Only she knows the answers.

Only he can keep her alive.

After discovering her boss has been murdered, Professor Gigi Brennan becomes the killer’s next target. She is the only one who can complete a complicated scientific formula, and the murderer won’t hesitate to come after her next if she doesn’t cooperate. She quickly learns that her best chance at survival is Detective Hudson Kramer. Now, with the clock ticking, can she and Hud uncover who’s terrorizing her...before their dreams of a shared future are over before they’ve even begun?

JULIE MILLER is an award-winning USA TODAY best-selling author of breathtaking romantic suspense—with a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Daphne du Maurier Award, among other prizes. She has also earned an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. For a complete list of her books, monthly newsletter and more, go to juliemiller.org

Also by Julie Miller

Rescued by the Marine

Do-or-Die Bridesmaid

Personal Protection

Beauty and the Badge

Takedown

KCPD Protector

Crossfire Christmas

Military Grade Mistletoe

Kansas City Cop

APB: Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Target on Her Back

Julie Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90515-6

TARGET ON HER BACK

© 2020 Julie Miller

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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In memory of Maggie McGonagall Miller, the gentlest

creature I have ever known. What a blessing it has been

in our lives that you picked us to be your pack that day

at the humane society. You were so loved, my sweet

baby dog. I hope you have squirrels to chase, plenty of

treats and a warm lap to snuggle in up in heaven.

I miss you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“Let go of me.” Professor Virginia Brennan tugged free of the older man’s bruising grip. That only made him latch on with both hands.

“Where is Lombard?” The white-haired man’s thick accent turned his w to a v and reminded her of Chekov from the Star Trek television show she loved to watch. Only this man was no teen heartthrob or outer space hero.

“I don’t know, Dr. Zajac. Bullying me won’t help.” The chamber music playing in the background beneath the conversations around them sounded oddly discordant as Virginia “Gigi” Brennan found herself backed against the vestibule wall outside the Muehlebach Hotel’s grand ballroom.

“You cannot hide him from me,” her coworker at Williams University accused.

“I’m not.” She shoved at his chest, silently blaming the couple that walked by for averting their heads from the esteemed researcher’s harassment and doing nothing to intervene. But Evgeni had seen them, too, and—perhaps wanting to uphold his reputation with the donors who supported his joint research with Ian Lombard—he released her. Once Gigi slid beyond arm’s reach, she gestured to the restroom hallway where she’d last seen her friend and mentor, Ian Lombard. “I saw you two arguing a few minutes ago. Now he’s gone.” She needed to find Ian herself, so she could leave this nightmare of noise and people at the university reception in downtown Kansas City and go home. Her face ached as she summoned one more PR-worthy smile. “I’m looking for Ian, too. I was really hoping you’d seen him.”

Zajac’s accent grew more guttural as his anger rose. “He fears me now and will not show his face.” He rattled off something in rapid Lukin, speaking too quickly for her to grasp more than “years of research,” “betrayal” and something about wrapping his hands around the man’s neck.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, trying to appease his temper. “Perhaps if you repeat it more slowly.” As a visiting professor working on the research team she headed for Ian at Williams University, she knew it was her responsibility to maintain good working relationships with every member of Ian’s staff. Evgeni Zajac and his department at their sister university in the tiny Eastern European country of Lukinburg provided the raw materials and several of the preliminary ideas that Ian’s team developed into state-of-the-art technology. Keeping both ego-driven men happy was typically part of her job as the calm, quiet wunderkind at the WU School of Engineering and Technology. But she had problems of her own tonight. “I don’t suppose you have twenty dollars I could borrow. I need—”

“Where is my Hana?” Evgeni dismissed her with a wave of his hand, spinning around to look for his wife, who also acted as his translator, and he stalked back into the reception room. He cursed his missing wife, Ian and what sounded like the entire North American continent. She had been lectured by temperamental colleagues before, but never in a foreign language. Considering she didn’t want to be at this fund-raiser in the first place, and had stayed longer than Ian had promised she’d have to, Gigi figured she didn’t need to chase after Dr. Zajac to offer an apology to mend obviously strained international relations.

Clutching her university ID from the lanyard hanging around her neck, she scanned the crowded ballroom for options. She supposed she could ask Gary Haack, another colleague with whom she worked closely on the research team, to loan her the money she’d need for cab fare back to the university where she’d left her wallet, phone and keys. Or maybe he’d call a car for her. How many times had he said he’d like to get closer to her? That she could ask him for anything? About as many times as he’d cornered her in her office or his, invading her personal space in the name of a work issue. She wasn’t any good at flirting or being flirted with, so his repeated invitations to one event or another wound up making her feel suspicious rather than flattered. No. Not an option. Knowing Gary, there’d be strings attached to any favor she asked of him. Besides, she couldn’t spot his blond head towering over the other guests at any of the catering tables or gathered around the various displays of inventions and technologies Ian, Evgeni and their research team had developed.

