Since I had to go to the station to hand in my handcuffs, it was the perfect opportunity to snoop around a bit and see if anything had happened that may have triggered the phone call.
How did he get my number?
But even more disturbing was the next question—how much did he know about me?
He knew who my father was, that I was investigating, and my name, that much I could verify. Did he know where I lived and worked? Was I being followed?
Casting a glance over my shoulder, I bound out of bed and yanked down the window blind in my bedroom. Suddenly, my home felt incredibly exposed. Despite the fact that there was no window access—someone would need to either break into my tiny courtyard and walk down the side of the house or scale a six-foot mesh fence to the bin area—every window felt like a threat now. I wanted desperately to go to the practice range and fire offa few shots, something to ease my mind and remind me I knew how to look after myself. But since I had to hand in my gun, I’d have to make do with the gym. Maybe someone there would be willing to spar with me.
I thought of Cade.I like to fight,he’d said.
Well, if he didn’t already think I was a weirdo for asking him to a graveyard to mourn the loss of my father and then back to my place to search for misplaced handcuffs we’d use in an inappropriate sex game, hecertainlywould think I was strange if I asked him tofight meto work out some stress.
He might ask why I was so additionally stressed, and I didn’t want him to worry. Cade seemed the type who would try to solve my problems for me, and a mystery man threatening my life wasn’t something I wanted him involved in.
I was a cop.
I could handle this myself.
Because I’d done so well so far.
Sighing, I eyed my uniform, squeezing my eyes shut before settling on some jeans and a loose T-shirt. I’d have a shower when I got back, and maybe the running warm water would help me think because it was certainly too much to hope it could help me relax.
The drive to the station was quick and uneventful. I’d missed rush hour, and was in the small window before the lunch rush began. Striding into the station, I tried to keep my head high, feigning that the stares didn’t bother me as I made my way to the front desk before sliding my handcuffs across the counter.
Lieutenant Niles was leaning on the edge of the counter, and I was about to offer a sheepish hello when I took a better look at his face. His brow was furrowed deeply, his lips pressed into a thin line, and one hand was halfway through combing his gray hair, gripping it lightly. I scribbled my signature on the required paperwork to complete the sign-over and walked over to him,tapping lightly on the counter with a fingernail next to his hand to gain his attention.
“Kline.” He looked up, but his eyes weren’t focused on me. “What are you doing here?”
“Handing in my cuffs.”
“Right, right.” He still wasn’t really paying attention to me.
“What’s wrong?”
Niles folded the piece of paper he’d been reading and finally met my eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Niles?”
He took a moment to stare at me, steel-gray eyes that penetrated mine, the same stare he’d given me in training when I had ruffled his feathers. I doubted he’d be exactly thrilled about my suspension, but there was an edge to his stare that pricked the hairs on the back of my neck, and I resisted the urge to rub my hand over them.
“How well did you know Karolina Torres?”
My back stiffened, and I glanced at the front door. I didn’t want to be having this conversation, I had more important things to worry about. “We’d passed each other in the precinct, but I never worked with her. We had some… disagreements.” Something clicked in my mind, and I eyed him suspiciously before realization dawned. “Wait, what do you meandidI know her?”
Niles threw a glance over my head at the officer at the counter. “Torres killed herself early this morning.”
My throat constricted, and I fought the urge to cough or, even better, bend over and dry heave. This was too much.
No coincidences.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I know what you’re thinking, and no, just no, Kline. Unlike Kim, she left a note.”
I eyed the paper in his hand, which crumpled under his grip,his hand covered in a latex glove. Why would he use a glove to handle a suicide note? Unless… “You suspect something, don’t you, sir?”
“Kline—”
