Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away, a sense of urgency grabbing me by the throat. Unable to force myself to stand, I crawled toward the bullet-riddled front door and opened it, tracking blood onto the wide cement porch. There I dialed 911 and gave a report, my voice both shrill and shaking. The officer told me to stay put if the shooters were gone.
I couldn’t move, anyway. I leaned back against the closed door as the wind battered against me. The blood on my skin and clothes got stickier and my nausea stronger.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Instead of reassuring me, my anxiety pricked up again. My central nervous system misfired in a million directions as the adrenaline rush began to dissipate, leaving me cold and terrified—taken instantly back to that horrible few hours in my childhood. I gulped in air, trying to breathe. I’d survived that time, and I’d survive this one, too. Tears streamed down my face, but I let them fall. I was alive. That said something.
A persistent pain in my right ankle caught my attention, and I leaned to the side to see a bleeding and now familiar injury. A hysterical laugh coughed out of me, high pitched and odd—carried away by the wind.
Another bullet had burned me.
Chapter 8
Uniformed police officers arrived first, followed by Detective Pierce. Even though I was pretty sure he didn’t like me, I was relieved to see a friendly face. Okay. Make that a familiar face. He surveyed the scene and disappeared into the house for about thirty minutes. By the time he came to question me in the front of the house, I’d already talked to a uniformed officer, given a statement, and found a safe spot to sit on a swing at the far edge of the porch. Somebody had brought me a rough blue police blanket that smelled like wet dog, and I gratefully huddled inside it.
“Miss Albertini.” Pierce strode toward me and past the potted flowers that had somehow escaped the carnage, his world-weary eyes sharp. A pretty brunette lab tech did a double take at him and then quickly turned back to work. I guess he was handsome in a too intense fortyish year old way.
I swallowed, holding the blanket around my shivering body like a shield. Blood had dried on my hands and beneath my nails, although the lab tech had scraped beneath each one. Even so, I wanted to get into a shower so badly I itched. For the moment, I tried to put on what my Grandma Fiona would call a lady warrior’s expression. “Long time no see,” I said quietly.
He didn’t appreciate my humor if the tightening of his jaw provided any indication. He wore a darker brown but just as fitted suit as he had the day before. His tie this time was Christmas green instead of the gold stripe last time. “Do you require medical attention?”
The kind question caught me off guard. “No,” I whispered, huddling down. An officer had given me a Band-Aid for my ankle, and the bleeding had stopped.
Pierce’s gaze softened a fraction, even as he drew out his battered notebook. “All right. Tell me exactly what happened, and we’ll get you out of here.” He smelled like something deep and salty—the distant part of the ocean?
I’d already told the other officer, but I knew this was part of the process. Pierce no doubt needed to hear the timeline himself, and he’d also want to compare this statement with the other one, just to make sure I was telling the truth. So I told the truth the best that I recollected it. Everything had happened so quickly.
Just as he was finished asking questions, a shiny black Jeep Cherokee barreled down the road and lurched to a stop. Dust was still settling when Nick Basanelli jumped out, slammed the door, and made a beeline for me. His brown eyes were sharp, his shoulders back, and his stride very quick for a guy that big. He looked like a guy intent on rescue, and everything inside me perked up as much as possible, under the circumstances. Reaching us, he dropped to his haunches to face me. “You okay?”
Tears pricked my eyes again. He’d come for me. “No.”
He turned to look up at Pierce, staying at my level of sight. “Any leads?”
Oh. Yeah. Nick was the head prosecuting attorney, and this was a murder scene involving one of his employees. I worked for Nick. That’s why he was there. Not out of some totally unrealistic need to make sure I was okay after meeting me once for a few minutes. Geez. I really needed to find a date or two. My face flushed. I also needed to stop looking at big strong men to cuddle into. I was a prosecutor, darn it. That made me a badass, whether I felt it or not.
Pierce stared evenly at Nick. “Not yet. Just processing the scene now,” he said. “I have the lake deputies out looking for the boat, but we didn’t get much of a description.” No judgment lay in his tone.
“Okay.” Nick grasped my arm and assisted me up. “If she’s done, I’m getting her out of here. Let me know when you’re finished with the scene. I want to walk through.” Without waiting for Pierce’s agreement, Nick led me around the Jeep, his arm around me. A camera flashed, and we ducked. “Nosy press,” he muttered, helping me into the seat. The vehicle smelled like smooth cologne and male.
I settled into the leather seat, my head still spinning as he shut the door, crossed around the front, and stretched inside next to me. My mind ran through the entire scenario again, and the sound of bullets hitting wood echoed through my head. I shivered. “Thank you for getting me out of there.” No way could I drive right now.
“Of course.” He started the engine and pulled away from the lake house. From this angle, it looked like a paradise and not a bloody disaster. “Tell me what happened.”
I couldn’t. Not one more time. It was just too much. “Read the reports.” I hugged the blanket closer around my body and stared out the windows at the beautiful homes with the incredible lake views. Neighbors stood out on their stoops, some at the edge of their driveways, watching the swirling lights at Scot’s place. Nobody ventured close, as if unwilling to leave their slices of paradise for the darker side of life, hoping they’d never be touched by it.
Nick remained silent for several miles as he drove away from the houses and down the twisting and turning lake road. The sun finally broke through the clouds, sparkling the water into a glimmering blue instead of the depressing gray. “I need to know what happened from your perspective.” His voice was low and calm. Somehow reassuring.
He was right. He was now the head prosecutor for the county, and he’d end up prosecuting whoever had done this. I was a witness, so at least I’d probably disqualified myself as an attorney on this one. So I ran through the events again, this time closing my eyes to make sure I got it all. I couldn’t think of anything I’d missed, but something felt just out of my reach. Something I’d noticed or heard. What was it?
Nick asked questions similar to the ones asked by Pierce, his voice calm, his mind obviously quick. He spent a little more time asking me about Scot Peterson in general. My impressions, what I’d noticed while working for the office, any guesses I might have. His questions had a logical connection to the case and each other, and the way his brain drew those parallels was impressive.
I finished answering and opened my eyes to see we were closer to town. “Why did you really take this job?” I surprised myself by asking. There were tons of ways for him to reach the point of running for office; returning to northern Idaho and taking over a shitstorm of a disaster seemed too risky.
“Family,” he said simply, not expanding.
Ah. That I could understand. Family meant everything. I turned to study his strong profile. His grandparents and his mom still lived in Silverville, that much I knew. His mom was an accountant for pretty much everybody besides the larger companies and knew most of the miners in town by name. “How is your mom doing?”
“She’s doing well but facing a knee replacement probably in a month or so. Busted it snowmobiling last season, and it hasn’t healed well enough. Both of my brothers have moved home. Ricky is working with mom in accounting, and Dominick left the SEALs and is now a cop in Silverville. Gets a lot of cats out of a lot of trees.” Amusement tilted his lips.
I warmed again. Just enough to be uncomfortable. “Um, did you ever hear anything from your dad?” Darn my curiosity, but we were talking, and it was the type of gossip that had lasted through the years, still brought up by old men fishing by the side of the river. His dad had been a foreman at the Independence Mine, and he’d taken off without a word with his secretary when Nick had to be, what? Maybe fifteen?