Venturing into the crowded room to ask anyone else for help made her almost physically ill. She’d come with Ian tonight, and now Ian was gone. Getting herself home was all on her shoulders now.

She slipped away from the party and retrieved the old ivory sweater she’d thrown on at the last minute from the coat check room. Sliding it on for warmth over the short sleeves of her black sequined dress, and hugging it around herself for the comfort of her late mother’s memory since she’d knit it for her years ago, Gigi took the escalator up to the lobby. She paused at the bank of glass doors facing Wyandotte Street and exhaled a weary sigh.

Of course. It was raining. The sidewalk outside was wet and shiny, reflecting the lights from traffic, the hotel and Municipal Plaza across the street. Even if the weather was nice and she wasn’t a woman alone late at night, the university would be too far to walk from here, especially in the black high heels that pinched her toes.

Options, Gigi. Think of options. Going back to that crowd and begging someone for help wasn’t one of them.

Thinking was what she excelled at when she wasn’t overwhelmed by people and emotions, and when she saw the bright lights from the city bus letting out passengers at the corner of Twelfth Street and Wyandotte, she knew what to do.

Flipping over her university ID, she let out an audible breath. Her bus pass was still tucked inside the plastic sheath. Clutching the lanyard in her fist, she stepped out into the chill of the rainy autumn night. With her heels splashing over the pavement, she hurried across the street and knocked on the closing bus doors so she could climb in before it drove away.

Twenty minutes later, having used up every bit of extroverted energy her shy genes could muster, she was back on campus. She was tired, damp and cold. But she still wasn’t getting home anytime soon.

She cleared her throat, giving the night security guard in the gray-and-black uniform another chance to wake up.

“Officer Galbreath?” she repeated, hugging her long cardigan over her dress. It was colder here inside the regulated air of the Williams University Technology Building than it had been outside, perhaps because her feet were still wet and squishing in her ruined shoes. “Jerome?”

Her only reply was a gravelly snore. The older gentleman with the mahogany skin and salt-and-pepper hair had dozed off at his desk in the lobby. Since she’d been absentminded enough to leave her university ID looped around her neck like a piece of jewelry, she had her own key card to enter the research lab on the second floor. But if Jerome Galbreath didn’t log her in before she did so, she’d set off the after-hours security alarm the moment she opened the door.

The last thing she wanted was for campus security and the Kansas City police to swarm the building and question why she was breaking into the lab in this ridiculously short and soggy getup, long after classes had ended for the day and most of the campus had shut down for the weekend. Gigi hated swarms of anything—birds, bugs, people crowding around her, too many people talking at once.

Tonight’s party had been pure torture. She’d done the job the university had expected of her, but now she needed solitude and silence to take the edge off her frayed nerves. That meant yoga pants or jammies, a cup of hot tea and a book or movie to immerse herself in at home.

Only, she couldn’t get home.

She already felt like a dork for leaving her phone, keys and wallet in her backpack at work because she’d been so nervous about attending the hoity-toity reception at the Muehlebach Hotel. Come to the party, Gigi, Dr. Lombard had said. Put on something pretty. Ride in the limo with me to the hotel and drink champagne. The university is buying. You deserve to have a little fun to celebrate our success. You do have a party dress, don’t you?

Um, no.

It wasn’t until Dr. Lombard had said that he needed her to come along to explain the technicalities of their research to interested guests while he schmoozed the crowd of visiting Lukinburg dignitaries and donors who’d made generous contributions to the department that she’d agreed to go. He needed her expertise to make tonight a success.

That had always been her Kryptonite—someone needing her. Since most people, beyond her sister and a few close friends, barely noticed her shy, studious self, the idea of being important enough to be needed, to be necessary to another person, was as alluring as it was unfamiliar. She’d been suckered in by those words more than once in her life. As smart as she was, it was a lesson she should have learned by now.

A lesson that wouldn’t leave her stranded in downtown Kansas City after dark.

She was more than eager to support Ian Lombard’s cutting-edge research into new-market computer-component and power-consumption applications, and the Lukin investors were willing to fund that research because it gave them a market for the raw materials produced in their country. Gigi knew how to conduct herself in a classy manner at sedate university functions, how to smooth things over for her brilliant, but volatile boss. And although she’d gotten lost during Dr. Zajac’s tirade, she even spoke a few words of Lukin, so she could communicate with their guests on a rudimentary level. She was proud of Dr. Lombard’s work—her work, too, since she’d been his right hand for two years now. She’d taken over teaching one of his classes to free him up to concentrate on fast-tracking his research.

