Chapter Three

Tuesday, January 8, 12:10 P.M.

The overcast sky added an extra bite to the ice-cold wind that cut through Jacob’s leather jacket. He stamped his feet, hoping the extra blood circulation would warm his body and restore some feeling to his toes.

The survey crew seemed to accept the cold as a matter of course. They’d remained idle all morning, standing on the sidelines watching the police work as if it were a location set for a television crime drama. Fifteen minutes ago they’d broken out their lunches. It was a regular party.

As much as he wanted to leave, neither he nor Zack considered it. They wanted to wait until Tess had finished taking her photographs, sketching out the scene, and had released the body to the state medical examiner’s office.

Tess had searched the victim’s pockets, finding wadded tissue and a grocery store receipt, but nothing that would identify her. She also searched the entire area around the body for evidence but so far had found nothing out of the ordinary. The wind wasn’t helping matters either and could easily have blown evidence farther afield. Jacob had expanded the search perimeter. He had ordered the uniformed officers to fan out and search the area.

Tess hoped to preserve as much evidence that still might remain on the body. She had ordered the woman’s body moved away from the water and wrapped in a clean white sheet. Once it was transported to the medical examiner’s office, she would go over it again and search for hair and fiber samples on the body.

Tess trudged up the hill, her expression grim. Her cheeks were pink and her lips chapped. Wisps of dark hair peeked out from the skullcap on her head.

Jacob raised the yellow tape for her.

Tess ducked under the tape and arched her back, trying to work the knots formed after hours of stooping. ‘Thanks.’

‘Sure.’

Zack moved away from the uniforms toward her. ‘You need a strong cup of coffee.’

‘I intend to have one as soon as I arrive at the medical examiner’s office. When I’ve warmed up, I’ll go over the body again.’

Zack looked like he wanted to argue with his kid sister, but he knew she didn’t like babying. ‘Sure.’

‘I’ve called the body removal team,’ she added. ‘They’ll be here in a few minutes.’

‘Did you find anything?’ Jacob asked.

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. And it’s so damn cold our killer likely didn’t break a sweat when he dumped our victim.’

Sweat mixed with the body’s oils to create fingerprints. Without sweat, fingerprints weren’t always produced. ‘Do the best you can.’

‘Will do.’

Zack braced against the wind. ‘What can you tell us, Tess?’

She shoved out a breath. ‘The medical examiner will have to confirm all this but I think whoever held her also injected her with something.’

‘What makes you think the killer did it?’ Jacob asked. ‘People from all walks of life have hidden addictions.’

Tess sniffed. ‘The needle marks on her arms are fresh. And there are no signs of older marks that would suggest she was a habitual user.’

‘They could be behind her knee,’ Jacob said. That had been a favorite spot of his mother’s.

Tess shrugged. ‘We’ll see. But I don’t think she’s an addict. Doesn’t have the look.’

Many didn’t have the look if it was a new habit. ‘Why do you think the killer injected her? Maybe she did it herself. Went on a binge.’

Tess’s face tightened with annoyance. ‘Like I said, I don’t think so. Her teeth are healthy and her fingernails don’t appear splintered – both would be signs of chronic drug use. I think whoever took her, tied her up, likely to a chair, kept her for several days and shot her full of drugs. And then strangled her.’

The image of the woman’s face flashed in his mind and again he thought about Kendall Shaw. He savagely pushed the thought away, refusing to think of the body as anything more than evidence. ‘Any signs of sexual assault?’

‘Couldn’t hazard a guess at that one. Her clothes are perfectly intact, but you know that doesn’t mean anything.’

The hearse arrived and made its way down the rough construction road. It stopped a hundred yards from them. The driver kept the motor running as he and another man emerged. Both men were tall with broad, muscled shoulders.

They removed the gurney from the back of the hearse casually and headed toward Tess. She led them to the body, which she had bagged in a black body bag. The bag had been sealed with a lock that wouldn’t be removed until it reached the medical examiner’s office. The attendants hoisted the body on the gurney, carried it up the embankment, and loaded it in the hearse without conversation.

Zack and Jacob followed Tess to the forensics van. They waited as she fired up the engine and turned the heat on full blast. She closed the door but cracked the window.

Tess held out her hands toward the heater. ‘I’m never going to be warm again.’

‘When does your shift end?’ Zack ducked his head so he could make eye contact.

