“Take a seat, and I’ll see what I can do.”
How she’d won the receptionist over, she had no idea. Maybe she noticed the dark circles under Laura’s eyes and felt sorry for her. Or maybe, unlike some other people Laura knew, the receptionist wasn’t on a power trip and didn’t mind helping another person out, even if she wasn’t going to get a darn thing out of it for herself.
Laura tried to sit quietly, but couldn’t manage it. She flipped one page of a People Magazine then climbed to her feet, twisting her hands as she watched the blinds in the office labeled Ronald Saas, Community Advisor slowly inch up. When they reached the halfway point, the receptionist gave her the thumbs-up.
A man stood with his back to the window.
He turned.
The blinds raised higher.
Through the glass their eyes locked.
His were brown.
He was short . . . and balding.
She stared at him, uncomprehending. Pressing her hand to her throat, she tried in vain to swallow. The man she dined with on Monday night had blue eyes and a full head of curly blond hair. Adrenaline flooded her system, sending her into a near panic. But panic was a luxury that only the weak would indulge. And she wasn’t weak.
Not anymore.
She slammed her fist into her chest, as if to restart a useless heart, then turned and bolted for the door.
Chapter 25
Friday, October 25
8:15 A.M.
Task force headquarters
Highlands Hotel
Denver, Colorado
“Let’s move to the war room.” Caitlin touched Spense’s shoulder. It was time to get started on that profile and most of what they needed was there: autopsy reports, case photographs, witness interviews, and more. The amount of paperwork associated with Laura’s cold case made Caitlin’s head spin. It seemed if you stacked the boxes, they’d fill a skyscraper. Sorting out the relevant facts was overwhelming—a bit too overwhelming, to her way of thinking.
Hatcher checked his phone. “Meet you guys later. The commander’s on the horn.”
Spense trailed her to the war room, and they settled down in the back, surrounded by mountains of old case files. Twenty minutes later, she still hadn’t located Angelina Antonelli’s autopsy report. She kicked one of the more substantial cartons. “If I go postal on you, try not to take it personally.”
Spense reached down, grabbed her ankle and laughed, then he waved an accordion file marked Antonelli triumphantly beneath her nose. “This smell like what you’re looking for?”
“Yes!” She ripped it from his grasp.
“Keep in mind for later, you owe me big.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She flipped through the materials in the file, her chest deflating. “This can’t possibly be all of it.”
“Only one box with Angelina’s name on it, and that’s the only file I found inside that’s actually related to her. There are probably some additional items, mixed in with all this other stuff, but this looks like the only folder dedicated to Laura’s nanny.” He gave her an exaggerated wink. “I was hoping you’d be more grateful.”
She’d asked Spense repeatedly not to flirt with her on the job, but he never seemed to learn—and apparently neither did she. She found herself grinning back at him. The devil in his eyes was simply too hard to resist. She gave herself exactly ten seconds to enjoy the warm, sexy tingles now populating her solar plexus, then forced her mind back to the task at hand. “Be serious, Spense. This doesn’t seem right to me.”
“What doesn’t seem right?”
“All these boxes filled to the brim about Laura, and this one tiny little accordion file with a handful of photos and an autopsy report for Angelina. Even the autopsy was half-assed.” She pointed to a lab report. “Just look at this tox screen. Super basic. No special substances requested.”
“Hatcher already explained that.”
She wanted to strangle someone herself right about now—the cold case ME who didn’t order the proper tests. “Right. Angelina was in on it. No need to bother checking to see if she’d been drugged. They never considered her a victim at all, and yet, she’s the one who wound up dead.”
Spense’s expression turned thoughtful. “Wonder how her family feels about that. It must’ve been hard on them to lose her, and then have her murder go virtually ignored. I’m surprised they didn’t push back.”
Caitlin passed one of the handful of papers in Angelina’s file across to him.
“Aha. Only child. Both parents deceased,” Spense said.
“Angelina had no one to look out for her.”
“Until now.” Spense first checked over his shoulder, then tucked his finger beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “I have a feeling you’re going to do a pretty good job of that from here on out.”