But celebrate? Schmooze? Dr. Gigi Brennan fit that role about as well as this fancy dress she’d borrowed from her younger, curvier sister fit her. Although Tammy had insisted that she couldn’t go wrong with a little black dress, the outfit was too short to be comfortable and hung loose on Gigi’s willowy frame.

Gigi’s willingness to put on Tammy’s dress and brave the reception had ended the moment she realized Dr. Lombard had left the party without her. He’d needed her, all right—to cover for his inexplicable absence, to represent the department while he went off and...what? Went home to get a full night’s sleep? Skyped a phone call with his drama professor wife who was currently researching Henrik Ibsen in Scandinavia? Rendezvous in a hotel room upstairs with one of those dewy-eyed grad students he liked to flirt with while said wife was out of the country?

The why didn’t matter. Gone was gone. Lombard had taken advantage of her inability to say no to him. She’d call her sister for a ride, but Tammy had been at a teachers’ conference in Vegas this week and was staying a couple of extra days to have some fun. Gigi was on her own. Nothing new there. She should be used to that by now.

Gigi had made it back to the university where her car was parked.

But she wasn’t going any farther without her keys.

And a sleeping security guard.

She was the responsible one. The family breadwinner who’d stepped up to take custody of her underage sister after their parents had died in a traffic accident. She kept food on the table and a roof over her and Tammy’s heads.

So what if she got so caught up in her work some days that she lost track of the time?

So what if she babbled like an idiot or completely shut down when her nerves got the better of her?

She was the one with the Ph.D. she’d earned by her twenty-fourth birthday three years earlier.

She was the one who’d been selected to be a part of Dr. Lombard’s team to find applications for his technology. Weaponry. Environmental sciences. Medical programs. Business efficiency models. There was a lot of money to be made in the practical applications of Lombard’s research. Money meant not just an impressive paycheck for the duration of his funding, but also the prestige that would allow her to move to a bigger university, like Massachusetts Institute of Technology or Harvard, to pursue her own research, or at least to head up her own program here in Kansas City.

With a résumé like that, she should be able to get herself home.

Gigi adjusted her glasses on her nose and silently debated how difficult it would be to extract the computer tablet from beneath Jerome’s folded arms on top of the desk where he slept. She quickly dismissed that idea because the guard wore a gun, and if she accidentally startled him awake, who knew how he’d react? For a split second, he might think she was stealing the tablet, or worse, attacking him, reacting before his thoughts cleared enough to recognize her.

So, she knocked on the counter above the desk. When he stirred, she reached over the counter to nudge his arm. “Jerome?”

She jumped back half a step when the guard’s breathing stuttered. Flattening his palms atop the desk, he pushed himself up in his chair and blinked her into focus.

“Professor Brennan?” He picked up the nearly empty coffee mug on the desk beside him, frowning before he set it back down and pushed it away. “That didn’t do me any good. Don’t know why I’m dragging tonight. Looks like you got caught out in that rainstorm.”

“I did. Thankfully, it didn’t last long.” She pushed a lock of wet auburn hair that stuck to her cheek up into what was left of the bun she wore at her nape. “I’ll dry out soon enough.”

He smiled up at her for a moment before squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his temple. “Can’t seem to stay awake.”

Gigi leaned against the counter, worried about the lines furrowed beside his eyes. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’ve got a mother of a headache. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Gigi’s Ph.D. was in applied physics, not medicine, but even she could see that something was off about the man who’d worked the night shift here since retiring from KCPD, a few years even before she had joined the faculty. Jerome Galbreath didn’t just fall asleep on the job. “I’ve got a couple of ibuprofens up in my office. Would that help?”

“Maybe. Thanks.” Still seeming a little disoriented, Jerome inspected the imprint that the corner of his computer tablet had left on his hand before shaking off the drowsy fog. “How long was I out?”

“I’ve only been here a few minutes. Friday nights are pretty slow. I imagine it can get kind of boring.”

He shook his head, disagreeing with her speculation. “I didn’t just doze off. That was a deep sleep. Sorry about that.” He punched the power button on the tablet and pulled up the personnel screen. A lot of expensive equipment and cutting-edge technology was housed in the lab where she worked on the second floor. Only a handful of professors and staff held key cards to access the faculty offices and lab itself, and the university kept close tabs on anyone who entered the building. Officer Galbreath rose to his feet and pushed the tablet across the countertop so she could sign in. Even as he rubbed his temple again, he offered her his usual smile. “You’re here mighty late.”

“I left my bag up in my office when I changed for the party.” If Dr. Lombard hadn’t been in such a hurry to put in an appearance at the reception, she might have remembered to borrow an evening purse from Tammy, too, and switch a few necessary items to it. Like car keys and her phone.

