Free Speak No Evil by Allison Brennan Page B

Steve.
    “Can I see your ID, please?”
    “My ID?” He raised an eyebrow, reaching for his wallet.
    Her eyes instantly darted to his waist and he realized just a second too late that he should have identified himself as a cop immediately.
    “Put your hands up.” Her gun was out. Fast. He would have been impressed if he weren’t so irritated at having a gun aimed at his chest. “Hooper,” she called without taking her eyes off his.
    “Hey!”
    Nick recognized Steve’s voice. He emerged from the bedroom. “Stand back, Mr. Thomas,” the detective said without looking at Steve.
    “He’s my brother. He’s a cop.”
    Cautious belief crossed her face, and her partner, Hooper, approached.
    “Left back pocket,” Nick told him, his hands still up.
    “You’re a cop?” Hooper asked as he disarmed him and pulled his identification.
    “Yes.”
    Hooper opened his identification. “Nicholas P. Thomas, Sheriff, Gallatin County, Montana.”
    The female detective holstered her weapon. “Next time identify yourself,” she snapped.
    Hooper returned his gun and ID, extended his hand, and smiled amicably. “Will Hooper, Homicide. Quick-draw McGraw is my partner, Carina Kincaid. You’ll have to excuse her temper—she has both Irish and Cuban blood in her veins.”
    Nick grinned as he shook Hooper’s hand. “Nick Thomas.”
    Carina Kincaid glared at him. “Montana? San Diego is a wee bit out of your jurisdiction, isn’t it?”
    “A bit,” he said.
    “Care to share your interest in our investigation?” she asked pointedly.
    “You know, Ms. Kincaid,” Nick said with his best Montana drawl, “my mama always said you catch more flies with honey.” He winked. For a second he thought she was going to throw a fit, then she relaxed, a half-smile turning up her lips.
    Steve came over, clapped him on the back. “It’s good to see you, bro.”
    “Let’s talk outside.” Nick motioned to the landing. He turned back to Carina. “If that’s all right with you, ma’am.”
    She waved him off, shaking her head. But she wasn’t stupid. He saw her motion to one of the uniforms to keep an eye on Steve.
    He walked Steve down to the far end of the landing to prevent the police from eavesdropping, intentionally or otherwise. The uniform tasked with babysitting stood outside the door, within eyesight, but not earshot.
    “Thanks for coming, Nick, really. I owe you big-time.”
    “You don’t owe me anything.” Nick had a million questions for his brother, but he started broad. “Tell me everything you know.”
    “Not much.” Steve looked out onto the beachfront highway.
    “Do they have a warrant?”
    “No, I told them they could come in and look.”
    “Just look? I saw a crime tech packing up your computer.”
    “I’m innocent. I told them they could have anything they needed. Once they stop looking at me, they’ll start looking for the real killer.”
    “You let them in without a warrant? They haven’t arrested you, correct?”
    “No, because they don’t have anything on me. I didn’t kill Angie, Nick. I swear. I wouldn’t hurt her.”
    “Why do they suspect you?”
    “I dated her. She got a stupid idea in her head and got this restraining order against me. It looks bad, but it really wasn’t.”
    “People don’t file for restraining orders for no reason, Steve.”
    “She was mad at me after we had an argument.”
    Nick frowned. Steve sounded like a petulant kid, not a grown man. “What kind of argument?”
    Steve didn’t say anything for a long minute. Nick found himself studying Steve as if he were a perp. He shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying the position of thinking his brother, his older brother, his sainted brother, was a possible murderer. Steve wasn’t capable of it.
    Was he?
    Nick had a flash of a memory, the kind that comes and goes quickly but where you remember every detail. Steve had been eleven, he’d been eight. They’d been coming home in the rain late one afternoon, certain their