Free Split Second by Alex Kava

and purple scuffs. She rubbed at one to discover a bruise instead of dirt. Just as she began to search for her newly installed phone, she noticed a police cruiser whiz by.
    She found the phone under a stack of papers. She dialed from memory and waited patiently, knowing it would take more than five or six rings.
    “Dr. Patterson.”
    “Gwen, it’s Maggie.”
    “Hey, how the hell are you? Did you get moved in?”
    “Let’s just say my stuff is moved.” She noticed the Stafford County Coroner’s van drive past. She went to the window and watched the van curve to the left until it was out of sight. The street had no outlet. “I know you’re swamped, Gwen, but I was wondering if you had a chance to check on what we talked about last week?”
    “Maggie, I really wish you’d leave the Stucky case alone.”
    “Look, Gwen, if you don’t have time, all you need to say is that you don’t have time,” she snapped, and immediately wished she could take her words back. But she was tired of everyone trying to protect her.
    “You know that’s not what I meant, Maggie. Why do you always make it so goddamn hard for people to care about you?”
    She let the silence hang between them. She knew her friend was right. Suddenly in the distance, Maggie heard a fire engine’s siren, and her stomach turned to knots. What was happening just around the corner? Her knees threatened to buckle at the thought of a possible fire. She sniffed the breeze coming in through the window. She couldn’t smell or see smoke. Thank God. If it was a fire, she would be incredibly useless. The thought alone scared the hell out of her, reviving memories of her father’s death.
    “How about I stop over tonight?”
    Gwen’s voice startled Maggie. She had forgotten she was still on the phone.
    “The place is a mess. I haven’t even started to unpack.”
    “It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you. Why don’t I pick up a pizza and some beer? We can picnic on the floor. Come on, it’ll be fun. Sort of a housewarming party. A prelude to your new independence.”
    The fire engine’s siren began to grow distant, and Maggie realized it was not on its way to her neighborhood. Her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed in relief.
    “You can pick up some beer, but don’t worry about the pizza. I’ll have it delivered.”
    “Just remember, no Italian sausage on my side. Some of us need to watch our weight. I’ll see you around seven.”
    “Fine. Sure. That’ll work.” But Maggie was already distracted as another police cruiser sped by. Without a second thought, she put down the phone and grabbed her badge. She quickly reset the security system. Then she tucked her revolver in her back waistband and headed out the front door. So much for seclusion.

CHAPTER 3
    M aggie juggled the boxes that filled her arms. As usual she had taken on more than she should have. Her fingers searched the door, grasping for a knob she couldn’t see, yet she refused to put anything down. Why in the world did she own so many CDs and books when she had no time to listen to music or read?
    The movers had finally left, after a thorough search for one lost carton, or as they insisted—one misplaced carton. She hated to think of it still at the condo, and hated even more the thought of asking Greg to check. He would remind her that she should have listened to him and hired United Movers. And knowing Greg, if the carton was still at the condo, his anger and curiosity would not leave it alone. She imagined him ripping off the packing tape as though he had discovered some hidden treasure, which to him it would be. Because, of course, it would be the one container with items she’d rather have no one thumb through, items like her personal journal, appointment calendar and memorabilia from her childhood.
    She had torn her car’s trunk apart, looking through the few boxes she had loaded on her own. But these were the last. Perhaps the movers had honestly misplaced the carton.