He’ll do anything to protect this doctor’s life...

Don’t miss this Colby Agency: Sexi-ER novel!

ER doctor Marissa Frasier needs the best protection after she’s wrongly suspected of her ex-husband’s murder. And rugged Colby Agency investigator Lacon Traynor is keeping her close 24/7, helping her find the truth—and uncovering her most vulnerable passions. But someone else wants Marissa for his own...and is about to use their desire as one killer trap.

Colby Agency: Sexi-ER

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and the Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.

Also by Debra Webb

Finding the Edge

Sin and Bone

Dark Whispers

Still Waters

Bridal Armor

Ready, Aim...I Do!

Colby Law

High Noon

Colby Roundup

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Body of Evidence

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07906-8

BODY OF EVIDENCE

© 2018 Debra Webb

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The Edge Emergency Department, Chicago Thursday, June 28, 9:30 p.m.

Dr. Marissa Frasier ruffled the hair of her six-year-old patient, Jeremiah Owens. “You were very brave, Jeremiah.”

The little boy had arrived at the ER two hours ago with a greenstick fracture to the radius about three inches above his left wrist. After an examination and then X-rays to confirm, he had stoically watched as Dr. Pete Myers, the ortho on call, applied the cast for keeping the arm stable. Jeremiah had chosen royal blue for his cast. Though there had been no serious shift in the bones as a result of the fracture, they wanted it to stay that way, and children couldn’t always be counted on to follow instructions or to keep on a splint. A cast was typically the better route to go with younger patients.

The child’s lips had quivered and his eyes had grown bright during the procedure, but Mom was the only one who cried. The poor woman had apologized profusely. Her sweet son had repeatedly told her that he was okay and that it didn’t really hurt. Being a parent was difficult at times, and this had been one of those times.

Dr. Myers had quickly moved on to an elderly patient who’d arrived with a fracture to the upper quarter of the femur. Never a good thing, but particularly problematic in older patients. Apparently tonight’s theme was broken bones. They’d had three others this evening. Marissa was reasonably confident that was a record for a Thursday night.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Mrs. Owens said, her tears all but dry now. “He was a very brave boy.” She kissed the top of her child’s head.

Marissa smiled. “Perhaps when Nurse Bowman has gone over the dismissal instructions, a reward is in order for your outstanding bravery, Jeremiah.”

“I think that’s a very good idea.” His mother patted him gently on the back. “A reward would be very nice, don’t you think, Jeremiah?”

He nodded eagerly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Nurse Bowman will let you pick something from our special treasure chest.” Marissa gave Eva a nod as she walked to the door. “Have a safe drive home.”

This time Jeremiah actually flashed her a real smile. She couldn’t decide whether he was happier about the treasure chest or going home.

The ER had been buzzing for the past several hours. A couple had misjudged the time it would take to reach their preferred hospital and ended up having to stop at the Edge for their little girl’s entrance into the world. A two-car accident with five victims; a bicycle crash involving two teenagers who suffered broken bones, nasty lacerations and no shortage of bruises; and two concertgoers who’d taken tumbles while crowd surfing had shown up with fractures similar to Jeremiah’s. There was also a knife fight between two thugs in a drug deal gone wrong. Both victims had arrived in the backs of police cruisers.

And yet another little boy, Timmy, who arrived with a scary-looking laceration to the upper arm, caused by a bad idea. The boy had decided he wanted to practice knife throwing the way a character in some movie he’d watched recently had done. Amazingly he had actually hit the tree with the knife he’d sneaked from his mother’s kitchen. The trouble had occurred when he braced his left arm against the tree and attempted to dislodge the knife with his right, slicing across his left arm only a couple of inches above the elbow. He was a very lucky little boy. A little deeper, and he might not have arrived at the ER in time. The brachial artery was closest to the surface near the elbow. Marissa was very thankful the injury was not so deep and had missed the artery.

At the double doors that led back into the lobby, Jeremiah slipped free from his mother’s hand and raced back to where Marissa stood near the nurses’ station and gave her a hug. She crouched down and hugged him back. Her heart reacted. She had so wanted children of her own.

Not meant to be. At least not so far, and with no prospects of a boyfriend, much less a husband, the outlook was rather dim.

When the child skipped back to where his mother waited at the open door, Marissa waved goodbye. As the doors closed, she turned back to the chart she was reviewing.

“Dr. Frasier.”

Marissa paused and looked up at the registration specialist, Patsy Tanner, who’d called her name. “Yes, Patsy?”

“There’s a man in the lobby who says he needs to see you.” She shrugged. “I told him you were with a patient but he just keeps pacing the room. He asks for you every five or so minutes.” Her expression turned uncertain. “He looks very upset.”

A frown furrowing its way across her weary forehead, Marissa dredged up a smile. “Thank you, Patsy. I’ll take care of it.”