“Do you have your key card?”

Gigi pulled the purple-and-white Williams University lanyard she wore from inside the front of her dress and held up the attached key card ID. “Right here.”

“Doesn’t exactly go with your outfit,” Jerome teased.

“That’s why I’m not the fashion icon of the family.” She scrolled through the names on the screen to find her own but frowned when she saw the one that was still highlighted. “Is Dr. Lombard here?”

Surely, he wasn’t here at this hour to work. Unless that argument she’d witnessed between Ian and Dr. Zajac had prompted him to come back to the lab to...what? Retrieve evidence to prove a theory or show proof of a patent? Correct a mistake in their findings or investigate a flaw in their product development?

The security guard took the tablet from her and frowned. “I must have forgotten to log him out when he left.”

“But he was here?” Gigi clarified. “When?”

“He was in a meeting in his office when I came on duty at nine. There was a message on my desk saying he wasn’t to be disturbed.” He punched in a number on his phone before handing her a folded-up note. “I thought he had that reception with those foreign investors.”

Gigi nodded, skimming the brief, typed missive. “I was there with him. For a while.”

Jerome—

Private meeting in my office tonight.

No visitors. No calls.

I’ll lock up.

Dr. Lombard

Private meeting? Tonight? When he should be out celebrating his success? And not leaving her stranded? She was Ian’s right hand when it came to work. Why wouldn’t she know about this meeting?

Maybe she should rethink the curvy young student theory. “You didn’t see anyone with him, did you?” Although the sterile lab was hardly conducive to romance, Ian did have a leather couch in his office. “A woman, perhaps?”

“I didn’t even see him. Probably my mistake, and he’s long gone.” Jerome grinched about not being old enough to nod off like he had and hung up the phone. “He’s not answering in his office.” Gigi went ahead and signed herself in and Jerome waved her around the counter and connected the chain from his desk to the outer wall to indicate that access to the building was blocked while he was away. “I’ll walk up with you and make sure he’s gone before I sign him out. It’s past time for me to make rounds, anyway.”

Jerome opened the elevator doors and ushered her inside. When the doors opened again onto the second floor, the hallway was dark except for the security lights casting a sickly yellowish glow across the white marble floor tiles. The entire wall across from them was devoted to the research lab and faculty offices behind a row of floor-to-ceiling windows framed by stainless steel and secured by key-card access locks. The impressive facade allowed students and visitors to peek inside without disturbing the pristine sterility of the workstations where Gigi and Ian, other university staff, visiting professors, and promising graduate students worked. The display of technology was also meant to inspire students in classrooms on this side of the hallway, as well as motivate visiting donors to give even more money to the university and its research-and-development programs.

But tonight, instead of inspiring or motivating or even feeling much like the familiar workplace she was used to, the darkened lab on the other side of the glass was filled with shadows. The vague outlines of tables and equipment took on menacing forms at night, like predators in a cave, lying in wait for their unsuspecting prey to wander inside to become dinner. All her imagination needed were a few blinking monitor lights to masquerade as eyes for the creatures, and the nightmare crawling over her skin and raising goose bumps would be complete.

Gigi startled at the brush of Jerome’s hand against her arm. “Sorry.”

She pushed aside his apology and stepped off the elevator. “My fault. I was letting my imagination get carried away with how creepy this place looks at night.” She followed Jerome across the hall, pulling her key card from around her neck as he unhooked the flashlight from his belt and shone it through the glass.

“It’s mighty dark in there,” Jerome pointed out. “I can’t tell if Dr. Lombard’s office door is open from here, but there sure isn’t any light coming from there.”

Gigi swiped her card through the lock, but nothing happened. “That’s strange.” She thought again of the shadowy predators inside. “There aren’t even any equipment lights glowing...” When her card failed to work a second time, she typed in her override code and opened the door. She paused, grabbing Jerome’s arm as he entered ahead of her. This wasn’t right. “There should be lights on. Monitors regulating electricity. Ongoing tests.”

Jerome nodded and flipped the light switch beside the door. Nothing. He went to the nearest table and turned the manual switch on a lamp. No light. “Do you think we blew a fuse?”

She glanced up at him. “We don’t use fuses anymore. The lab and research offices are on a self-contained, computer-regulated system.”

His blank stare told her she’d missed the point. “Figure of speech, Professor.”

“Oh. Right.” Her trepidation turned to concern about the stability of the millions of dollars of sensitive equipment housed here. “The lab is on its own breaker box from the rest of the building, including security. A surge of some kind must have blown the entire circuitry. Otherwise, the backup protocols would have engaged.” She shook her head. “Nothing’s on in here.”

