His Partner's Wife. Janice Kay Johnson

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      “Was he angry about his arrest? Did he ever mention the officer who arrested him?”

      Both shook their heads. “He said somebody had set him up, but a couple of years ago he mentioned that the fellow was dead. Said he would have liked to have punched his nose, and he guessed he wouldn’t get the chance now.”

      “Did he give a name?”

      They didn’t remember if he had. Pretty obviously, they didn’t know this son who mystified them. To his credit, he’d stayed in touch, but it came down to a few letters and phone calls a year, and one fleeting visit when he got out of the pen. The job was likely a fantasy. John only hoped the address wasn’t.

      He promised to call them once he’d checked out the apartment, and to send any effects. They’d be in touch about the body, he told them.

      “You’ll let us know?” Mr. Floyd asked at least three times. “When you find out why someone killed him?”

      “I’ll keep you informed as the investigation progresses,” he agreed. After offering his regrets again, he left the couple standing on their front porch, their body language expressing the inertia, disbelief and grief he so vividly remembered his mother showing when his father was gunned down. But, because the Floyds knew in their hearts that their son had brought on his own end, they wouldn’t find relief in anger as John’s mother had.

      As he crossed a sparkling blue neck of Puget Sound on the high span of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, John brooded about the visit. Forget the easy answers. Ronald Floyd had not spent his years in the clink planning how he could wreak revenge on Officer Stuart Reed.

      On the other hand, he had left Monroe and gone right back to Port Dare. Less than a month later, he was killed in Natalie Reed’s house, which wasn’t tossed. There had to be a reason he was there, and a reason he died.

      But what the hell was it?

      And how safe was Natalie while they hunted for hard answers?