“No fucking way. You and Callie?” Levi asked with wide eyes. “How did that happen?”
“No idea. But I’m in love with her, and I can’t let her stand up there and report on a dead body when she doesn’t know it’s her sister.” Jag had delivered more bad news than a Navy chaplain. Another thing that never got easier.
But he suspected this would be about the worst thing he’d ever had to do in his life.
A large crowd had gathered in the parking lot. Many whispered and tossed about the words Trinket Killer. He wasn’t surprised that everyone had already jumped to that conclusion.
As soon as Callie saw him, she waved to her cameraman, who immediately flipped on his light.
Jag gave her the cut sign. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
She handed her mic to someone and timidly made her way toward him. “What’s going on? You shouldn’t be pulling me aside like this. People will start talking.”
“Let them. I don’t care.” He curled his fingers around her biceps and tugged her down the path until he knew they were out of sight of the rest of the crew, who would be doing their best to figure out why a cop would pick one reporter to bring over to the other side of the crime scene tape. He paused and held Callie steady. He stared deep into her eyes. “I love you.”
“You pulled me aside to tell me that?” She turned.
“Callie. I need to tell you something about the victim.” He grabbed her by the forearms. “Babe, this isn’t good.”
“What isn’t good?” She blinked. “I appreciate all that you do, but don’t go out of your way to get me an exclusive.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, babe. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what? Just spit it out, before my crew comes looking for me, thinking you kidnapped me or something.”
He cupped her face. “It’s your sister. It’s Stephanie.”
“What about my sister?”
“She’s the victim.”
“What kind of cruel joke are you playing?” She shoved his hands to the side.
This was harder than anything he’s ever had to do in his career.
In his life.
“Callie, babe.” He held her wrist, tracing her matching tattoo. “I know it’s Stephanie because of this.”
Her fist came down on his chest. “What? No. It can’t be. We just had breakfast with her this morning. She was giving you shit for…for…” Callie took a step back. “You’ve made a mistake. It’s not Stephanie.”
Jag looped his arm around Callie and led her toward the body. The medical examiner and his team respectfully took a step back.
Levi, however, stayed in his place, inching a little closer to Jag.
“Oh, my God. Stephanie,” Callie cried, starting to drop to her knees a little too close to the body.
“It’s still a crime scene.” Jag caught her and pulled her back a little. “I’m so sorry, Callie.”
She turned into his body and buried her face in his chest. “Adam Wanton did this.”
“I’m afraid not,” Levi said.
“What?” Jag said. “That’s impossible.”
“The body that was found yesterday morning mutilated in that back alley downtown? Turns out, that was Adam. If you all had breakfast with Stephanie this morning, there is no way Adam could have killed your sister.”
“I knew he wasn’t the Trinket Killer, but you didn’t want to listen to me. You always brushed my thoughts under the rug, yet I was right all along, wasn’t I.” Callie glanced up at Jag, tucking her long blond hair behind an ear. Her expression turned hard and cold. She pursed her lips. “You did this,” she said, venom dripping from every word. She poked him in the chest. “Because of your arrogance. Because of your bad police work. Because of you, my sister is dead. I’m going to make sure you pay for this, Jagar Bowie, if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter 1
A year later…
Jagar Bowie leaned against the bar and sipped his scotch on the rocks, letting the dark liquid burn the back of this throat before swallowing. He stared across the banquet hall. Levi Crawford hadn’t wanted a big send-off, but he’d been a staple in the Seattle Police Department for as long as Jag could remember, and when you’re married to one of the world’s most popular singers on the globe, people came out in droves when you had a party. Starla was kind of a big deal.
Levi had just become a detective when Jag hit the streets as a beat cop. Shortly after, Jag followed Levi, and they worked together in the property crimes division before Jag decided that homicide was more his thing. Oddly enough, Levi gave homicide a good college try, but when the love bug hit him, Levi turned in his badge to be with Starla.
Jag couldn’t blame him, but he sure as shit missed the hell out of him.
“You look like you’re sulking,” Levi said as he slapped him on the back, waving to the bartender. “Another round of whatever this asshole is drinking.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Crawford,” the bartender said.
Jag raised his glass. “Why the hell did you have to go and invite her?” He downed the last of his drink, taking in a hunk of ice with the last gulp.
“I didn’t,” Levi said with a frown.
“She sent me a draft of her book this week. She wants to interview me all official-like for it.”
“Jesus. Are you going to? I mean, I heard the title was going to be something like: The Trinket Killer, Seattle’s Finest Only Unsolved Case.”
“That’s what it says on the first page.” Jag had read the introduction, which had been written by some forensic specialist with the FBI. It was informative, and Jag couldn’t argue with the content—or the statistics.
But he resented the hell out of the last paragraph.
Through a series of unfortunate mistakes regarding the collection and storage of DNA samples by the Seattle Police Department and the subsequent mishandling of the arrest and release of Adam Wanton—a person of