“Take this.” Jerome handed her his flashlight. “I’ve got a light on my phone. I’ll go down to the basement and check the breakers. Will you be all right in here by yourself?”

Gigi nodded, turning the light to her closed office door near the front of the lab. “Everything I need should be in my backpack.”

Jerome hesitated a moment, surveying the dark cavern around them, including Ian’s closed door. “Apparently, Dr. Lombard did leave. Why wouldn’t he check himself out?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to wake you.” Gigi offered him a silent apology. “You were sleeping on your tablet.”

“I worked the night shift at KCPD for twenty years before I took this position. I have never fallen asleep on the job. Not like that.” His eyes narrowed as he considered an idea. “Will you be able to find your way downstairs okay? Once I reboot the system, I want to go back to my desk and smell my coffee.”

“Smell your coffee?” She swung her light right into his face. He squinted and put up his hand against the brightness before she quickly lowered the beam. “Sorry. Your headache.”

“Exactly.” He lowered his hand. “Call it an old policeman’s hunch.”

Gigi pretended she understood what he was talking about, even as her brain started calculating possible explanations. “You go ahead. As soon as I get my bag and keys, I’m heading home.”

“Okay.” His face softened with a wide grin. “Be sure to check with me on your way out. I don’t like losing track of people.”

“I’ll bring the ibuprofen down when I do.” She turned to her office and took a couple of steps around a stainless steel table before her deductive mind finally got what he’d meant by his odd comment. “Wait. Do you think your coffee was drugged...?”

By the time she reached the hallway, Jerome had already disappeared into the elevator. Gigi shook her head, realizing that solving one mystery had led to another. “Why drug that sweet old man?”

Maybe she was too tired, too drained from all the social interaction of the evening to fully understand anything tonight. She turned the light to her office door and made her familiar way through the maze of equipment to unlock it and head inside. She instinctively flipped on the light switch inside the door, then silently chided her foolishness when nothing turned on. She retrieved her backpack from her desk before opening the center drawer and tucking the bottle of pills for Jerome into a side pocket. She swapped out the flashlight for the reassurance of her own phone in her hand and turned on the flashlight app. Then she looped the bag over one shoulder and headed back to the lab.

Metal clanged against metal and she froze. Had the shadowy predators awakened? “Stupid imagination,” she muttered. She swept her light across the lab, although it wasn’t bright enough to reach every corner. She’d heard one sharp clank, then nothing. Was someone here? “Jerome?” No way could he have gotten down to the basement and back so quickly. But was that...? She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would sharpen her hearing. Was that someone breathing? Gasping? Her eyes popped open again. Now the only thing she heard was her pulse throbbing in her ears. She wasn’t alone. “Ian? Are you here?”

She pulled her door shut and turned toward Ian’s office at the back of the lab. She’d gone five steps when her hip smacked into the corner of a cart that had rolled out of place. Ignoring the stinging bruise that was already forming, she moved the cart back into its proper position and stepped around it. “Ian?”

Was that what she’d heard? The cart bumping against a table? She knew enough about physics—a lot about physics—to know that the cart hadn’t just moved on its own. Had they had a break-in? Was that why someone would drug Jerome? Why the lights would be out? She quickened her steps, watchful for any other carts jumping out to attack her. There didn’t seem to be anything missing. Although she could imagine Ian had brought his latest conquest here to his office, and they’d knocked into tables and equipment trying to get at each other, unable to keep their hands to themselves until they made it into the privacy of his office. At least, that’s what she imagined a truly passionate encounter to be like. Losing track of space and time, knocking into things, laughing, touching, loving...

Gigi shook those longing thoughts out of her head and concentrated on the facts. A clandestine meeting wouldn’t require flipping the circuit breaker—or drugging the security guard who had no reason to question Ian entering the building, with or without a guest.

“Ian? I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, but if you’re here, answer me.”

Her shoe crunched over broken glass and she stopped. Her blood chilled away that brief shot of annoyance and left fear in its wake. “Ian?”

Something was wrong. Ian might have a weakness for a pretty face, but his pride in his work, maintaining a state-of-the-art showplace and feeding his ego, took second place to nothing and no one. Something was very wrong. “Ian!”

She slid on something slippery and she grabbed a nearby table for balance. This was not good. She pulled her foot up from the goo she’d stepped in, hating the gross, sucking sound it made.

Righting herself against the table, she turned her light to the puddle of red on the floor. A soupy brown liquid coated the top of it. Was that a chemical spill? She couldn’t identify the faint acrid smell that stung her nose. The lab had been in pristine condition when she’d left for the reception. Ian would never allow a mess like this. “Dr. Lombard? Are you in here?”

