Dying To Remember. Sara K. Parker

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       THREE

      Roman pocketed his phone and met Ella’s eyes. “I’ve mobilized a team for your case,” he told her.

      “That was quick,” she said. “Thank you.”

      “I want you to feel safe.” It was quite possible that Ella was experiencing paranoia or delusions related to a mental illness, but the story she’d told him also sounded plausible. If it was correct, he wanted to get back to Julia Camden’s house ASAP—before whoever had attacked Ella doubled back to clear the scene. “I’ll be right outside your door until my relief gets here. Then I’ll go back to your mom’s and look around more thoroughly.”

      “My mom,” Ella said suddenly. “She’s here, too.” She brushed off her covers. “Maybe I’ll sit with her for a while and—”

      “Do me a favor and wait till morning, okay?” Roman asked, cutting her off.

      Ella frowned and looked like she might argue.

      “It’s safer to stay here, where the only people who will have access to your room will be medical personnel or a Shield team member,” he told her. “I’ll take you to her personally in the morning,” he assured her. “Your purse is on the countertop.” He pointed across the room. “Can I grab you anything else from the house?”

      She pulled the sheet back up and Roman took that as a sign of her resignation. “Could you let the dog out? I usually do one last time before I go to bed.”

      “I didn’t notice a dog tonight...”

      “Oh, no. I hope he didn’t get out,” Ella said.

      “Don’t worry—I’ll find him. What’s his name and what kind of dog is he?”

      “He’s a little Havanese mix—and his name’s Isaac.”

      Roman grinned. “Interesting name for a dog.”

      “My mom always said if she’d had a son, she would have named him Isaac,” Ella said with a wry smile.

      Roman chuckled. “I’ll find Isaac. Anything else?”

      “My laptop, if you plan to swing back by here tonight. But don’t make a special trip.”

      He didn’t know what kind of work was so important she needed to get it done while sitting in a hospital bed, but he didn’t say as much. By the time he would return with the laptop, she’d hopefully be asleep anyway, so he didn’t argue.

      Roman moved toward the door. “I’ll grab the laptop and drop it by on my way back from your mom’s place. Try not to worry—you’ll be out of here in no time.”

      He stepped into the hallway, not sure if he was right at all. Ella’s story defied belief. He wasn’t sure about the legalities of keeping someone like Ella hospitalized if she wanted to go home, but he’d venture a guess that any self-respecting psychiatrist who valued his medical license would probably be very nervous about sending her home tomorrow.

      Clicking heels from down the hallway drew his attention and he smiled as Triss Everett came into view, long, dark hair swinging in a low ponytail as she hurried toward Roman. The rookie on the team with barely a year of experience under her belt, Triss was a force to be reckoned with. Roman had no qualms about leaving her to guard Ella for the night.

      “You got here fast. I hope you weren’t speeding again,” he said lightly as Triss approached.

      “I don’t call it speeding when I’m on the job.” Her face was serious, dark eyes unreadable. She was the younger sister of Roman’s longtime friend Luke, but the only traits the two had in common were their dark hair and dark eyes.

      “What do you call it, then?” he asked.

      “Expediting my response time.”

      He caught the barest hint of humor in her expression and had to laugh. “You’ve been pulled over three times in six months,” he pointed out. “I’d rather have you here a few minutes later than smashed up in a car accident.”

      “Noted,” she responded, handing him a set of car keys. “Now, if we’re done with the pep talk, I parked in the garage. Third floor, near the elevators.”

      The woman was always business, but that was a major asset to his team. “Let me catch you up to speed and then I’ll get out of here.”

      * * *

      Twenty minutes later, Roman stepped out of the company car Triss had driven to the hospital. The Camden home was all lit up, the lights still on from earlier in the evening. He shut the car door behind him, glancing up and down the quiet street as he tugged his gloves on. Few lights glimmered from the surrounding houses, cars dark and icing over. He pulled out his flashlight and began a slow walk around the perimeter of the home. He planned to come back in daylight, but he’d see what he could find tonight.

      After circling the house and not spotting anything amiss, he let himself in through the front door. Standing in the doorway for a moment, he took stock of the living room, his gaze touching the empty, faded couch, the box television, the layer of dust over the mantel. No sign of the dog. No obvious sign that an intruder had been in the house, either. The only evidence he might be able to corroborate was Ella’s story about the iced tea.

      He bypassed the living room as she’d likely done, crossing the hallway and walking toward the fridge as he scanned the floor for any signs of the iced tea or the broken bottle. The floor was clean and dry, but he crouched down anyway, taking a closer look for evidence of what he’d stepped on earlier. He rubbed a hand over the glossy wood and looked at his palm. Dust particles and a few tiny flakes of what could be crushed glass.

      He turned to the sink. It was empty but not dry. A damp, brown dish rag hung neatly over the faucet. He didn’t pick it up, just in case the police decided to sweep through, which he thought was highly unlikely unless he could find a reason to convince them. Bending close to the rag, he could only detect the faint scent of dish soap. The trash can in the pantry was also empty, so he made a mental note to ask Ella if she had emptied it. He was almost to the hallway before he noticed a little smudge on the tile that he hadn’t seen at first.

      He bent closer. Darker than iced tea, redder than mud. Blood? He crouched low and looked around, saw two more prints leading to where wood met carpet. Paw prints? The dog had made himself scarce. Could he be injured?

      Roman pulled out his cell phone and snapped photos of the rag and the dark smudges on the floor. That was all he could find, but it was enough to lend credence to Ella’s story.

      Ella said she’d dropped the tea in the struggle. That meant her attacker must have taken the time to clean up the mess to hide any signs of an attack and make it appear she’d tried to take her own life.

      Resuming his search, Roman turned down the hall and entered Ella’s room, which was adjacent to the garage and across the hall from the bathroom. Her room was perfectly in order, her laptop sitting closed on a small desk near the window. He picked it up and slipped it into a nearby case, then circled back to the living room still in search of the dog. He hoped Isaac hadn’t gotten out during all the commotion tonight.

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