search of what "present" he'd meant. She found nothing. Nothing had been left or taken that she could see. She eyed the knife block that had been her mother's and counted six knives and four empty slots. Suddenly she wondered if one was missing. Had there been seven before? Eight? She never paid attention. Had he been in the kitchen looking for a weapon to kill her? He'd had a chance and he'd let her go. She didn't think he wanted her dead, but then what did he want?
A sense of dread poured over her like ice water. He was smart. He was strong. He knew things that could damage her, things from the night she couldn't remember. And now he wanted something.
Chapter 7
Alex arrived at the station at ten after seven, determined to force things to move forward again. She had arranged, with James's reluctant help, to assist at the Loeffler crime scene for a couple of days. The doctor had written that he didn't want her back on the streets, and helping with the investigation was a good way to utilize her without disobeying doctor's orders. The department was just understaffed enough to get her captain to go for it. She'd spent an hour covering the bluish black bruise above her right eye. Between the makeup and the careful placement of her bangs, it was just barely hidden.
On her way to meet James, she stopped by the reference area and located the copy of the Physicians' Desk Reference. With a quick look over one shoulder, she found the listing for Restoril. Running her finger down the entry, she scanned the adverse reactions—drowsiness, headache, fatigue, nervousness, lethargy, anxiety, blurred vision, nightmares. No violence.
"What've you got there?"
Hearing Greg's voice, she started to close the book, but he put his hand in it before she could get it closed.
Throwing it back open, he scanned the page until he found what she'd been looking at. "Restoril, huh?"
"Just curious," she said.
He backed her to a file cabinet. "Bullshit."
She waved him off and started to leave. "Think what you want, Roback."
"Something's going on, Alex."
"Nothing's going on," she snapped back.
He reached up and pushed her bangs aside. "What happened to your head?"
She flinched and pulled back. "I was jumped by a mugger if you don't recall."
"I thought you hit the back of your head."
"Well, he got me in the forehead with his fist."
Watching her, he shook his head. Then, when she didn't respond, he said, "I heard you're working the scene." His tone was cool.
She nodded.
"I guess I'll see you around then." He turned and walked away before she could answer.
She put away the PDR and headed to James's office.
"You ready?" he asked when she arrived, handing her a cup of coffee.
She took it and thanked him. "Yep," she said, looking at the dark coffee. It would be her third cup since four this morning, and she wasn't sure it was a good idea. Her stomach already had the rattle of a baby's toy.
To keep herself from drinking any more, she set the coffee on the table.
"Lombardi's heading back over to the house this morning. Captain Lyke was going to call him, so he should know you're coming by now. Just go on back there and I'll see you later." James started to say good-bye.
"James."
He looked up.
She met his eyes. "I just wanted to say thanks."
"Don't thank me. Just don't do anything stupid."
She knew what he meant was don't do anything stupid again. She wouldn't. She was back in control.
In her gear, she headed for the detective division.
Elsa hadn't called back, but it was still early. She felt a little nervous as she walked down the corridor.
This was normal. Her first cadaver, she reminded herself. Her first death. But the body hadn't bothered her. It had been something else—recognizing him, perhaps. Forcing air into her lungs, she opened the door and stuck her head into the detective division.
Lombardi sat hunched in his chair. "Wondering when you'd arrive," he said without turning around.
She glanced at the clock