All at once, the lights kicked on, blinding her momentarily before she blinked her surroundings into focus. Now the damage was clear. She was walking over jagged shards of glass stained with... “Blood.”

She gasped a fearful breath. “Oh, my God. Jerome!” She shouted an alarm for the security guard to return. “We had a break-in!”

As if she could yell loudly enough for him to hear her through steel beams and cinder blocks. Gigi didn’t wait for the guard to come to her rescue. There’d been a struggle here. And someone was hurt.

“Dr. Lombard!”

For a split second she hoped that whoever belonged to this trail of blood had gotten himself to a hospital. But then she heard the sounds coming from Ian’s office. Something falling to the floor. Groans. Curses. Another crash. “Ian!” Gigi punched in 911 and skirted her way around the blood to reach Ian’s office. “Ian? Are you here? Are you all right?”

He wasn’t.

She shoved open the door, dropping her bag to the floor before she raced across the room and knelt beside her boss. “Oh, my God. What happened?”

Ignoring her attempt to get him to lie flat on the floor, he flung his arm up to pull a stack of books off his desk. He cried out when they hit his stomach and fell to the floor. A crumpled notepad dotted with blood lay on the floor next to him, the blood soaking into the paper and blotting out some of the numbers and symbols written there. He pushed away Gigi’s hands and flopped what seemed to be his one functioning arm at the desk again, pulling more things onto himself and the floor.

“Ian, stop. Lie still.” She pushed him onto his back, trying not to gag at the wounds puncturing his tuxedo shirt and turning the white pleats red. He was hurt badly, maybe dying. “What do you need?”

“Pen,” he muttered, spitting blood when he made the p sound. “Find...finish...”

The dispatcher had answered her call and was talking to Gigi on the phone. But she ignored the questions and pulled down a pen from the top of his desk. She pressed it into his hand and tugged a velour throw blanket off the nearby couch, wadding it up to press it against the worst of his wounds. He was weak, but struggling with her, determined to scribble something on the paper beside him.

Gigi punched the speaker button on her phone and set it on the desk, freeing her hands to stanch his wounds. But there were so many. There was so much blood. “Ian? Stay with me.”

“Ma’am?” The dispatcher’s voice was louder now. “Tell me what’s happening. Are you all right?”

Shoving at her glasses to keep them from falling off her nose, Gigi leaned over Ian. She shouted to the dispatcher. “I’m okay. My boss...” She swallowed her panic. She needed to make sense. “There’s been a break-in at the Williams University Technology Lab. My boss, Ian Lombard, he’s been stabbed. He’s bleeding badly.”

So much blood. She could see now that the pool of blood she’d stepped in earlier had become a trail of red dots across the carpet in here, and then a smear that led right to Ian’s desk. He must have been attacked out in the lab, then made his way in here to call for help or to escape his killer or to... “Damn it, Ian, stop messing with that paper.”

“I’ve dispatched an ambulance and the police to your location. Ma’am? I need your name. Can you tell me your name?”

“Virginia Brennan. My friends call me...” She stopped that useless sentence and wiped the perspiration from Ian’s forehead before returning the pressure to his wounds. Not that she could cover them all. But she had to try. “Professor Virginia Brennan. I work with Dr. Lombard. Please hurry.”

The blood was coating his lips now, trickling from his mouth as he tried to say something to her. “Safe...”

“Who did this to you?” Gigi tried to decipher his babble. At least he’d given up on writing his last will and testament or whatever note had been so important that he’d risked his life to put pen to paper instead of calling an ambulance himself. “He’s been stabbed multiple times,” she reported to the dispatcher. “Abdomen and chest. He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“Is the victim awake? Responsive?”

“Must finish...work...” he spat out. “Go...”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised before answering the dispatcher. “He’s conscious. But he’s incoherent. Ian, I don’t understand—”

With a strangled gasp, he grabbed a hank of her long hair and jerked her down to gasp in her ear. “Finish it.”

“Finish what? What are you talking about? You’re not finished.”

He rolled his head from side to side. “Made deal... But I couldn’t... So sorry...”

“Sorry for what? What deal?” His life was seeping through her fingers.

“My prize...” His rheumy eyes tried to focus. “Too damn...smart... Smarter...than me.”

“Don’t talk. Save your strength.” She cursed the urge to cry and extricated his fingers from her hair to speak to the dispatcher. “There are too many wounds. I can’t stop all the bleeding.”

“I thought she...my own fault... You must...”

“An ambulance is on its way.”