‘Four. Hopefully, I’ll be done with our Jane Doe. I promised Mom I’d help pack up the Christmas decorations.’

Zack nodded. ‘Thanks for doing that.’

‘Next year it’s your turn.’

Zack grinned. ‘No, it’s Malcolm’s. He owes me.’ Malcolm, their brother, worked SWAT.

‘What did you do for him?’ she asked, smiling.

Zack grinned. ‘Let’s just say we had a bet and he lost.’

Tess’s laughter rumbled in her chest. ‘Should I ask?’

‘No,’ Zack said.

Jacob envied the easy camaraderie the brother and sister shared. He’d never known anything like that. His father had split before he was born and he had no siblings. His mother had been a drunk and an addict who had found child rearing a drag. When he was twelve he’d been taken in by a good guy, Pete Myers, who had given him a stable home. Last summer, Pete had turned out to be deeply troubled.

Shit. Jacob couldn’t have had a more fucked-up personal life if he’d set out to plan one.

Zack and Tess exchanged a few more words before she rolled up her window. The hearse drove off, and Tess followed in her van.

Zack rubbed his hands together, trying to stimulate circulation. ‘I’m headed back to the office.’

‘Right behind you. I just want to walk the scene one more time.’ Jacob was anxious to get back in his car and turn the heater on, but he just couldn’t let go of this place. Not yet.

Zack had driven off and Jacob had started back toward the river when he heard, ‘Who’s in charge here?’

The voice was deep, angry, and full of attitude.

Jacob turned, pulling fisted hands from the warmth of his pockets. Standing at the perimeter was a guy dressed in a dark business suit and a crisp overcoat. It didn’t take a Harvard education to know the suit and coat cost more than Jacob earned in a month. The guy wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or eight, and he had a full head of brown hair slicked back off his face. A gold ring winked on his left pinky.

The guy had ‘slick’ written all over him.

Jacob moved toward Slick, his strides long and deliberate. He was itching for a fight, anything to burn off the unease that plagued him. ‘Can I help you?’

Slick raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you in charge?’

Again, attitude seasoned the words. The hair on the back of Jacob’s neck rose. He didn’t mind questions but attitude pissed him off. ‘I’m Detective Jacob Warwick. I’m running this murder investigation.’

Slick’s features softened a fraction and he thrust out his hand. ‘My name is Adam Alderson.’ His breath puffed, freezing when it hit the cold air. ‘I own this land development project.’

Jacob had already guessed the answer to his question: Alderson’s survey crew chief had called him to complain about the delay. ‘What can I do for you?’

Alderson’s smile was impatient. ‘I saw the hearse leave. That means the body is gone.’

‘Correct.’

‘Great. When are the rest of you going to clear off my property? Right now I’m paying my crews to stand around and drink coffee.’

‘I was just about to talk to them one last time and then send them home. Forensics won’t release the scene today, so your men can’t work the area.’

Alderson twisted his pinky ring. ‘But the body is gone.’

‘There could be evidence in the area, so it needs to be contained until we can thoroughly search it.’ He kept emotion out of his voice.

Alderson’s eyes reflected his frustration. He didn’t like hearing no. ‘Tomorrow then?’

‘I can’t say. I’ve ordered the patrolmen to thoroughly comb the area. And then the autopsy might reveal something that would send us back. It could be days, or weeks, depending on what they find.’

Alderson shook his head. ‘Weeks! That is not acceptable, Detective. The surveying has to be complete by the end of January so the site plans can be finished. I need to break ground this summer if occupancy is going to happen next spring.’

Jacob didn’t flinch. ‘We’ll be done when we’re done. At this time I won’t commit to a date.’

A muscle in Alderson’s jaw tensed. ‘Do you have any idea how much revenue this development is going to bring into the county?’

Ah, money, it made the world go round. ‘A great deal, I’ll bet.’

‘A great deal doesn’t begin to cover it. I can assure you my development is worth a hell of a lot more than solving the murder of some woman.’

The casual dismissal pissed off Jacob. If he had his way, Alderson’s people would never set foot on this land until spring.

Alderson checked his watch and had the stones to look bored. ‘I need a release date, Detective.’

A woman was dead. She’d been held captive, could have been tortured, and this guy looked bored.

Jacob had the urge to toss this guy off the property. ‘Where were you last night?’

The question caught Alderson off guard. ‘Me? Why the hell should that matter?’

Jacob mentally dug in his heels. No one dictated policy to him at his crime scene. ‘It’s a simple question.’

