Her Lawman On Call. Marie Ferrarella
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her feelings even if he couldn’t allow himself to have any of his own. Not that in his present state he even thought that he was capable of having any of his own. They’d all been burnt out of him the day he had to view what was left of Annie’s mangled body.
“Angela,” he repeated with a slight incline of his head.
Squatting down beside the inert body, careful not to disturb the pool of already drying blood, Tony noted that the young nurse’s right hand was fisted. Had she been trying to punch her assailant when she’d been shot? It didn’t seem very likely.
Tony narrowed his eyes, focusing. As he examined more closely, he saw that there was just the tiniest hint of some sort of piece of paper peeking out between the second and third knuckle of her hand.
“Peter,” he beckoned to the investigator with the camera, “come here.”
“Perry,” the man corrected as he came forward.
Impatient, Tony ignored the correction. He tended not to remember names, only faces. “She’s got something in her hand. Take a picture,” he instructed.
The investigator aimed his camera. The shutter clicked twice.
Very carefully, using the tweezers he kept in his pocket, Tony extracted the paper from Angela’s hand. When he unfolded it, he found four words printed on it: First Do No Harm.
Chapter 2
T he frown on Tony’s lips deepened. He turned his head slightly in Sasha’s direction so that his voice would carry to her.
“I thought you said that she was a nurse.”
“She was.”
Was.
The single word vibrated in her brain. God, it felt so strange, using the past tense about a person who, only two hours ago, still had a future ahead of her. Angela had told her that she wanted to make something more of herself, to continue up the ladder, so that her daughter would be proud of her. Now, she wouldn’t have the opportunity. And, at three, her daughter was too young even to have any decent memories of Angela. It just wasn’t fair.
Tony continued looking at the note he held with his tweezers. Something didn’t add up. “Then it looks as if our killer’s confused. Correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor, but isn’t this the first line of the Hippocratic Oath?”
Sasha looked over his shoulder at the paper the detective held up. Her knees bumped against his back, and something self-conscious shimmied through her. She took half a step back. “It is.”
“Then why would the killer shove that into her hand?” Tony thought out loud.
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was something Angela shoved at the killer before he shot her.” Sasha thought it over for a second. It made about as much sense as anything, she supposed. “Maybe that’s why he killed her.”
Tony rose slowly to his feet and turned around to look at the woman who’d been standing behind him with interest. “Do you know something, Doctor?”
She could almost feel his eyes penetrating her skin. As if he was expecting some sort of a confession.
She met his gaze head-on, refusing to give in to the urge to look away. “I know a lot of things. But nothing that’ll do any good here.” And that made her feel frustrated and helpless.
She had guts, he’d give her that. Most people looked away when he looked at them. “Maybe I should be the judge of that,” he told her.
He glanced over to where the other detective was standing. The man had over twenty years on him, but the Captain had placed Henderson under him, a situation anyone else but Henderson would have been annoyed at. Not very much ever bothered Henderson. The older detective was talking to the hospital staff members who were clustered over to one side. Henderson didn’t have much use for the crime scene investigators—said all the lab work got in the way of his gut instincts.
“You okay here, Henderson?” Tony asked.
Watery green eyes looked at him from beneath bushy eyebrows. “Haven’t I always been?”
Sasha half turned her body so that the other detective couldn’t see her lips. “He doesn’t sound as if he likes you very much,” she observed.
Turning the paper over to one of the forensic technicians for evaluation, Tony indicated to the doctor where his car was parked.
“Nobody does,” he said as she fell into step beside him.
Sasha looked at the unsmiling detective, wondering if Santini was putting her on or if he was serious. His expression made her lean toward the latter, but she found it hard to believe that he would be so unaffected by what he’d just volunteered.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked, grateful to turn her attention to something other than Angela’s body on the garage floor.
“No.” Sparing her a glance, he raised one eyebrow in silent query. “Should it?”
On second thought, he didn’t seem like the type to stay up nights losing sleep because he thought someone disliked him. “Most people like being liked,” she pointed out.
“Most people need to be liked,” he corrected. “It’s an overt manifestation of insecurity.”
“And you’re not insecure.” It wasn’t really a question so much as an observation on her part. The man was the picture of confidence, and yet, there was no conceit evident. She would have said that was hard to pull off—until she’d met Santini.
“Nope.” He opened the passenger-side door for her. “Watch your head,” he instructed.
The words made her smile. It was something she knew that policemen said to the suspects they ushered into the back of their vehicles. Her father must have said the same phrase hundreds of times.
“Force of habit?” she asked.
He realized what she was referring to and shook his head. “Small car.”
She was surprised that the department let him drive this little sports car. She waited for Santini to get in behind the wheel. “Regular car in the shop?” she guessed.
Starting the engine, Tony glanced at her waist, to see if she had buckled the seatbelt. Annie had never liked using it. Always said it wrinkled her clothes. In the end, it was her undoing. The first officer on the scene had told him if she’d used her seatbelt, there was a good chance she would have survived the crash.
God, but he wished he could see her just one more time, clothes wrinkled all to hell.
Tony banked down the ache and shoved it away into the darkness. He couldn’t let himself think about Annie.
“This was my wife’s car.” She’d used his car that day, because hers was in the shop. He’d caught a ride to work from his partner. He should have insisted he needed the car and made her stay home.
Married. The man was married. Sasha tried to picture that and couldn’t. Couldn’t envision the man sharing himself with anyone. And, obviously, since he’d used the past tense, he was no longer doing it.
“Let me guess, you got this in the settlement.” The moment the words were out, she regretted them.
A muscle twitched just above his jawline. “I got this at the funeral.”
She’d never heard a tone so devoid of emotion. Or sound so incredibly empty. Beneath that emptiness, she had a feeling there was an endless abyss filled with pain. Guilt tightened her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to sound so flippant.” Sasha spread her hands, feeling restless. “I do that when I get nervous.”
She saw him slant a glance at her and it took everything she had not to shift in her seat. “Do I make you nervous?”
Sasha