Sometimes a father or husband or even boyfriend of a patient would grow agitated and demand to speak with the doctor who had cared for his loved one. Since Marissa hadn’t lost any patients or even attended to any patients with a dire prognosis this evening, she couldn’t imagine the trouble would be too serious. Perhaps one of the two who’d been carried off to jail after their knife battle had a disgruntled friend. She sent a quick text to Security and asked that they keep an eye on the situation as she spoke with the man pacing the lobby.

The moment Marissa stepped beyond the double doors that stood between those waiting for care and the emergency department, she knew it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Even before the man turned around, she recognized him. The rigid set of his broad shoulders. The silky dark brown hair that brushed his collar. He wore jeans and a shirt, not the khakis and a polo he’d preferred before their lives had fallen apart. William Bauer turned around as if he sensed her presence, despite the fact that eight or nine other people were scattered around the room, speaking softly or searching their social media feeds on their phones.

It had been that way between them in the beginning. Even a few hours apart had felt like an eternity. They had sensed each other across a crowded room, their hearts seeming to beat harder and harder until they touched.

Marissa’s ex-husband strode toward her, his gaze narrowing, homing in on her. The anger twisting his lips—the lips she had kissed so many times—warned this would not be a pleasant visit by any definition of the word. Unfortunately, this was not his first unannounced appearance, and she feared it would not be his last.

When he stalled toe-to-toe with her, his six-foot-two form looming over her five-foot-six one, she asked, “Why are you here, William?”

“You changed your cell number. I had no choice.”

Thankfully he kept his voice down, but there was no mistaking the fury in his tone.

Marissa glanced around the room. “Why don’t we step outside where we’ll have some privacy?”

The subtle shift in his posture told her he liked the idea of privacy. Uneasiness pricked her, but security was nearby. Her ex-husband stepped back, allowing her to go ahead of him. She moved toward the exit, keeping her step steady and her smile pleasant. No need to let anyone see the worry and the dread pulsing beneath her skin.

She and William had been married for five years. The first year had felt happy, or at least as happy as any two people with newly minted medical degrees diving into their residencies could feel. More often than not they were either flying high with adrenaline or utterly drained from exhaustion. They had married at the courthouse the day after they finished medical school. Miracle of miracles, the NRMP, National Resident Matching Program, had matched them both to hospitals in the Chicago area. A whirlwind trip to the city had ended with them leasing the cheapest apartment they could find, and they’d been completely thrilled that it had a reasonably large shower, a bedroom and was near both their hospitals.

Then, slowly but surely, everything had changed.

Marissa had done exceedingly well. She’d garnered praise and numerous opportunities for her hard work. William, on the other hand, had floundered. He couldn’t seem to keep up. His work was subpar. He didn’t get along with anyone. He’d barely survived his residency. By the end of the second year, they had argued every minute they were together, which wasn’t nearly enough to sustain a relationship.

A little less than two years ago, he had been asked to leave the practice he’d joined after residency. It was either he leave voluntarily, or legal steps would be taken to remove him. The senior doctor in the practice was a mutual friend. Though Marissa and William had already been divorced for a couple of months by then, he’d called to explain that he had grave concerns about William’s mental health.

Sadly, he hadn’t been telling Marissa anything new. The breakdown in their marriage had mirrored the disintegration of his mental health. Twenty-three months and two weeks ago, he’d finally snapped and he’d turned physical. Marissa had ended up with a concussion and a fractured arm much like little Jeremiah’s. At her ex-husband’s trial, the judge had been particularly peeved by the fact that William was a doctor, and subsequently sentenced him to a year for felony domestic violence. He’d been released six months ago.

The first thing he’d done was come to Marissa and apologize for his behavior. Since that time he’d been volunteering in the community and appeared to be working hard to redeem himself. Marissa had no idea how he was earning any sort of income. He’d exhausted the meager savings they had managed prior to the divorce with his need to prove his status with a new car every year. Unfortunately, his salary as a general practitioner was not that of a cardiothoracic surgeon, as he appeared to want the world to believe.

However much he wanted to act as if he had learned his lesson, Marissa knew better. He was still drinking. Before and, foolishly, even after the divorce, she had tried to help him, but she’d soon recognized that she could not help a man unwilling to help himself. No matter that they had been officially divorced for eighteen months and twenty-two days, he never left her alone for long.

In part, she blamed herself. If she’d made a clean break after he attacked her physically rather than attempting to help him, things might have been different. Now, no matter how many times she told him to back off, he always found a way to insert himself into her life. He discovered something among his things that belonged to her. A letter addressed to her had come to his apartment. A relative was ill and he thought she might want to know. When he’d run out of legitimate excuses, he’d started showing up simply to argue about how she had ruined his life.

She suspected this evening’s visit was the latter, though he had never showed up at her ER before. Too many potential witnesses.

Once they were a few yards from the ER entrance but still within sight of the security guard who monitored that entrance, William lit into her.

“Why would you change your phone number? You’ve had the same number since we moved to Chicago.”

