Chapter Two

      Gabrielle slid under the yellow police tape that blocked the entrance to Keith Lockwood’s apartment. The cops had tried to repair the lock on his door, but their attempt hadn’t been exactly successful.

      That lack of success made getting in much easier for her.

      She’d waited for night to fall once more. Waited to make sure all the cops had cleared out of the place.

      She wasn’t waiting any longer.

      Gabrielle tiptoed into the apartment. She didn’t turn on any lights. Lights would be seen from the street below, and she wasn’t about to advertise her B&E stint.

      So instead of turning on the overhead lights, Gabrielle pulled out a small flashlight. She crept carefully through the apartment. Her first stop was the desk near the kitchen. She opened the top drawer.

      Empty.

      The second drawer—

      Empty.

      The third—

      Totally cleaned out.

      Her eyes narrowed. There had been a computer on that desk last night. It was gone now, so she’d have to check in with Lane to see if the cops had confiscated it. No doubt, they had. Their tech department would search it and when they were finished, she’d just call in a favor from said tech department and get them to spill their results to her.

      She turned away from the desk. There were other places to search.

      Like the room where she’d found the body.

      Her shoulders squared as she headed down the hallway. The scent of death still hung in the air. She hated that smell.

      Her foot pressed down on the wooden floor. The long, low creak made her stiffen, but she kept going.

      Then she was in the bedroom. Her flashlight illuminated the floor and the outline of the body. The blood had stained the wood.

      So much blood.

      Gabrielle exhaled. She hoped that Lockwood had died quickly. No one deserved to suffer.

      She forced herself to look away from that outline. Her gaze and her light darted around the room. She could see a chest of drawers, a dresser and a nightstand. No photographs. Just like Cooper’s place.

      That wasn’t normal. She edged closer to the nightstand positioned to the right of the bed. People usually kept photographs of family and friends in their homes. Light touches to personalize the place.

      At the edge of the bed, her foot stepped down on something hard.

      She heard the crunch of glass.

      Gabrielle winced—so much for being good at crime scenes—and she bent down. She’d stepped on a frame. One that had dropped to the floor and slipped under the edge of the bed.

      So Lockwood did have at least one picture.

      She turned the frame over. Pieces of broken glass fell onto the bed.

      Her light scanned over that photo. Her breath came faster. Her heart raced.

      The picture was of Keith Lockwood. He was smiling in the picture, and he had his arm around a pretty, blonde woman.

      Gabrielle easily recognized Kylie Archer. She’d seen plenty of pictures of that woman before.

      What were you going to tell me about her? What? Gabrielle sure wished the dead could talk.

      She backed away from the bed, still studying the photo. Backed away and backed into someone.

      Someone big and strong.

      Gabrielle opened her mouth to scream.

      The scream never escaped because a hard hand covered her mouth. And even as that hand covered her mouth, an arm rose around Gabrielle and jerked her closer to—

      “Easy,” that familiar deep voice told her, as Cooper’s breath blew against the shell of her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, and a scream would just send the neighbors rushing to call the police.”

      Because he’d scared her, Gabrielle elbowed him in the ribs. He let her go with a grunt.

      Gabrielle whirled to confront him. “What are you doing here? This is a crime scene!” She aimed her light right at his face.

      He winced. “Trying to blind me?”

      She thought that might only be fair since he’d just tried to scare her to death.

      “And, yes, I know it’s a crime scene,” he said, sounding aggrieved. “That’s why I wondered what the hell you were doing in here.”

      “You followed me?” Her voice was a whisper. He must have followed her. There was no other explanation. But why?

      He shrugged. “After last night, maybe I was a little worried about you.”

      Oh. Wait. That was...nice.

      The sneaking up on her part? Not so nice. “I didn’t even hear you.” Not so much as a sound.

      “I’m used to sneaking in and out of places.”

      His comment sounded a bit sinister.

      “And speaking of out, we need to go.”