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What if the tape runs out?

She left her phone number quickly, then went on. “Sorry, anyway, now that Mr. Brannigan is dead, you probably know that, and Ms. Finch, too, and if they did make a mistake with Miss Cameron, I’m worried that’s why. That’s why they’re dead, I mean. Maybe. And now I’m involved, because Miss Cameron talked to me, and Miss Cameron is involved, because what if someone else knows there was a mistake, and-”

Oh. But Jane knew about it now, too. What if this message had put Jane in jeopardy? She gulped. She was trapped. Even if she hung up, the message would still be there. She paused, hearing her own indecision, wondering if there was some way to undo the message.

“Miss Gavin?” Munson. From the hallway. “You were instructed not to call anyone.”

End of message, the recorded voice on the phone told her. She heard the click as the connection ended.

*

“Officer Guerriero? I’m Detective Jake Brogan.” Jake tramped up the stairs to Jane’s apartment, headed toward this obviously new-kid cop, holding his gold badge visible in his flip wallet like a shield. “I heard over the two-way you were in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by to confirm everything was in order. SOP.”

It wasn’t standard operating procedure, of course, but he had rank, and this Guerriero newbie would have no idea. Maybe she’d be intimidated by his detective stature. Didn’t matter. He just had to get past her and upstairs to Jane. And then back to Bethany and little Phillip.

Guerriero looked uncertain. So much for “intimidated.”

“Ah, sir? I’d better…” She fingered the button on her shoulder radio, clearly weighing her duty with her knowledge of chain of command.

“Go ahead,” Jake said. “Sure. By the way, has Miss Ryland returned?” He had to get upstairs. Make sure she was okay. And what he’d learned in the car on the way over was disturbing. One way or the other.

“Yessir, about twenty minutes ago,” Guerriero told him. “Officer Wayland? I have a Detective-”

“Brogan.” Jake finished her sentence, loud enough so Wayland could hear. Thank goodness, a familiar name. A cop with a brain. “Chris? It’s me. Brogan.”

“He’s clear,” came the voice over the radio.

By that time, Jake was already on the landing.

*

“Brogan.” Jane heard his voice over Officer Wayland’s radio. Jake. Here. How’d he know? Now she really would cry.

Footsteps on the stairs. Of course she couldn’t let Wayland know there was anything between them. Even though there wasn’t.

Luckily, Neena had taken Sam and Eli outside to look for Coda. They’d met Jake, just that once, but once was enough to end the charade.

Jane had flown through the apartment, Officer Wayland behind her, checking every place she could think of. Mom’s jewelry was in the second dresser drawer as always, two emergency hundred-dollar bills still safely under the scarves, Gramma’s silver trays and candlestick shiny in the dining room breakfront. No cat.

“Did you see a cat? A kitten?” she’d asked.

“Like I said, ma’am. No. Sorry about that.”

She’d gone into the study, Officer Wayland at her side, still half-expecting to see her computer ripped from the wall and everything in chaos. But no, there was her desk, and the computer monitor with all her yellow stickies on the edge of the screen, her lucky rocks and her ceramic jar of pencils and her photos of her parents, of Murrow, and giving her first Emmy acceptance speech. Her stack of notes and file folders on the Tillson case and research on the foster care system seemed untouched.

“Kitty, kitty?” she’d called. But no cat.

Now Jane sat on her leather couch, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, staring. At the crystal vase on the coffee table, filled with her favorite red tulips. At the latest New Yorker she’d left open on the floor. At the black tips of her leather boots. The navy and crimson flowers of her rug.

Nothing was changed. But everything was changed. And nothing, as the officer kept asking, had been added. Nothing but her stuff, just as it always was. “No sign of forced entry,” the cop kept saying.

“So, Miss Ryland.”

She looked up. “Oh, sorry. I was trying to figure out-”

“I understand,” the cop said. “But I’ve been in touch with headquarters, and they tell me…”

“Miss Ryland? Hey, Chris. We set here?”

Jake. Jake. Standing in her entryway. How did he know? All she wanted was to fall into his arms, and just, just stand there and let him hold her and smooth her hair and tell her everything was going to be okay because he would never leave. And tell her it was silly they’d even decided to be apart and to hell with his job, or with hers, or whoever’s.

“Yes.” She stood, pressed her lips together for a moment.

“Detective Brogan is here as backup, Miss Ryland,” Wayland interrupted her. “He may ask you some questions. I assume you’re willing to cooperate in case he feels this warrants further investigation. You up to speed, Detective? About the-”

“Yup. Got it,” Jake said. He unzipped his leather jacket, then zipped it again.

What was he nervous about? Jane always teased him about his zipper habit. Maybe he was nervous about her. Or was something wrong?

“Bottom line, I think we’re done here, Miss Ryland.” Wayland was still talking. “If you feel comfortable with us heading out.”

“I guess I do,” Jane said. She looked at Jake, who had a funny look on his face. Well, so did she, probably. “Thank you.”

“Here’s my contact numbers,” Wayland handed her a business card. “Call if you need anything.”

He turned, took one step toward the door.

Jane could feel herself drawn toward Jake. They’d be alone in ten seconds. Alone. Together. She sighed. Except for Tuck, who was somewhere, and Neena, who would certainly come back to get the scoop, and Mona, who’d probably come up with food, as she always did.

Wayland pivoted, stood in front of the still-open door. Jane saw Jake take a step away from her.

“Ma’am?” Wayland took his hat off, looked at it, then put it back on. “I know we all have busy lives. But next time? Make sure you lock the door.”

“But I-” She had locked the door. She had.

“I’ll handle it from here, Officer. Thanks.” Jake nodded at his colleague. “You’re clear.”

Jane heard the door close. But all she saw was Jake.

41

“Are you sure you locked the door?” The cop question came out before he actually thought about it.

Jake saw her eyes well with tears. There was a look victims got-haunted and questioning, knowing they’d never feel completely safe again. He could try to protect her, physically, but the parasite fear was tougher to eradicate.

“Janey?” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Jane had taken a step toward him, but after his first question she plopped back onto the leather couch, pushed all the way into the far corner, arms wrapped around her knees, booted feet on the cushions.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Not true, Jake knew. Not true and not okay.

He sat next to her, eased her linked fingers apart. Pulled her close. Hell with it all.

“Jane, honey, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as I found out.”

“How did you…?”

“DeLuca heard a transmission on the radio. We were at the scene of a-” Of a what, Jake wasn’t even sure yet. It didn’t matter, anyway. Niall Brannigan’s death was police business, not connected to Jane.

“What the hell, Jane?”

“The cat.”

Her voice muffled into his shoulder, and he lifted her chin with one finger. Her eyelashes were wet, little dribbles of black stuff underneath, and there were lines around her eyes he’d never seen before. She was-wounded, and frightened.