street to find a bed. If they had, maybe Anna would still be alive. But while they screwed, poor little Anna Louisa Clark died.”
It was after midnight when Will came home. He couldn’t sleep, so he lifted weights in the second bedroom, his iPod loud enough to drown out both thoughts and memories. An hour later, sore and drenched in sweat, he showered, then fell onto his bed wearing only boxers, the cold February night breeze coming in through his open windows. The last time he saw the digital clock it mockingly glowed red: 2:01.
Then he dreamed. Remembered.
Will jolted awake as his cell phone rang. His cock was hard and he was on the verge of a wet dream. With Robin.
This was so screwed.
He glanced at the clock as he answered his phone. 4:14 a.m.
“Hooper.”
“Sergeant Fields here. That reporter, Trinity Lange, just called. Theodore Glenn paid her a visit tonight.”
TEN
Carina beat Will to Trinity Lange’s town house. She met him at the front door and, without preamble, said, “No sexual assault. He tied her to her bed and from what she told responding officers let her interview him. She specifically asked to talk to you, and they told her you had already been called.”
Carina’s tone was cool, still ticked off over their argument the night before, but ever the professional. Will didn’t know how to make it right with his partner. His strength was his people skills, yet right now he felt like he had none as far as Carina was concerned. She wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d spilled his guts, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
“How’s she holding up?” Will asked as they walked through the foyer. Trinity was smart and sassy, with the kind of self-possession that attracted Will to a woman.
Carina rolled her eyes. “Better than I would be after being in a room with a killer who likes to carve pictures on his victims with an X-ACTO knife.”
“Has the lab been called?”
“They’re on their way over.”
“Gage?”
“Probably, considering how high-profile this case is.” Since both Chief Causey and the current District Attorney Andrew Stanton had prioritized anything to do with Theodore Glenn, the crime lab would expedite the processing of evidence. If only they’d been able to prioritize Bethany Coleman’s murder seven years ago, maybe she’d have been the only one to die at the hands of Theodore Glenn. Maybe if they hadn’t been overworked and understaffed there’d have been no contamination of the DNA evidence in the first place.
Trinity sat at her kitchen table, a coffee mug at her side, writing frantically in a notepad. An officer stood behind her, trying to see what she was writing, but she shielded the page. She glanced over her shoulder to give the cop a dirty look, then spotted Will and Carina. Her eyes glowed. “Detectives. Coffee?”
She flipped the notepad over and stood, walking over to the steaming carafe on the counter.
Formal. Professional. She had indeed pulled herself together quickly.
“Thanks.” Carina sat down at the table. Will saw her staring at the notepad. He, too, was curious as to what Trinity was writing. More flies with honey, he thought, giving Trinity a friendly smile.
“That would be great, Trinity.” He watched her. She’d dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt. Trinity was a hair over five foot three, and with her blonde hair loose she looked much younger than Will remembered her to be: thirty-two. But her eyes were sharp, intelligent, and he could practically see the gears in her head working.
“Cream? Sugar?” she asked.
“Black,” Carina said.
“Cream,” Will said, though he knew he didn’t have to. Trinity would have remembered.
She made one too many furtive glances at the cop standing sentry in the kitchen. Will turned to him. “Officer,