“Listen to me!” Fluid bubbled up from his lungs and Gigi’s eyes burned with tears. Help wouldn’t get here in time. Where was Jerome? Where was that stupid ambulance? “Take...” He wadded up the paper he’d scribbled all over and, with a monumental effort, dragged his hand onto his stomach, nudging it into her blood-stained fingers. “For you... Trust no one...” She glanced down at the words that were so important to him and saw nothing but random letters and numbers. “Finish...”

“Finish what?” Gigi whipped her gaze around the room, desperate for help. “Help me!”

“You’ll...understand...”

“Understand what?” When he kept batting against her hand, she took the paper and stuffed it into the pocket of her sweater. But even in those few seconds that she’d eased the pressure on his wounds, his eyes drifted shut. “No! Ian!”

She patted his cheek, urging him to open his eyes again, mindless of the bloody fingerprints she left on his skin. “Stay with me.”

But he was gone.

Ian Lombard was dead.

Gigi sat back on her heels, eyeing her soiled hands, feeling the tears burn down her cheeks. She heard someone hurrying through the lab behind her. Help. At last. “In here!” She turned her head, catching a shadowy movement from the corner of her eye. “Jerome—”

Pain exploded in her skull. Her glasses flew off and she crumpled to the floor beside the dead man. The room spun and blackness consumed her.

Chapter Two

“Whose honor were you defending this time?”

Detective Hudson Kramer touched his bruised knuckles to his lips, wiping away the blood that trickled down his unshaven chin, and gave his amused partner the stink eye. He stepped away from the two dazed men lying in a puddle on the asphalt. “Make yourself useful and get out your handcuffs.”

At least Keir Watson had had the good grace to even the odds in this lame excuse for a back-alley brawl behind the Shamrock Bar where Hud had been plying his dubious charm on a pretty blonde. He’d had about twenty minutes of doing all right for a thirty-two-year-old whose only luck with women was the bad kind. Twenty minutes of thinking he wasn’t going straight to the friend zone and that she might just say yes if he asked her out on a real date and kissed her good-night. Twenty minutes of sharing laughs and feeling like his luck just might be changing until Stinky Smith here and his wingman, I’m-With-Stupid Jones, decided that loud and drunk and hitting on anything with boobs was going to get them laid tonight.

Hud had been content to let the bartender handle the rowdy pair—a bar frequented by local cops rarely needed a bouncer on duty—until Smith and Jones had lurched over to his table, sat down on either side of Ricki and proceeded to horn in on the blonde and her drink. Hud had politely asked the two drunks to leave. But polite had no effect on their beer-soaked brains, and when one of them draped his arm around Ricki and her smile turned to a look of panic, Hud stepped up to get the job done.

“I identified myself as a cop,” Hud assured his friend, hauling the guy who’d taken a swing at him to his feet. Although polar opposites in dress and demeanor, Keir Watson was as close to Hud as his own brother—the entire Watson clan made Hud feel like part of the family, especially now that his own siblings had found their hearts’ desires away from Kansas City. So, he took great pleasure in flicking at the grime that dusted the damp lapel of Keir’s preppie suit before pulling his own cuffs out of the back pocket of his jeans and slapping them on the bruiser with more muscles than brains. “I escorted these gentlemen out the back door, offered to call a cab for them, warned them I’d cite them for drunk and disorderly...” He cinched the cuff around Stinky’s other wrist, securing them without being too tight. He looked up into Stinky’s unfocused eyes, making sure the young man understood they were going for a walk. “Then this bozo thought taking a swing at me was a good idea.”

Hud had stopped growing when he hit five foot eight. Despite his lack of height, a combination of martial arts and weight training often gave him an advantage over larger opponents in a fight. Besides, he didn’t have to be as street smart as life and his years as a detective with KCPD made him in order to outwit these two.

“But you escorted them out of the bar because...?” Keir was still trying to push his buttons as he followed Hud with his prisoner. They escorted them to the end of the alley where a uniformed officer would meet them with a black-and-white to drive the two perps down to the precinct to sleep off their out-of-control drunkenness. “I know there’s a woman involved.”

“Give it a rest, Keir. Jesse the bartender cut them off, and they got a little surly. When I asked for their ID, they started to raise a ruckus. I was not counting on...” Hud bit back a curse when his prisoner weaved to the side, doubling over to retch behind a row of trash cans that had been knocked over in their scuffle. “You okay, bud? Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Stinky drawled. Feeling a touch more sober, he stopped and tried to take stock of his surroundings. “Where’s Danny? He didn’t make it with that blonde, did he?”

Danny must be the guy in the prophetic I’m With Stupid T-shirt. He perked up at the mention of his name. “What blonde? Did I get her number?”

Keir laughed. “I knew there’d be a blonde. Now this little fracas is starting to make sense.” He grinned at Hud. “They said something crude. You took exception. When you asked them to leave, they didn’t cooperate. So, you encouraged them to do so. Is that about right?”