He stood very close to her, his face so near she could feel his breath on her cheek, could smell the liquor when he spoke. William was a handsome man still. Classic square jaw, straight nose, nice lips, assessing brown eyes. But once things started to fall apart, his eyes were always bloodshot from the sheer volume of alcohol he consumed daily. The final year of their marriage, he would come home from work and drink until he passed out in his chair or on the sofa or wherever he happened to be when the saturation point of alcohol in his blood took control. It was as if he couldn’t bear his life, so he attempted to wash away each day’s memories with booze. Every month or so he would promise to join Alcoholics Anonymous. He even went once.

So ironic. He’d been the best all through high school. Best GPA. Best player on the football team. Best all-around student. Class president. College had been much the same. Even in medical school, he had been the golden boy among the professors and his peers. Never had to work very hard to achieve his class ranking.

Whether it all merely caught up with him in the end or he just couldn’t keep up the pace any longer, he plummeted. From all reports, once he went into practice he was a satisfactory doctor. There had never been any complaints from patients. Certainly no malpractice suits. It was his colleagues who couldn’t tolerate his bullying and bad behavior.

And his wife. For a while, Marissa had taken his mental abuse and, ultimately, his first and only departure into physical abuse. But that mistake would never be repeated. She refused to be a victim like that ever again. Granted, he had been drunk out of his mind at the time, but she would not allow him to use his drinking as an excuse. He had hurt her and that was that.

“I changed my number because I would like you to stop calling me.” She kept her gaze steady on his. It was important that he understand her decision was not up for discussion. She knew this man intimately. At the moment he appeared reasonably sober, and she wanted him to see and to hear that she meant business. The life they had once shared was over. They were not friends, and they never would be.

“You’ve finally found someone else, haven’t you?” Rage blazed in his dark eyes.

An alarm she knew better than to ignore triggered. There was something about his eyes, his tone that seemed different tonight—colder, harder. “This is not about anyone else, William. This is about you.” She kept her voice steady, her tone firm. A year of counseling had helped her to overcome feelings of guilt about the breakdown of their marriage and to stand up for herself, even against the man she had once loved and with whom she had expected to spend the rest of her life. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patients.”

“Is that another kick in the teeth?” he growled. “I don’t have a career anymore. No patients. No nothing.”

She braced herself and summoned her waning courage. “You don’t have a career anymore because you drink too much. You need help, William. I can’t help you. Until you commit to changing your life, this is how it will be.” She backed away a step. “You should go back to AA and seek private counseling.”

He grabbed her arm, his fingers clutching like a vise. A wave of panic flooded her.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he warned. “If you had been a better wife, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to drink. You could have helped me, but you chose to throw me—our life—away.”

It was the same exchange every time. When he grew angry, he always blamed someone else for his mistakes. “Goodbye, William.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and turned away.

One day he would surely come to terms with the reality that he made his own choices, and he executed those choices.

“Issy.”

She hesitated. Shouldn’t have. Damn it.

“Look at me. Please.”

How was it that she could still feel sympathy for this man? He had made her life miserable for four years before the divorce. He’d done his damnedest to do the same thing the past six months since his release from prison, but she had managed to handle it better. It was always easier to deal with issues from a distance. And though he insinuated himself into her present every chance he got, they did not share a home...they did not share a bed. He was no longer her responsibility, legally or morally.

She took a deep breath. Turned to face him. “First,” she said, “if you ever touch me again, I will take out a restraining order, and then you’ll have yet another black mark on your record. Now, what is it you want to say?”

He stared at her for a long moment. Even from several feet away, she could feel the sheer hatred emanating from him. The bright exterior lighting allowed her to see the desperation in his eyes. She shook her head and started to turn away but his lips parted and, once more, she hesitated.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Shock slammed into her gut. She sucked in a sharp breath. “You don’t mean that.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Please, William, you need help. See someone before you destroy any chance of ever rebuilding your life and career. Everyone deserves a second chance. Give yourself one before it’s too late.”

He shook his head. “I’m going to kill myself. But first—” he stared at her so hard she could feel the cold, ruthless pressure of his fury “—I’m going to kill you.”

He walked away.

Marissa’s knees buckled, forcing her to grab for the sleek limestone wall to steady herself. She watched him settle behind the steering wheel of his car and drive away. As much as she wanted to believe that he was only attempting to frighten her, she knew better than to be that naive. As a physician, she was well aware that people could snap and do unspeakable things.

William had been teetering on the precipice of total self-destruction for years now. Her first obligation as a physician was to report the threat. Since he was no longer practicing medicine, that was one less concern. She would call the office of his former practice and let their mutual friend know about the threat he’d made. If William was so angry with her, it was highly probable that he felt a similar rage for his former colleagues.

