Silent Night Stakeout. Kerry Connor

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      “Do you know where he went or who he went to see?” Marcus asked.

      “No. Like I said, we didn’t talk much.”

      He was about to press her further when Regina interjected. “Okay. I know this is a lot to take in, and we should give you some time to grieve.”

      Before she even finished speaking, she started to rise. Marcus’s first instinct was to object. He hadn’t even begun to ask the many questions he had for Lauren Decker. But if he tried to press on in the face of Regina Garrett’s kindness, he would just come off like a bully, and that wouldn’t get him anywhere. As he took in the face of the young woman before him, now even more drained and pale than when they arrived, it was clear she’d closed herself off to them. He might be able to get more out of her now, or maybe he’d do even better once she’d had a chance to let the news and the implications of her brother’s death sink in.

      Regina reached out and touched the arm of the young woman, who’d also risen. “Are you going to be all right here alone, or is there someone we can call to be with you?”

      Lauren shook her head. “We don’t have any family left, and I have the baby. She’ll probably wake up if I have anyone over. I’ll be okay.”

      Regina reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my number. Please call me if you need anything.”

      “Thank you.”

      Marcus already had his own card in hand. “And if you think of anything you think might be helpful, feel free to call me.”

      She took the card without meeting his eyes. He didn’t believe for a second she would use it, but wanted to keep his name in her memory. Because like it or not, they would be meeting again.

      Lauren Decker knew something, and sooner or later—sooner if he had any say in the matter—he was going to find out what it was.

      “SHE WAS LYING,” Detective Waters said as he pulled away from the house.

      “I know,” Regina said without hesitation. She should have known he’d pick up on it as well as she had. There was something reassuring about that. It implied he was smart, good at his job. He might be the right man to solve Jeremy’s murder after all.

      “I would have appreciated the chance to talk to her further rather than have you rush us out of there.”

      “It was obvious she wasn’t going to tell us anything. I have a feeling you saw that as well as I did.”

      “It couldn’t have hurt to try.”

      “Couldn’t it? She was a clearly exhausted woman who barely had time to absorb her brother’s murder. If you pushed her too far she could have turned against us entirely and decided to never cooperate at all.”

      “Me,” he corrected. “She could have turned against me. There is no ‘us.’”

      No, there certainly wasn’t, she thought with a pang. The comment seemed best left unaddressed. “Either way, you’re better off giving her a chance to let this sink in. Once she has a chance to think about it she may decide to share what she knows. If not, then you can push her. Or does your partner usually play the bad cop? I have a feeling he’s good at it.”

      “He is,” he admitted. “In the meantime, is there anything you want to tell me?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You know, if you were right and the killer was sending a message, that message was most likely intended for you.”

      He wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already considered, but hearing him voice the possibility made it much harder to ignore. She swallowed the knot that rose in her throat. “I know,” she agreed.

      “It would seem somebody wanted to prevent him from talking about something. If there’s even the slightest chance he told it to you, they might come after you.”

      “As I reminded you, attorney-client privilege applies to anything Jeremy might have told me.”

      “We’re talking about someone willing to slit your client’s throat and cut out his tongue in a car parked on the street. I have a feeling this isn’t someone who’s going to take a chance you’ll remain that dedicated to your principles.”

      “Which means this also isn’t someone likely to take the chance I don’t know anything either,” Regina said on a sigh. “And believe it or not, I really don’t think I know anything anyone would be willing to kill to keep hidden. I have to believe Jeremy was going to tell me tonight and didn’t get the chance.” If only he had. If only she’d pressed him harder on the phone. He might not be dead, or if so, at least she might have some idea what she was facing.

      “Of course this is all guesswork,” he said after a moment. “For all we know whatever warning the killer implied wasn’t intended for you.”

      He was trying to make her feel better, she realized with surprise. She glanced at him, and for a moment, their eyes met. At the sight of that impossibly good-looking face, a nervous flutter erupted in her chest. She tried to read his expression for any hint of what he was thinking, but came away empty. It was an odd reassurance for him to offer her. She wouldn’t have thought he would bother. She wondered what it meant that he had, wondered if it meant anything at all.

      Wondered why she cared. No point reading too much into a simple courtesy.

      “I hope you’re right,” she said, unable to keep the doubt from her voice.

      They’d reached the street where her office was located. It hardly seemed possible but the crowd of police officers and crime scene technicians was already gone, the street deserted. As they neared the space where Jeremy’s car had been parked, the place where he died, she saw there was nothing there now. The body had been removed, the car towed away. But the memory of what had been there remained vivid in her mind, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

      He stopped next to her car and put his vehicle in Park. As she unbuckled her seat belt, he reached into his coat and pulled out a business card, offering it to her. “For when you’ve gone over your notes, or if you think of anything else.”

      “Of course.” Tucking the card in her pocket, she opened the door. “Good night, Detective.”

      “Take care of yourself, counselor,” he said in that low, smooth voice of his, what should have been no more than a basic parting line sounding strangely personal.

      She crossed the street to her car, fully expecting him to drive away as soon as she was out of the vehicle. He didn’t, remaining where he was as she unlocked her car and started the engine. Only when she was heading down the street did she see him finally start to drive away, his lights fading from view in her rearview mirror.

      The fact that he’d finally left made sense. The fact that he’d waited until she was safely on her way, while somewhat surprising, was understandable.

      The fact that she felt better for his having done so, or that the warmth caused by the timbre of his voice and those closing words continued to linger long after he was gone, was much harder to explain.

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