Alderson rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, please.’

He’d stand there all day if that’s what it took. ‘She was found on your property.’

‘I had nothing to do with the woman’s death.’

Jacob stood a good six inches taller than the guy and he wasn’t above using his height to intimidate. ‘Then answer the question.’

Alderson’s lips flattened. ‘I was having dinner last night with my attorney, as a matter of fact.’ He looked smug. ‘We were going over contracts for another property I’m looking to buy.’ Alderson dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a business card. ‘Here’s his name and number. Feel free to call him.’

Jacob studied the name but didn’t recognize it. ‘I will. Your men report any strange people on the land in the last couple of days?’

He shoved out a breath. ‘You spoke to them. What did they tell you?’

‘Just tell me what they told you.’ People lied to the cops all the time. He was hoping Alderson’s men might have given him a different story.

‘No one has been on-site for days. The snow and ice storm has kept the job site closed since Friday. Today was our first day back on the job. Which is why we can’t afford any more delays.’

‘I passed a gate when I came in. Is it always locked?’

‘Yes. But you can see for yourself the fence doesn’t extend around the entire property. Anyone could have driven down the road and cut through the woods and walked around.’

A gust of wind blew off the river, slicing through Jacob’s leather jacket. He wondered if Alderson’s high-end coat was any match for the cold.

‘What about water access?’ Jacob ventured. ‘How navigable is the river in this area?’

‘Good, if you’ve got a flat-bottomed boat. The water is five or six feet deep.’

Jacob kept his gaze leveled on Alderson’s face. ‘Who’s Ruth?’

The guy didn’t flinch. ‘Ruth? I don’t know a Ruth. Is she the woman who was killed?’

‘Just a question.’

‘Then why ask?’

‘I’m going to be asking a lot of questions.’

‘What do you know at this point?’

Again with the attitude. What was it about rich guys who thought they could take charge of any situation? ‘Can’t say.’

‘You’re not being very helpful, Detective.’

‘No.’

Alderson narrowed his eyes. ‘Who’s your boss?’

He didn’t hesitate to answer. ‘Sergeant David Ayden. Would you like his number?’ Ayden wasn’t afraid to go to the mat for his detectives.

Alderson nodded. ‘Yes, I would.’

Jacob pulled out a piece of paper from a notebook he carried in his back pocket and scratched out Ayden’s name and number. He held it out. As Alderson reached for the paper, Jacob glanced at the man’s hands. Smooth, pristine, long fingers; buffed nails; and, most importantly, no sign of trauma. A woman being strangled might fight back and scratch her attacker’s hands. But there was nothing on Alderson’s hands.

‘I’m going to have more questions for you,’ Jacob said as Alderson tucked the slip of paper in a pocket.

‘Frankly, Detective, I don’t like you. I’m only interested in dealing with your boss now.’

‘Suit yourself.’ He dropped his voice a notch. ‘But I can promise you, Sergeant Ayden won’t release this site until I give the all clear. And the more you slow me down, the longer it’s going to take.’

Alderson heard the underlying message behind Jacob’s words: I can be a badass too. The developer was still annoyed but he nodded curtly. ‘All right, I’ll play it your way now.’

‘I want to talk to Burrows one more time.’ He’d hoped the forced wait in the cold might have jogged a few details loose from the party chief’s mind.

Alderson raised his hand and called out, ‘Burrows!’

The surveyor lumbered over to them. ‘Yeah, boss?’

‘This is the lead detective on this case.’

Burrows nodded. ‘We already talked.’

‘Talk to him again.’

‘But you said …’

‘Forget what I said. Tell him what you know. And don’t hold back. I want this job site reopened as soon as possible.’

Burrows glanced at Jacob. ‘Sure.’

Jacob flipped open his notebook. ‘Tell me again what happened from the moment you found the victim to the moment you called nine-one-one.’

Burrows sniffed, glanced toward the yellow tape. He recapped what he’d already told Jacob.

‘Have you seen her around here before?’ Jacob asked.

‘What, that woman? Hell no. No women on the survey crew. And no one in their right mind would come out here in January unless it was for money.’ He glanced at his boss after realizing what he’d said.

‘Did you see anyone else lurking around the property?’

‘No one. It was a typical morning.’

‘No hunters? No cars? Tire tracks?’

Burrows shifted his stance and hesitated. ‘Well, there was one guy. We caught him trespassing about a week ago. He seemed harmless enough.’

