back here afterward?” he whined. “I’m serious about you taking that dog. He’s vicious.”
Given no alternative, she allowed them to escort her back to the station. Sitting in the back seat of Lieutenant Cruz’s Audi, she noticed a grocery bag with a pair of wet blue shorts inside. The unpleasant smell and sensation rushed her once again, and she hit the button to lower the window, needing fresh air.
“You’re not going to throw up again, are you?”
Putting her face to the lukewarm breeze, she shook her head dumbly.
“I’ll pull over,” he offered, probably more for his leather interior’s sake than her own.
She waved him on, because she didn’t have anything left in her stomach anyway.
In front of Oceanside Police Department, a crowd of reporters had congregated. Lieutenant Cruz let out an inventive combination of expletives. “What do they want?”
Lacy shrugged. “Go around back.”
He maneuvered his car into the rear parking lot and jumped out. To Sidney’s surprise, he opened the door for her. As she exited the vehicle, a tiny blonde strode toward them with a purpose, cameraman in tow.
It was Crystal Dunn, Sidney realized, mildly starstruck.
“No comment,” Lieutenant Cruz said before the pretty reporter could ask a question.
“Are you a witness in the investigation of Candace Hegel’s death?” Crystal asked anyway, shoving the microphone in Sidney’s face.
“Death?” Sidney repeated dully.
“She has no comment,” Lieutenant Cruz grated, clamping his hand around Sidney’s bare upper arm. Even in public, on camera, no less, his touch elicited a shiver of excitement. And a startling secret: He’d been romantically involved with Crystal Dunn, at one time or another.
Her pleasure fizzled. No wonder Sidney wasn’t his type, if he chased after doll-sized blondes with rapacious personalities. As he strode across the parking lot, practically dragging her along, she could hear Crystal Dunn’s no- nonsense voice as she shared the details of the latest homicide:
“Miss Hegel was found dead early this morning in Agua Hedionda Lagoon. Police officials have no comment-”
“You’re hurting me.”
He looked down at his hand, wrapped around her arm. “Sorry,” he said, loosening his grip. Sidney could tell he was furious, although he hid it well. He probably didn’t care for Crystal Dunn leaking details of a homicide to a possible suspect.
It had been petty and unprofessional of her, actually. With so much animosity between them, it was hard to guess who dumped whom.
“Detective Lacy, would you show Miss Morrow to one of the interview rooms, please?” he asked, looking down an empty hallway. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Lacy kept her face bland and authoritative. “Right this way, ma’am.”
The women’s locker room was clear. Marc breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he’d catch hell from Deputy Chief Stokes if she found him snooping around in here.
He located Lacy’s locker and began rifling through its contents. She had some girl stuff, makeup and deodorant, but no perfume or jewelry. A clean, pressed patrol uniform hung on a wooden hanger.
He grabbed a mesh bag from the bottom. Towels, shampoo. Damn.
Frustrated, he grabbed her oversize brown leather purse, preparing to dump out its contents and use it as his prop. Inside, however, there was a flimsy purple scarf, folded into a tiny square. Perfect.
He shoved it in his pocket, hoping to discredit Sidney Morrow for good. The look on her face, right before she got sick, had been damned convincing. He was still pissed off at himself for getting caught up in her ruse, even for a second.
Lots of women could vomit on cue. It was called bulimia, not ESP.
When he opened the door to the interview room, he was all business. Lacy was intimidating the subject with a cold, hard stare, arms folded over her chest. On the other side of the table, Sidney was fidgeting.
As he took his seat next to Lacy, he studied his quarry, confused by her appeal. He liked confident women. Bold, aggressive women who knew how to please a man. Women who were well aware of their own allure.
Sidney Morrow was as timid as a rabbit. If he touched her, she’d jump. If he kept touching her, she’d squirm. She was like a bundle of raw nerve endings. Against his better judgment, he speculated on what it would be like to go to bed with her.
“Dr. Vincent says you…know things,” he began. “Sense them.”
“I don’t.”
“Come on,” he said. “You knew the dog had been drugged. You knew his name and that he’d come along the river-”
“All perfectly reasonable assumptions.”
“Either you’re a psychic or a suspect, Miss Morrow. Which do you prefer?”
When she remained silent, he slid a picture across the table, an autopsy photo of Anika Groene, her bare skin riddled with red marks. “See those bites? Whoever killed her tied her up and let rats crawl over her. They feasted on her naked body while she was still alive.”
“Please,” she whispered, looking away, her eyes watery and tortured.
Marc steeled himself against the sight. “What was he doing to Candace Hegel yesterday, while you were insisting you didn’t know anything? What was he doing while you were pretending ‘Blue’ was just a good guess?”
“I don’t know,” she moaned, twisting her hands in her lap.
Marc felt a surge of triumph, sensing her upcoming capitulation.
“Tell us what you
“I had a dream,” she said finally. “Or something. I heard a dog barking, yesterday morning, as I was waking up. When I got to the kennel, there he was.”
It didn’t make any sense, but nothing about her did. “And?”
“And I did guess his name, okay? I called him Blue, and he came right to me, so I knew I was right. When I reached down to pet him-” She broke off, searching for the words to explain. “I just knew stuff.”
“Like what?”
“That he’d broken out of a vehicle, and he was groggy. I don’t know where he’d been, but I think he heard gunshots, and he spooked.”
“Gunshots? What kind?”
“A shotgun, maybe.”
“Would you know the difference by sound?”
“No. It’s just an impression.”
“Go on.”
“He ran through the river, trying to get back to his owner. That’s it.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t told him anything specific, or anything that could be disproved. By keeping it vague, she was covering her bases. Tapping the tips of his fingers on the surface of the desk, he asked, “Anything else?”
“I had another dream this morning,” she admitted. “Of suffocating, drowning. Being restrained.”
“By what?”
She rubbed her wrists. “I don’t know. My face was covered with some sort of dark, thick plastic. I couldn’t breathe.”