Making her way back inside, she prepared a mental list of everyone she should call. Her brain raced with the idea that this wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She had been a good student all through school. She’d never gotten involved with drugs or alcohol. Even in college and then medical school, she was the consummate Goody Two-shoes. Focused, reliable—that was Marissa Frasier. As her marriage fell apart, she’d endeavored patiently and persistently to try to repair their relationship. But nothing worked. When she had done all within her power, she had extracted herself from the ever-increasing volatility of the situation. He’d already destroyed her ability to love him. She’d felt sympathy—as she did now—but that was no basis for a marriage.

The waiting room was nearly clear now. Maybe things would slow down, giving her a chance to pull herself together once more. A few more deep breaths to slow her racing heart, and she was getting there. Once she was through the double doors and headed toward the nurses’ station, she relaxed.

Eva caught her in the corridor before she reached the doctors’ lounge. “Are you okay, Dr. Frasier?”

Marissa produced a smile. Eva was one of those people whom everyone liked. With her white-blond hair and creamy porcelain skin, many of the older patients called her an angel. But it was her green eyes that Marissa first noticed. Their eyes were a very similar emerald green. Marissa, too, had the extrapale skin, but her fiery red curls set the two of them apart. Patients were always saying that if not for the difference in hair color, they could pass for sisters.

Marissa took her friend’s hand and pulled her into the lounge. With a quick glance around she said, “It’s William. He showed up again. Here.” She moistened her lips and wished her heart would not start that confounded pounding again. “It was different this time.”

“Are you serious?” Eva took both Marissa’s hands in hers. “Listen to me—this situation is not getting better. He’s escalating. If you continue to interact with him—”

Marissa shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.” She inhaled a deep breath. “He said he’s going to kill himself, but first he’s going to kill me.”

“That’s it.” Eva released her and reached into the pocket of her scrubs for her cell phone. “I’m calling Todd. You need protection.”

Eva’s fiancé was an investigator at the Colby Agency. Eva had urged her repeatedly to go to the agency for help about William. Somehow Marissa had been certain she could do this herself, but now she wasn’t so sure.

His desperation and fury had been palpable. He was not playing.

He wanted her dead.

The bottom dropped out of Marissa’s stomach and she wrapped her arms around her middle. How on earth had they gotten to this place? How could a man who had once loved her—and she knew in her heart that he had—now want to kill her?

She had no answer. William was broken. He had allowed envy and whatever other hidden mental health issues that plagued him to take over. Add the alcohol on top of that, and he was a mess. A desperate mess who didn’t care anymore. He wanted the pain and misery to end, and he wanted the person he saw as responsible for that pain and misery to pay for ruining his life.

Eva was right. She couldn’t handle this situation any longer. Now she was the one who needed help.

Eva ended her call. She took Marissa’s hands once more and gave them a squeeze. “Victoria, the head of the agency I’ve been telling you about, will see you first thing in the morning—if that works for you.”

Marissa nodded, her entire being numb. “I’ll go. I can’t ignore this situation any longer.”

“You have to believe me when I say that Victoria will know what to do. Her agency helped me, and they helped Dr. Pierce. They can help you.”

The first spring of tears burned her eyes, and Marissa cursed herself for being so weak. “Thank you.”

“Listen,” Eva said gently, “Todd and I don’t want you to be alone tonight, so I’m taking you home with me.”

“No.” Marissa shook her head. “I can’t do that. The two of you are just finding your way in your relationship. I don’t want to intrude. I truly appreciate the offer, but really, I have a security system and I’d feel much better at home. I need to be able to think all this through and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Okay, but if you need anything, all you have to do is call.” Eva hugged her hard. Marissa closed her eyes and fought the damned tears.

This was not the time for her to fall apart. Staying alive and safe required her to keep it together. It was well past time she focused on taking care of herself.

Tomorrow she would take the necessary steps to purge William from her life once and for all.

Chapter Two

Hampden Court, Friday, June 29, 6:00 a.m.

The sound of traffic on the street outside her East Lincoln Park graystone woke Marissa. The room-darkening Roman shades she’d ordered when she first bought the house nearly two years ago did their job very well, ensuring that the room was pitch-black. Working nights more often than not at the ER required sleeping in the daytime. Not so easy to do without the darkness.

There were times when total darkness was a good thing.

This was her rare long weekend, so she could sleep in this morning. Her next scheduled shift was Tuesday. She intended to treat herself the next couple of days. Some long-overdue shopping, maybe a mani-pedi. She pulled the silky sheet close around her and toyed with the idea of actually sleeping in. How long had it been since she’d stayed in bed until noon unless she’d worked until seven or eight in the morning? Besides, the shops wouldn’t open for hours.

Then she remembered William’s cruel words—the angry promise that he was going to kill himself and her.

She had an appointment at the Colby Agency at nine. A weary sigh whispered across her lips. She should get up, shower and figure out something to wear. Well before her divorce, her social life had died a slow, suffocating death. It had been so long since she’d needed something professional to wear that wasn’t scrubs, much less anything vaguely dressy, that she had no idea what had survived the move from the Lake Shore condo she and William had shared.