Most likely he was, but the detail couldn’t be ignored. ‘What happened?’

‘It was before the storm. He was out here last Monday or Tuesday. Buzz, one of the surveyors, spotted him by the river. We told him it was private property. He said he used to hunt here with his dad when he was a kid. The place had special meaning to him. Anyway, we told him to hit the road and he did.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Yep. I forgot all about him until today.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Honestly, I didn’t give the guy much thought. Medium height. Wearing a thick parka, and a hat and gloves.’

Jacob shifted his gaze to Alderson. ‘Who owned the property before you?’

‘The entire tract is two hundred acres and was owned by about a dozen different families. I can get you a list.’

‘Good. The sooner the better.’

‘Sure.’

Kendall and her cameraman arrived at Alderson’s River Bend site just as the body removal team’s hearse and the county’s forensics van lumbered toward the main road. The rugged, pockmarked side street forced the van and hearse to move at a slow crawl. Seeing the hearse gave her pause. This was her first murder story since last summer. If the police had been half an hour later last July, she’d have been removed from the scene in a hearse.

Mike, her cameraman, stopped the van on the side of the road. He stood just under six feet and his weight hovered under two hundred. He looked fierce but he was one of the most even-tempered people she’d ever met. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to get the van down the road.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You okay?’ When Mike had visited her in the hospital last summer, the sight of her had brought tears to his eyes. She had been surprised he’d care so much. They’d barely known each other, having worked together for only a year.

During that visit and any other visit from friends, she’d been the upbeat one. She’d cracked jokes about bedpans and male nurses until she’d eliminated the unease and coaxed smiles. On some level she’d understood that if she made people feel good around her, they’d not abandon her. So, she’d become adept at telling everyone that she was fine.

Kendall cleared her throat. ‘Please. And I want lots of footage of the hearse.’

Mike tossed her a glance. Relief flashed in his eyes. ‘Will do.’

She realized he was worried about her doing her job, just as Brett was worried. This story was going to be make-or-break for her. She had to prove she was really back on the job.

Mike shoved the van in park and rolled out the driver’s door in one fluid movement. He opened the side door to a neatly organized mobile studio. He hefted his camera on his shoulder. The green light on the camera clicked on, signaling he was taping.

Kendall slipped off her heels and put on her hiking boots before grabbing her pad. She glanced out her window, saw the mud, and scooted toward the driver’s-side door. Her coat snagged on a torn piece of vinyl on the seat, forcing her to pause and tug it free. ‘Mike, when are you going to get this seat fixed?’

‘Talk to “the king.” ’ Annoyance dripped from his words every time he referenced Brett. ‘He’s Mr Budget Cut.’

Brett did whatever it took to get the story at the cheapest rate possible. He’d step over anyone or knife anyone in the back to get the scoop for Channel 10 or save a buck. Few liked Brett, but as long as ratings were high and the budget was in the black he was tolerated.

Mike stood in front of the van and raised the camera.

She scooted out the door and moved behind Mike, who was now shooting. The cold air whipped off the river and cut through her coat. ‘All go?’

‘Like clockwork.’

‘You’re sure? We’re the only TV crew here and I don’t want to mess this up.’

He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Chill. I always get the goods.’

That made her smile. ‘Mike, when have you ever known me to chill? I’m good because I’m such a domineering diva.’

He kept his gaze straight ahead. ‘I ain’t commenting.’

Mike rolled tape as the hearse reached the main road and pulled onto the hard-surface road. It quickly picked up speed and soon rounded the bend a half mile away and vanished from site. The forensics van followed. The driver, a woman, shot Kendall a stinging glance.

Mike clucked. ‘What’s with the look?’

‘Disdain is part of the job.’ She glanced at the police car blocking the entrance to the side road. ‘I’d love to get down to the river and see what the cops are up to.’

‘It won’t be by that road,’ Mike said. ‘The cops aren’t going to let us in.’

‘You think you could find another way down?’ she asked.

‘Maybe. Might mean some hiking.’

‘No problem.’

‘Hop in.’

They drove past the officer positioned by the development’s entrance. Mike signaled to the officer that they were going to turn around.

‘We’re going to have to hustle,’ Kendall said. ‘He’s going to expect to see us returning soon.’

‘Right.’

He drove down the rutted road another half mile. Kendall pressed her hand to the dash and planted her feet on the floor to keep from falling forward. When they reached the dead end, Mike turned the van around and shut off the engine.

