Gallagher Justice. Amanda Stevens

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СКАЧАТЬ dwell on it. Nothing could be done about it now. Recriminations could come later, but for now, the only productive thing Fiona could do was concentrate on her work.

      She glanced back down at her notes, tried to pull her thoughts together once again, but her mind kept rambling and the words on the page blurred. Her eyes suddenly burned with exhaustion, and Fiona thought that if she could just rest them for a moment, she’d be good to go.

      But the moment she closed her eyes, she drifted off and the image of Alicia’s pale, still features materialized in her dream. Mist swirled around the body as Fiona stared down at her, and somewhere in the darkness behind her, a tape played over and over. “Fiona? This is Alicia Mercer. Please call me when you get this message. I really need to talk to you.”

      And then suddenly the tape stopped. The fog faded, and Fiona was standing on a lonely road in the harsh glare of headlights as she stared down at David Mackenzie’s lifeless body. Someone said in horror, “He’s dead, Fiona. My God, you killed him.”

      She came awake with a start, the ringing of the telephone as jarring in the early morning hours as a scream. Glancing around, Fiona tried to orient herself, and when the sound persisted, she finally got up to answer it. Finding herself not quite steady on her feet, she put a hand on the table for balance.

      Carefully she walked across the room to the sofa where she’d tossed the cordless phone earlier. Halfway there, she realized it wasn’t the phone ringing, but the doorbell.

      She adjusted course and moved very deliberately to the door to glance through the peephole. Detective Doggett stood on the other side. She undid the dead bolts and drew back the door to let him in.

      He walked inside and glanced back at all the locks. “How many of those things you got on there?”

      Not enough. Fiona pulled fingers through her messy hair as she closed the door, then turning, she caught her breath when she found him standing right behind her. His eyes...those laser blue eyes...were staring at her intently. And he was frowning. Fiona had the vague notion that he was scowling at her in disapproval.

      Not a comfortable revelation for any woman.

      “Sorry to drop by like this,” he said. “But I told you I’d be in touch as soon as I heard something.”

      Fiona had made sure he had her home phone number before they left the crime scene, expecting that he would simply call when he had news. But here he was, alive and in person, and she realized that he must have looked up her address in the cross directory. She wondered if she should be annoyed at his presumption. Maybe when she was thinking a little more clearly she would be.

      She felt dizzy, all of a sudden, and put a hand to her forehead.

      “Hey, you okay?” Doggett asked her.

      “I’m fine.” But her words sounded slurred even to her.

      “Maybe we’d better sit down. You don’t look too steady on your feet.”

      “No, I told you I’m fine—” But Fiona was horrified to feel herself sway. She put out a hand to stop the room from spinning, but there was nothing to grab hold of. “I think I’m going to—”

      The next thing she knew, she was lying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. Doggett was standing over her. Still scowling. Still disapproving.

      “I’m all right,” she muttered. “I just felt a little woozy.” So woozy, in fact, she couldn’t quite remember having gotten from the door to the sofa.

      “You fainted,” Doggett said. “Or maybe I should say, you passed out.”

      Disgust in his voice. Not a good sign. Fiona gritted her teeth and sat up. “I couldn’t have. I didn’t have that much to drink.”

      “You had enough to knock you on your butt. Is that the norm for you? You come home from a crime scene at four o’clock in the morning and start drinking?” His expression was so grim that Fiona thought if he’d had a rolled up newspaper, he probably would have bopped her on the nose with it. She had the sudden urge to tuck her tail between her legs and slink off to the nearest corner.

      “I didn’t get home until four-thirty,” she said coolly as if that made any kind of difference whatsoever. Humiliation always made her irreverent...irrelevant...shit. “And if I want to have a drink in the privacy of my own home, I don’t see how that’s your business.”

      “I’ll tell you how it’s my business. You’re the prosecutor assigned to my case. I don’t want a bad guy slipping through the cracks because you weren’t up to the job.”

      “You don’t have to worry about me,” Fiona assured him, wishing she didn’t feel as if she might throw up at any moment. Barfing on Doggett’s shoes would definitely undermine her credibility. “I know how to do my job. You just make sure the bad guy doesn’t slip through the cracks because you or some other detective in your division decides to ride roughshod over his rights.”

      “So we’re back to that again, are we? Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not Frank Quinlan.”

      Well, on that, they were in perfect agreement.

      As Doggett turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen, Fiona leaned forward slightly, watching him exit the room. He had a nice butt, and the fact that she noticed told her that she must, indeed, be just a tiny bit hammered. After a moment, she heard him fiddle with the coffee-maker as he tried to figure out the controls.

      “Make yourself at home,” she grumbled, wondering if she had enough strength to make it to the bathroom, wash her face, and then crawl back before Doggett ever missed her. She decided she didn’t, and let her head fall back against the sofa instead.

      When Doggett returned, he set a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of her. “Drink it. Let’s get you sobered up so we can talk.”

      “I’m not drunk. And, for God’s sake, do you have to hover over me like that? You’re not my mother.”

      His lips thinned in displeasure. “No. But you’re reminding me a little too much of mine just now.”

      Oh, God, she really was going to be sick. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      He glared down at her, then shrugged. “Just drink the coffee.”

      “When you stop hovering.”

      He walked over and sank down in a chair opposite the sofa. “Better?”

      She picked up the cup and sipped. The coffee was hot, bitter and strong. Just the way she liked it. The caffeine went straight to her head, and Fiona sat back against the sofa, cradling the cup between her hands.

      After a moment, she glanced at Doggett. “Okay. Tell me why you’re here. Did you find Lexi?”

      Something flickered in his eyes, a shadow that sent a shiver of dread up Fiona’s spine. “No, not yet.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “But I did manage to track down their roommate through a neighbor. Her name is Kelly Everhardt. She drove up to Wheeler on Sunday morning to visit her parents for a couple of days. She’s coming back sometime this morning.”

      “Does СКАЧАТЬ