It was now or never. With the intention of getting up, she threw back the thin, silky sheet. Her hand bumped a strange lump in the bed.

What in the world?

Had she left all the throw pillows on the bed? She generally piled them on the chaise lounge when she drew back the covers before bed. But she’d been tired last night. Maybe she’d just tossed them aside. Her hand moved over the mound.

Firm.

Not pillows.

Her fingers traced what felt like a leg that became a hip.

Human.

Marissa shot up from the bed and stumbled as she groped at the lamp. Her heart pounded against her sternum. Light pooled across the king-size bed.

She saw the hand first.

She tilted her head and studied the familiar fingers. Long, round-tipped.

Even before her gaze swung up to the pillow and the head resting there, she knew it was William.

Lying on his side, facing her, he stared, unblinking eyes cloudy with death. Impossible. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to dispel the image. Yet, when she opened her eyes once more, he was still there. The room spun around her. She shook herself. Swayed precariously before she snapped from the shock of seeing her former husband lying in her bed, obviously dead.

Marissa scrambled across the bed to him. Blood had puddled on the pillow behind his head and oozed down onto the sheet behind his shoulder. His dark hair was matted at the back of his neck. This could not be happening. She leaned closer to determine the source of the blood—a small hole at the base of his skull. The flesh around it was puckered and purplish. The life-giving fluid no longer seeped. Heart and pulse racing, her mind screaming at her to do something, she touched her fingers to his carotid artery.

Nothing.

Dear God, he was dead.

His skin was cool. Gray.

No. No. No.

He couldn’t be dead. Not here. Not like this. Not possible.

She pushed him onto his back and ripped open his shirt. Buttons flew across the bed and the floor.

Pressing her cheek to his chest, she listened for a heartbeat, tried to feel his chest rise and fall.

Nothing. No heartbeat. No rush of blood.

Would CPR do anything?

She stared at his ashen skin. Cold. No pulse. Somewhere on the periphery of her consciousness, she noted the darkened area along the right side of his body where he’d been lying...livor mortis. The blood had pooled at the lowest point when his heart stopped beating. His eyes remained open, his unseeing gaze now fixed on the ceiling.

Feeling completely numb, she fought to summon some sort of emotional distance as she picked up his hand, felt the stiffness in his fingers and in the entire length of his arm.

He had been dead for several hours.

Trembling, she placed his hand on the sheet and scooted back to her side of the bed and off. She stood and grabbed for her cell on the table next to the bed. A quick tug pulled it loose from the power cord. She hit the three digits that would bring help.

When the dispatcher finished her spiel, Marissa spoke with remarkable calmness. “My name is Marissa Frasier.” She provided her address. “My husband—ex-husband,” she amended, “is dead. Please send the police.”

The brief blip of calm deserted her, and Marissa collapsed onto the floor as she answered the rest of the woman’s questions. Was she injured? No. What was her ex-husband’s name? William Bauer. Had there been a violent encounter? No. What was the nature of the victim’s injuries?

“He’s been shot.” The words were whispered. How could this be? She’d been sleeping in the bed right next to him.

For that matter, how had her husband been shot and ended up in her bed? Did he even have a key to this house? She had never given him one...

More questions from the dispatcher. Was she armed? No. Was there anyone else in the house? No. Wait. Her heart slammed into a frantic rhythm once more. She didn’t think so. Marissa scrambled to her feet and moved slowly through the second floor of her home. She thought of the only weapon she owned. It was in the lockbox in the drawer of her bedside table. Should she go back for it?

The front doorbell sounded from downstairs and the dispatcher informed her that it was the police and emergency services; she should answer the door now. Marissa descended the stairs, disbelief swaddling her like a thick fog. Every creak of the century-old staircase echoed in her brain, seeming to ask how anyone—even William—climbed these very stairs to her room without her hearing. How had he climbed in bed next to her without her rousing?

She’d been tired, for sure. She’d slept hard. Even had a bit of a sleep hangover. Still, when they were married and working different shifts, she never failed to wake up when he came home. In college, she’d always awakened when her roommates came in—no matter how quiet they had tried to be.

As she approached the front door with its three-quarter glass panel, she realized she should have changed or grabbed a robe. Her lounge pants and tank covered her, but the fabric was thin. She suddenly felt exposed and so very cold.

Two uniformed officers stood on her stoop. The flashing lights of an ambulance sat at the curb. Another couple of uniforms hustled up the steps to join the group. This was real. William was dead...in her home.

Steadying herself, Marissa twisted the dead bolt to the unlock position and opened the door.

“Ma’am.” The first man in uniform gave her a nod. “I’m Officer Jacob Tolliver. One of my fellow officers is going to stay out here on the stoop while another has a look around outside. My partner and I are coming inside to have a look around. Do you understand?”