‘There’s a path,’ Kendall said. ‘Looks like it leads to the river.’

‘Let’s go.’

Kendall peered ahead into the icy woods. She didn’t relish the thought of hoofing it through the woods, but stories rarely came to her. ‘Right.’

Mike grimaced. ‘I figured you’d change your mind once you saw the terrain.’

She tossed him a grin and climbed out of the van. ‘Faint heart never won fair maiden.’

He followed. ‘Yeah, whatever.’

Cold wind cut through her coat and she dug her gloved hands into her pockets. ‘Shoot as much as you can,’ she said as he came around the front of the van with his camera. ‘No telling how fast they’ll run us off.’

It took fifteen minutes of steady walking before they rounded a final bend. The trees opened up into a snow-capped field that ran along the river. In the center of the field were five marked and one unmarked police cars, a survey truck, and a black SUV. Beyond the vehicles, yellow crime scene tape billowed in the wind near the icy James River.

Kendall scanned the crowd. She was good at summing up a setting quickly, picking shots and getting to the root of a story. Her blood pumped with a mixture of fear and excitement. She’d forgotten how much she really enjoyed covering hard news. These last few months she’d done her reporting from the news studio, and when she did get out, the stories were soft serve.

Now as she struggled to keep from sinking into the mud, she realized she’d grown lazy covering the soft stories. Not good. Comfort was the beginning of a slow decline.

‘The other news stations aren’t here yet.’ There was no hiding the excitement in her voice. ‘With luck, we can snag an interview before they do. Follow me.’

She knew all the homicide detectives in the department as well as a dozen others from other departments. It was safe to say none really liked her when she showed up at their crime scene, but there was a mutual respect. She hoped.

Kendall’s gaze settled on the broad shoulders of a very tall man. His back was to her but she recognized the scarred black leather jacket, faded jeans, and lean body. Jacob Warwick.

He stood next to the river’s edge staring into the distance. He flexed the fingers of his right hand as if they were stiff. She’d heard somewhere that he’d competed in a charity boxing match last weekend. He’d taken a beating but in the end had won the bout on points. He was a fierce fighter who never conceded.

Tenacity was something she would never fault this man for. It had saved her life last summer …

The Guardian serial killer had taken her to his basement slaughterhouse. He had shot her in the shoulder and she’d stumbled back and fallen to the hard cement ground. The pain had robbed the breath from her.

The Guardian had stood over her, his ax raised high as he’d readied himself to sever her hand from her body. Tears had welled in her eyes and she’d only been able to say, ‘Please, don’t.’

Without warning, the killer had spared her hand and left her to bleed to death, alone, locked in the tiny basement room.

Even now, she remembered the cold cement floor pressing into her back. She’d tried to stand but every move intensified the agony. She’d screamed until her throat burned. But no one had come.

Blood had seeped from her wound and she quickly didn’t have the energy to stand. Her limbs had grown cold as life seeped from her.

In the darkness, there’d only been the drip, drip of a pipe and the scurry of rats. Time had lost meaning and she passed out.

And then the door had opened and light shone on her face. She’d thought for a moment the Guardian had returned and she’d balled up her good hand, praying she had the strength to fight.

Warwick’s face had loomed over her, his shock as palpable as her own. His large hands had gently touched her face. ‘Jesus, it’s Kendall Shaw. Kier, call for paramedics.’

‘He tried to kill me,’ she’d whispered. ‘To cut off my hand.’

Immediately, Warwick had run his hands down the length of her arms and to her hands. ‘He didn’t take your hand.’

What little fight she’d mustered had vanished. She’d nodded and closed her eyes. The iciness had called, beckoning her to let sleep take her.

‘Kendall!’ Warwick’s sharp voice had cut through the fog.

Her eyes had fluttered open. Fierceness had mingled with fear in his eyes. She’d moistened her lips but couldn’t seem to hold on to consciousness. God, but she had been tired. Her eyes had slipped closed.

‘Open your eyes,’ he’d commanded. ‘Help will be here soon. Hold on.’

Hold on. It had sounded so hard. It would just have been too easy to let her grip slip.

‘Listen to me. You are a better fighter than this.’

‘I’m not.’ She’d been fighting for so long – against her mother’s illness and past secrets – suddenly she had become tired of struggling.

‘Listen, you bitch,’ he’d hissed by her ear. ‘Open your goddamn eyes.’

