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“We need a tech,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone and made the call, walking away from her as he spoke softly into the phone. When he was finished, he motioned for her to join him across the room. Two easy chairs faced a sofa in front of the windows overlooking Michigan Avenue. Regan often curled up on the sofa to do paperwork.

“While we’re waiting for the tech, you could tell me about your relationship with Detective Sweeney.”

“That will take all of five seconds. I didn’t have a relationship with him.”

The mere thought was appalling. Though it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, Sweeney was one of the most obnoxious men she’d ever met. Still, no matter how repulsive, no one should have to die in such a way.

“Okay,” he said. He leaned against the window ledge, folded his arms across his chest, and asked, “So tell me how you know him.”

His eyes weren’t missing a thing. The way he was watching her made her even more nervous, but she was determined not to let him know it. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and he wasn’t going to make her feel as though she had.

She went to the sofa and sat down. “I don’t actually know the man. I only met him once, when I went to the police station…the day I bumped into you.”

She tried to get comfortable so she would look calm. One of the pillows was poking her in her back. She leaned forward, pulled the pillow out, and dropped it on the cushion beside her. “I went to the station as a favor for a friend to find out how Detective Sweeney was progressing on an investigation he was supposed to be handling.”

He homed in on the key word. “Supposed to be handling?”

“I wasn’t certain if he was looking into the matter or not,” she said. “But I got the distinct impression he didn’t much care about the case or anything else, for that matter.”

“Tell me about the investigation,” he said.

Straightening her skirt, she crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against the cushions.

“Have you ever heard of Dr. Lawrence Shields?”

“No,” he answered. “What kind of doctor is he?”

“A quack,” she blurted. “At least I think he is.” She shook her head and then said, “He runs those self-help, turn-your-life-around seminars twice a year in Chicago. You’ve never seen his commercials?”

He shook his head. “What about him?”

She explained in great detail who Shields was and what he had done to Mary Coolidge. She told him Mary’s daughter had gone to the police and filed a complaint against Shields and that Detective Sweeney had been given the file. “Mary’s daughter didn’t get anywhere with the detective. She went back home, but my friend Sophie read copies of Mary’s diary and decided to get involved. Sophie sent another friend, Cordie, to talk to Sweeney about the investigation, and she couldn’t get any answers either.”

“And then it was your turn to talk to Sweeney?”

“Yes. Wait a minute… don’t you see, that has to be it.” She was suddenly too excited to sit still. She stood and began to pace while she worked the hypothesis out in her mind. “It all makes sense,” she said. “There’s your connection.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Shields and Sweeney. Maybe Shields found out that my friends and I were investigating him. What if he knew that we were pressuring Detective Sweeney to do his job. Maybe Shields decided to have Sweeney killed to warn us off, and he sent me that photo to scare me.”

She stopped pacing and stood in front of Alec, her hands on her hips as she eagerly waited to know what he thought of her supposition. He didn’t respond quickly enough.

“What do you think? It is possible, isn’t it? Shields manipulated Mary into handing over more than two million dollars. Maybe Shields thought that was worth killing for. And Mary’s daughter believes that Shields drove Mary to suicide, or maybe he had her killed, because she threatened to go to the police. And if he killed once, why would he hesitate to kill again? Maybe Shields thought my friends and I were getting too close.” She put her hands out, palms up. “Maybe that’s our connection.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Doesn’t that make sense?”

He couldn’t resist. “Maybe.”

She didn’t realize he was teasing her. She looked inordinately pleased with herself. “Okay, then,” she said. “Good,” she added with a firm nod. “Now what?”

He pulled a ragged little notepad out of his suit pocket. “Now we start over.”

“Oh, my God, Cordie and Sophiea… could I make a phone call first?” she asked. “My friends are in the Caymans with Shields. I’ve got to warn them.” She hurried to her desk.

“Before you leap to conclusions, let’s get a few facts,” he cautioned.

She was already dialing Cordie’s cell phone. She was routed to voice mail, which told her that Cordie was either using the phone or had it turned off.

“Cordie, call me as soon as you get this,” she said. “It’s urgent, and you and Sophie stay away from Shields. Call, no matter what time it is.”

She hung up the phone and walked back to Detective Buchanan. He didn’t ask her what her phone call was about, and she didn’t offer to explain.

“You said we needed to start over?”

“That’s right.” He motioned for her to sit down. “Let’s start with Mary Coolidge.”

Then the questions began, one after another and another. She was beginning to tell him about the reception for Shields that she and her friends had attended when a man and a woman walked into the office with Henry. The woman carried what looked like a tool kit.

Alec grinned when he saw who the tech was. Melissa What-A-Bitch Hill. And that was only one of the many colorful names bestowed upon her by various detectives. Hill was a short, angry woman with a buzz cut and premature wrinkles, no doubt caused by her perpetual frown. She was nearly impossible to work with, but also one of the best computer nerds in the business.

The detective following in her wake was Matt Connelly. He was glaring at Hill’s back, which probably meant he’d had to ride over to the hotel with her. He nodded to Alec in greeting. His gaze moved to Regan and stayed there. “So what’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” Alec answered. “Look at the computer screen. Hey, Melissa,” he added.

Her grunt was her response. She wasn’t one for chitchat or pleasantries. “Is that the piece of crap computer you want me to take apart?”

Connelly answered her. “It’s the only piece of crap computer in the office. What do you think?”

“Up yours, Connelly,” she replied.

Alec quickly made the introductions. Connelly nodded in response, but Hill ignored Regan.

They both went to the computer and looked at the screen. Hill didn’t show any reaction, but Connelly visibly blanched. “Jeez. Sweeney naked. Man, that’s harsh. I’m gonna have nightmares.”

Regan joined them. “Did you say you were going to take my computer apart? Is that necessary?” she asked.

The woman plopped down in Regan’s chair. A second later her fingers were flying over the keyboard. “If I think it’s necessary, I’ll tear it apart. Now go sit somewhere and let me do my job.”

Regan was shocked by the woman’s rudeness. She wanted to grab her computer and protect it from her. “My files are all in there and my-” she began.

Alec moved in front of her to block her. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “Melissa won’t destroy your computer. She realizes she doesn’t have the right to touch it without your permission, and she certainly understands the legal ramifications if she were to deliberately break anything. Isn’t that right, Melissa?”

“Up…” She was about to use her standard reply when she glanced up and saw the look in Buchanan’s eyes. She’d heard he’d been a hard-ass while working vice, and she figured he hadn’t lost that mean edge yet. “Yeah, all right,” she muttered in a voice that resembled a pit bull’s growl. “Now, if you’ll leave me alone, I’ll try to get past these walls.”