His question warned her that she apparently appeared as much in shock as she felt. She nodded. “Yes. He—he’s in the bedroom. Second door on the left upstairs.”

“You’re certain there is no one else in the house?”

“Just me and...my...him, and he’s dead.” She tried to remember her precise steps. “I didn’t check the third floor.”

Officer Tolliver nodded, then he and his partner walked past her and headed for the stairs. Marissa blinked slowly as the paramedics from the ambulance came inside next. She leaned against the wall and slid down until her bottom hit the floor.

William was dead.

He’d said he was going to kill himself.

The location of the bullet hole—and she was certain that was what it was—wasn’t consistent with a self-inflicted gunshot wound. She had seen her share. But, even if he had somehow managed to shoot himself in the back of the head, how did he get into her room? Into her bed?

She had no idea how much time passed before one of the officers helped her up and escorted her to the sofa.

“Dr. Frasier,” he said gently, “first, is there anyone we can call for you?”

Marissa’s lips parted, the reply on the tip of her tongue, but then she closed her mouth. There was no one to call. Her brother, her only living relative, was in South America with a group of doctors who were donating the next two weeks to areas with little or no available medical care.

William was dead...not that she had been able to call upon him for any sort of help in ages.

Eva...the Colby Agency.

“I should send a text to one of my colleagues and let her know what’s happened.” Dear God, she needed to call William’s family.

“Why don’t you let us take care of that?”

Marissa provided Eva’s number to another of the officers who appeared, and he assured her he would make the call. She wasn’t entirely certain why the officer preferred to make the call himself rather than have her do it. She supposed it had something to do with ensuring she didn’t share the details of William’s death, since there would be an investigation.

Investigation. Murder. Someone had murdered William.

Her lips trembled. This was a homicide investigation, and she was a person of interest. Her hand went to her mouth, and the urge to vomit was nearly overwhelming. Dear God.

“Dr. Frasier, can you start from the beginning and tell me what happened?”

Her mind still steeped in disbelief, she recounted all that had happened since she woke up. Twice he stopped her and urged her to take her time. The clearer the details, the better. She tried her very best to speak slowly and not leave anything out.

More people came into her home. The latest two were fully clad in disposable garb—gloves, white coveralls, matching hair covers, masks and booties. Forensic techs, she realized. They were here to collect evidence of the crime that had taken place in her home.

The shooting. The murder.

How in the world had William been shot right next to her without her hearing it? Wouldn’t there have been a struggle?

No sooner had she finished her story to the officer than another pair of official-looking men walked in. These two wore business suits.

“Dr. Frasier,” Tolliver said as he stood, “this is Detective Nader and his partner, Detective Watts. They’ll be taking over from here.”

The man named Nader took the chair that Tolliver vacated. Watts followed the officer up the stairs.

Marissa’s throat felt dry. She wished for water or coffee. Anything.

“Let’s start at the top, Dr. Frasier. I want to know everything you remember from the time you got home last night.”

Marissa started at the beginning once more and told the detective the same story she’d told the officer. Nader asked her about her relationship with William. She flinched. Of course he would want to know those details. Most likely the officer simply hadn’t gotten that far in his interrogation.

Because this was an interrogation. Not merely an interview. A man was dead.

As briefly as possible, Marissa explained her relationship with William, culminating with the recent volatile history—his words to her last night outside the ER.

Nader did a lot of scribbling.

Marissa wrung her hands together, wished again that she had a jacket or sweater and a bottle of water or a cup of coffee.

A female officer approached Nader and whispered something in his ear. The two of them glanced at Marissa.

“Give me a minute,” Nader said.

The officer stepped back to the front door and waited there.

“You know a fellow named Lacon Traynor? Says he’s part of your legal and security team from the Colby Agency.”

Relief rushed through Marissa. “Yes.” Though she didn’t know the name Lacon Traynor, she absolutely knew the Colby Agency. Eva likely knew the man.

“Does the Colby Agency represent you?”

Marissa wasn’t sure how to answer that question. They did, in a manner of speaking, she supposed. Though she hadn’t technically met with Victoria yet and hadn’t signed any documents.

But William was dead—in her bed.

She needed help.

“Yes.” She hated that her voice quivered. “Yes, the Colby Agency and I are working together. Because...” She moistened her lips. “Because William’s behavior was becoming increasingly erratic and threatening.”

Nader sent a nod toward the waiting officer, who disappeared out the door.

“Nader!”

The shout came from the landing at the top of the stairs. Marissa’s gaze moved to the man who had called out. It was the other detective, Watts.

“Yeah?” Nader glanced over his shoulder.

“Bring the doc up here for a minute, will you?”

Nader stood. “Let’s have a look at your bedroom.”

Marissa followed the detective to the staircase. They waited at the bottom until the two paramedics had descended.

“Coroner’s on his way,” one of the paramedics said to Nader.