Bitch had been what had gotten her attention. Her eyes had opened and she’d felt a rush of fire and outrage. ‘Jerk,’ she’d muttered.

Satisfaction had gleamed in his eyes. ‘Good girl.’

The paramedics had arrived seconds later. They’d rushed her to the hospital and the doctors had taken her into surgery almost immediately. She’d not seen Warwick since.

And now as Kendall faced him she felt a rush of embarrassment. He’d seen her well-cultivated veneer shatter in that basement. He’d seen her terror. She’d given up.

She could play the badass diva reporter for everyone else, but Warwick knew under it all she had cracked in that basement room. Shame had her straightening her shoulders until they were ramrod straight. No one, especially Warwick, would ever see her so vulnerable again.

As if sensing her, Warwick turned. Their gazes locked. The scene around them faded and she saw only his intense gray eyes. For a moment she imagined she saw regret. And then just as quickly it vanished.

Warwick’s gaze shifted from her to Mike, who taped the scene. The detective strode toward the crime scene tape, ducked under it, and headed toward her. He wasn’t happy. She’d snuck into his crime scene and there was going to be hell to pay for it.

Kendall preferred his anger. She could deal with that. She turned to Mike. ‘Aim the camera right toward Warwick. And if he kicks us out, lower your camera but keep it on. You never know what we’ll pick up.’

‘There’s the Kendall we all know and love.’ Mike swung his camera around as Kendall rushed toward Warwick. He stopped and let her close the gap between them.

‘Detective, can you tell us who was murdered?’ Kendall asked.

He tossed a brief glance at Mike and then focused on her. ‘How’d you get down here? The road is sealed.’

‘There’s another path a half mile down the road. We hiked in.’

He glanced toward the uniformed cops, his frown telegraphing his annoyance.

‘Can you tell us who died?’ she repeated.

He shifted his attention back to her. ‘We aren’t able to release that information yet.’

This close she remembered just how tall he was. ‘Was the victim male or female?’

‘No comment.’

‘How old was she?’ This was a guess to see if he reacted to the pronoun.

Warwick’s expression gave nothing away. ‘We’ll release a statement soon.’

‘Can you tell us how she died?’

‘No comment.’

‘Was it a suicide?’

‘Time to go, Ms Shaw.’ He nodded toward the uniforms. ‘Leave or I will have you escorted out.’

‘What about sexual assault?’ Kendall asked. She could hear footsteps behind her and knew she was about to be moved back to the main road.

Warwick’s jaw tensed a fraction as he turned and strode away from her.

Kendall started after him. ‘What was the color of her hair? Was she tall or short?’

He kept moving, completely ignoring her. Getting information from Warwick was like getting blood from a stone.

Two uniforms stopped within inches of her. ‘Ma’am, you’re going to have to move back to the main road.’

She kept her sights trained on Warwick, who paused to talk to an older uniformed officer. She couldn’t hear what Warwick was saying but he was pointing at her and frowning.

‘Now, ma’am,’ the officer said.

‘I’m going,’ she said, though she made no move to leave.

‘Now,’ the officer ordered.

Kendall knew when it was time to retreat. ‘Let’s go, Mike.’ Round one goes to Warwick.

Mike lowered the camera, but she noted the red record light remained on as they started back up the dirt road.

Grinning, Mike shook his head. ‘Warwick looked like he could spit nails at you.’

Kendall grinned. ‘Nonsense. He really thinks the world of me.’

Warwick had better get used to her because this story’s coverage was far from over.

Nicole’s belly felt heavy and her bones ached as she climbed the carpeted stairs to her second-floor photography studio, located in a one-hundred-year-old building in the heart of the historic Carytown shopping district.

The baby kicked her in the ribs. The girl was an active kid. She’d likely grow up to be a soccer player.

Grow up to be. Stupid to be thinking about what the girl would be when Nicole knew she couldn’t raise the child.

The baby thumped inside her, as if she knew what her mother was thinking. ‘Enough, kid. Enough.’

Each time the baby moved in her belly she thought about her late husband. He’d been insane. He’d been a monster.

And she was having his child.

What if the baby was like her father? And could she really love a child who had been created in anger and violence? What if she ended up hating the child and making its life miserable?

The questions had weighed heavily on her mind for months now. They kept her up at night, robbed her of joy and her appetite.