The detective nodded and the paramedics left. Marissa watched as they, too, disappeared out her front door. Suddenly she wanted to do exactly that. She didn’t want to be here any longer. She didn’t want to go back upstairs. There was blood in her bed.

Bile churned in her belly.

William was dead.

Nader gestured for her to go ahead of him. Her entire body had started to shake by the time they reached her bedroom door. She hugged herself tight. It wasn’t until she walked into the room this time that she smelled the stench of death. That unmistakable odor of rapidly decomposing cells, mixed with the metallic fetor of blood. The shades had been raised, filling the room with morning light. William remained on the bed. He would be there, she reminded herself, until the coroner arrived to take possession of the body.

The body. Dear God, why? Why would he do this? Yet the gunshot had been to the back of his head. He had not done this. She had to keep her thoughts straight. Her mind whirled madly. He had been murdered. She had to remember that. Someone had come into her home...

Her stomach clenched, and she suffered through another round of nausea. She had assumed that William had somehow gotten her key. But William couldn’t have done this...not alone anyway.

His killer had stood over her bed...had done these awful things while she slept.

“At any time after you awakened and found your husband—”

“Ex-husband,” she corrected Nader, her voice weak, practically a whisper.

He nodded. “After you discovered your dead ex-husband lying next to you, did you at any time walk to that side of the bed?”

Marissa had to think about the question for a moment, then she shook her head. “No. I scooted across the bed and pushed him onto his back.” She shrugged. “All I could think was that he needed CPR, but then I realized it was too late. I suppose I was in shock.” Her hand went to her throat. “I don’t see how this could have happened.” She looked around the room. “Here. With me asleep right next to him.”

Watts held up a clear bag with a handgun inside it. “Is this .22 caliber automatic yours, Dr. Frasier?”

Marissa peered at the bag. “It looks like mine.” She gestured to her night table. “May I?”

Watts and Nader nodded. One of them muttered, “Sure.”

She moved to the table and pulled open the top drawer. A fingernail file, a brush, the book she’d started reading months ago and never gotten back to. The nail polish she never seemed to have time to use, and the lockbox. She removed it from the drawer and opened it. No weapon.

Where was her gun?

“It’s not here.” She turned back to the detective holding the weapon. “Is there a way to determine if that one is actually mine?”

She instinctively understood that the weapon in the bag, the one that was probably hers, had been used to kill William.

“Our forensic experts will make that determination,” Watts assured her.

“We’d like to swab your hands,” Nader said.

She nodded. “Of course.” She had nothing to hide. Apparently she had slept through William’s murder. How was that possible? Wouldn’t she have heard the weapon fire? It might be small, but it was loud nonetheless. She’d fired it numerous times when she took that gun safety course. The sound would certainly have awakened her. The entire scene was sheer madness. None of this made sense.

Horror churned inside her.

Watts motioned for one of the techs to come do the honors. Marissa held her hands in front of her—they shook. The forensic tech carefully collected the samples from the skin on her hands then stepped away from her without ever making eye contact.

This was a nightmare. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondered again how this could be happening.

“We’d also like the clothes you’re wearing, Dr. Frasier.”

Marissa opened her eyes and met Nader’s steady gaze. The female officer was there now, as well.

“Officer Holcombe will accompany you to your closet. You might want to pack a few things. I’m afraid you won’t be able to come back into the house for a few days. We need time to properly process the scene.”

The scene.

“Of course.”

With Holcombe right behind her, Marissa went through the en suite to the large walk-in closet that had been a key selling point for the home. Moving mechanically, she packed jeans and T-shirts and her favorite sneakers into her overnight bag. She wasn’t due back to work until Tuesday. Surely they would be finished here by then. Just in case, she grabbed a set of scrubs as well as a pair of black dress slacks and a matching blouse, along with her favorite flats for meeting with Victoria Colby-Camp. She went back into the bathroom and gathered her toiletries.

Once she’d zipped the bag, Holcombe said, “I’ll just need you to remove your pajamas, ma’am.”

It wasn’t until then that Marissa remembered she was still wearing her pj’s. Rather than answer Holcombe, she returned to the closet and found another pair of jeans and a University of Illinois T-shirt. While the officer stood by, she stripped off her pj’s and dropped them into the waiting bag.

“I’ll need your underwear too, ma’am.”

Naked save for her underwear, Marissa went back to the closet, Holcombe on her heels, and snatched another pair of panties from the drawer. She slipped off the pair she was wearing and quickly shimmied into the clean ones. While Holcombe readied the bags for turning over to one of the forensic techs, Marissa quickly dragged on the jeans and a T-shirt. She’d already packed her sneakers, so she pulled on a pair of thong sandals. With the officer waiting for her, evidence bags in hand, she abruptly remembered she would need pj’s, too. She grabbed a pair and stuffed them into her bag with the rest.

With her bag hanging over her shoulder, she exited the bathroom and walked straight up to Nader. The coroner had arrived and was examining the body.