She continued up the stairs, her breath puffing with each step. Last summer, she’d looked at the space on a lark when she’d been shopping and spotted the FOR RENT sign. At the time, the seven-hundred-dollar-a-month rent had seemed so far beyond her means. In those days, she’d been hiding from Richard and had barely any money to her name.

It had been a humbling moment to realize she couldn’t afford the rent. When she’d lived in San Francisco, she’d owned a successful business. All the Bay Area gallery owners knew her name and quirky landscapes and she’d quickly developed a following. The money had come in so easily in the early days. It was amazing how much she didn’t think about money when she had it.

Then her marriage had started to deteriorate and, in an effort to save it, she’d let the business go. The money had dried up. When her husband had turned violent she’d fled, penniless, to a Richmond friend.

That had been seven months ago. Her husband was dead. No more looking over her shoulder. No more waking up in the middle of the night searching the shadows for Richard.

She’d been given a second chance. And she was trying to move on. But reclaiming the vibrant, original photography style that had been her trademark now eluded her. She couldn’t seem to produce anything that was gallery worthy.

The baby kicked inside her.

The tables had so flip-flopped in the last three years. She’d started her career as an artist and she’d lived an impulsive, selfish, and reckless life. There’d been no worries about consequences or money.

Now, she was all about consequences and money. Her desire to create art had vanished and she took portraits to make ends meet. Jobs she’d have scoffed at three years ago now paid the rent. Bridezillas, screaming kids, eccentric families, and even business portraits were all welcome.

Though she’d discovered she had a real knack for working with people, she longed for the days when life had been so easy. She wanted to be able to grab her camera and drive into the mountains and camp so that she could rise at dawn and capture the rising sun, as she once had. She wanted to stay up late drinking wine with friends and critiquing the latest art show. She wanted to be able to button her old jeans, sleep on her stomach, and not have to pee every five minutes. She wanted her body and life back.

Nicole shoved out a breath as she dug the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door to her studio.

She’d chosen this space not for its trendy location, low price, or history. All of which were great. She’d picked this studio space because of the light. Six floor-to-ceiling windows on the north and south sides of the room let in the most delicious light. Heavy shades allowed her to control how much came into the studio during a shooting, but most days she kept them wide open. She loved natural light. It brought with it nuances that man-made light didn’t quite have.

Nicole dropped her keys and mail on a battered desk she’d bought secondhand. A high stack of papers filled her in-box, and her appointment book was filled with miscellaneous papers she still needed to file. Paperwork – another hallmark of this new life she was struggling with.

She shrugged off her coat, laid it on the chair behind her desk, and opened the shades. Even on this gray day sunshine still seeped into the studio. There were a white chaise, a couple of wooden chairs, and a stool she used for portraits. On the back wall was a selection of six backdrops that hung together. Her most recent portraits covered the bare white walls of the space. In the back of the studio was a door that led to her darkroom. The room was small, not more than five by five, but it was enough space for her to work in.

Cupping her hand under her heavy belly, she crossed the room to the darkroom. She flipped on the red light and glanced at the pictures drying on the line. So many photographers used digital now, but she loved the flexibility of film. It added richness to her work that nothing could duplicate.

But she wasn’t so nostalgic that she ignored the digital side of the market. She’d managed a small business loan so she could invest in computers and software and create portraits quickly. Being adept at both forms of photography translated into more revenue.

She sat behind the desk. The answering machine’s green message light blinked the number three, signaling she had messages.

Nicole pressed the PLAY button. The first message was from a bride she’d met with last week to discuss her wedding. ‘Nicole, this is Callie. I’ve set the date. December twenty-fourth. I’d love for you to do my photography. Call me. My number is …’

The wedding was a big-budget project. Nice. December. The baby would be eleven months by then. Nicole tried to picture what the child would look like in eleven months but couldn’t.

She played the second message. This one was for an engagement picture of a young couple. They’d climbed Everest together and wanted a quirky portrait to reflect their adventurous life. Good.

And the third message. ‘Nicole, I saw you today. You looked lovely. So, so radiant. I hope all is well with the baby.’

Something in the man’s voice set her nerves on edge. Who was it? She replayed the message, thinking she’d missed his name. She hadn’t. He’d not left one. She replayed the message again, this time trying to identify the voice. She couldn’t figure out who it was.

I saw you today …

Where had he seen her? She’d come straight from home to the studio.

I saw you today …

She glanced at her prized large windows. Who the hell had been watching her?