The body. It sounded so clinical. This was the man with whom she had thought she would spend the rest of her life...

“May I leave now?” She kept her gaze carefully averted from the activities across the room.

“You can.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else.” When she’d taken the card, he added, “I will have more questions, and there’s the official statement you’ll need to come downtown and make, so keep me informed of your location.”

Marissa nodded and hurried from the room. She felt sick and disgusted and aggrieved. How the hell had this happened? When she went to sleep last night, her biggest concern had been how to extract William from her life. Now she had to worry about whether she was a murder suspect.

Her heart hurt for William. She would never have wished him dead.

Downstairs, yet another new arrival stood near the stone fireplace perusing the framed photographs there. This one was male and tall, with sandy blond hair. He wasn’t like the others. He wore well-loved jeans, a sky blue shirt and a tan summer-weight suit jacket, but it was the cowboy boots that really set him apart from the others. He turned as she descended the last step and thrust out his hand, looking for all the world like a character from a modern-day Western movie who’d just stepped off the screen and into her living room.

“Lacon Traynor,” he said, “from the Colby Agency.”

Marissa took the final steps between them and accepted his hand for a quick shake. She wasn’t sure what she had expected when Eva mentioned calling the Colby Agency, but this towering, cowboy-boot-wearing guy was not it. He looked vaguely familiar, but for the life of her she couldn’t place him.

She finally found her voice. “Have we met?”

He gestured for her to follow him toward the kitchen. Her graystone was three stories and quite deep, but very narrow. When you walked in the front door you could see all the way out the back, with nothing but the staircase with the powder room tucked beneath it to hamper the flow. Beyond her kitchen was a set of French doors that led onto a rear deck. Beyond the deck was the small driveway. No garage, just a driveway. She was immensely grateful for something beyond street parking. A garage was on her wish list.

“We may have run into each other at the Edge when I was working with Bella and Dr. Pierce.”

Now she remembered. She’d seen him once with Dr. Pierce during that awful business about his deceased wife. She remembered thinking then that this guy looked like a sheriff from a modern-day Western. Ruggedly handsome and utterly capable. She hoped he could help her the way Bella Lytle had helped Dr. Pierce, and Todd Christian had rescued Eva.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggested.

She was more than ready to do that. In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Traynor took her bag and led the way out onto the deck and down to where her car was parked. He walked right past her vehicle and to the alley.

She followed, too overwhelmed to put up a fuss. “Where do we go from here?”

“My car. They’ll want to go over yours at the lab.”

Marissa hissed a disgusted sigh. They were taking over her entire life. Not that she actually minded, as long as it would help find William’s killer.

A killer who had been in her home. Fear tightened around her throat.

She waited until they were seated in Traynor’s car and he’d driven away before she said as much.

“Until they’ve collected all the evidence they believe they can find and have ruled you out as the shooter, they’re going to be all over you and your property. You might as well get used to that now.” He sent her a sidelong glance. “The good news is that while ruling you out, they’ll also be looking for the actual perpetrator. It’s no fun, but it’s the way it works.”

Marissa closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. She was so tired.

“Why don’t you tell me why someone would want to make it look as if you killed your ex-husband?”

Marissa’s eyes snapped open. Good God, he was right. The entire setup was about making her look responsible for William’s death. But who would do that? Other than her friends at work, she had none. Her social life had fizzled out during her final years of marriage to William. He’d chased away every friend they’d ever had.

“I have no idea.” Why did this have to happen now? Her life was finally headed in the direction she wanted, and this insanity had to descend upon her? What had William gotten himself into that someone would want to murder him?

“Eva filled me in on your past with Bauer. Officer Tolliver brought me up to speed on your statement, so I’m not going to make you repeat any of that for now.”

Thank goodness. She’d already repeated it twice.

“Since his release from prison, have you kept up with Bauer’s activities?”

“No. I tried to evict him from my life, but he still showed up every so often to antagonize me.”

“So you don’t know how he made money or who his associates were?”

“No.” God, she’d thought she was doing the right thing distancing herself, and suddenly it felt as if all the things she didn’t know were coming back to haunt her. “He sold the condo when he went to prison. Honestly, I don’t even know where he lives.”

Saying the words out loud made her feel all the guiltier. How could she have been married to the man for five years and not know where he was living the day he was murdered?

What kind of person did that make her?

“No worries,” Traynor assured her. “We can track down all that information. But first, I’m taking you to breakfast. You need to eat.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

He flashed her a smile. “Maybe not, but I’m starving.”

At that moment, the reality of her predicament settled fully upon her.

How in the world would she ever prove that she hadn’t killed her ex-husband?

He had been murdered in her bed. The murder weapon was her gun. The security guard from the Edge could confirm that she and William had had a heated exchanged less than twenty-four hours ago.

She swung her gaze back to the man behind the wheel.

Her only hope was this cowboy who wanted to eat before they got down to business.

She was in serious trouble.

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