Hudson grumbled a curse at just how well his partner knew him.

They cleared the alley and headed toward the circle of light beneath a lamppost to wait for the black-and-white to pull up. “What’s your friend’s name, Danny?” Keir asked.

“Kyle.” Danny stumbled as he tried to turn and get a look at the detective in the suit and tie. “Who are you?”

“I’m the police, Danny. Detectives Watson and Kramer. Remember?” Keir’s patience in explaining the situation to the two men who likely wouldn’t remember much of this encounter made Hud shake his head. “You’re both going to spend the night in jail. You understand that, right?”

“Am I drunk?” Kyle asked, staggering ahead of Hud.

“Yep,” Hud assured him. When they reached the lamppost, he turned the young hotshot so he could sit on the concrete barrier beside it. “You’re going to be a little sore in the morning. I had to twist your arm and put you down on the ground to get you to stop trying to hit me.”

“I hit you?”

“Lucky punch,” Hud conceded.

“Did Danny hit you?”

“I doubt it,” Keir answered, helping Danny sit before he fell. “He’ll be a little sore, too. He tripped over the two of you and face-planted the asphalt before I could catch him.”

Kyle appeared to be nodding off. Hud gently tapped his cheek to force his bleary eyes open. “You don’t talk to a lady like that again. You don’t touch her unless you have permission. You don’t drink so much you can’t even tell me your name. And you sure as hell don’t get behind the wheel of a car when you’re like this.” Hud reached around Kyle and pulled his wallet from his jeans. “Let’s try this one more time. I’m Detective Kramer, KCPD. I’m going to check your ID. You got any weapons, sharp objects, drugs on you?”

“I don’t think so.” Kyle answered while Hud read his name off his license. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“For being a dumb ass?” He tucked the billfold into Kyle’s chest pocket as a pair of uniformed officers pulled up in their vehicle. “You’re not worth the paperwork. Just be safe. And be smarter about how much you’re drinking next time.”

After the uniforms drove away with the two drunks, Keir stepped back into the end of the alley beside him. “So you got those two idiots safely out of the bar and off the streets. How’d you make out with the pretty blonde they were so rude to?”

Hud swore again. “Ricki. I left her alone.” He checked his watch as he retreated toward the Shamrock’s back door. “I’ve been gone twenty-five minutes. You got this?”

He barely saw Keir’s nod before he ran back inside the Shamrock. By the time he cleared the polished walnut bar with its green vinyl seats and zeroed in on the empty table where he’d left Ricki, there was no point in hurrying. The only thing he could cuddle up with there was his worn leather jacket. A quick scan of the remaining patrons at the tables and pool tables told him his “date” had left.

He turned to the bearded bartender in the leather vest, hoping Jesse Valentine would tell him she’d just stepped into the ladies’ room. Jesse gave him an apologetic smirk. “Sorry, man. She got on her phone almost as soon as you went outside with the Blunder Twins. A guy showed up about five minutes ago. She left with him.”

Propping his hands at his waist, Hud tipped his face to the tin-tiled ceiling and let the suckage of this particular Friday night wash over him. He’d often been the friend his sisters or another woman called for that safe ride home. The irony of being the man the woman no longer wanted to hang out with wasn’t lost on him.

He startled at Keir’s hand on his shoulder before his partner pulled him back to the bar. Keir asked for a glass of ice water. He dipped his handkerchief inside and handed it to Hud to press against his mouth. “Everything all right?”

“You know, I gave up the prime of my dating life to raise my younger brother and sisters.” Hud perched on a stool and held the cold cloth to his split lip. “I don’t regret it for one second. We needed each other after Mom and Dad died. I was going to keep the family together, no matter what. But now they’ve all got college degrees and careers. They’re engaged or married and starting families, and I can’t catch a break with a woman now that I’m available and ready for some action.”

“Ready for some action? Seriously?” Keir pulled out the stool beside him but waved off Jesse’s offer of his regular drink. “Please don’t tell me that’s a line you’ve used.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“You’ve got no game, my friend.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Seriously, dude.” Keir clapped him on the shoulder to take the sting out of his words. “If she stood you up while you were taking care of business, then she’s not the one for you.”

Small comfort. Lonesome was lonesome. And Hud had spent far too many nights on his own or with a woman who wasn’t the one for him.

The fact that Keir had ventured out into the earlier rainstorm on their night off and wasn’t drinking pricked at Hud’s suspicions, giving him a respite from his pissy mood. It was no coincidence that his partner had come to the Shamrock looking for him. Something must be up at work, especially since he had a beautiful wife and baby girl waiting for him at home. Hud pulled out his wallet and asked Jesse how much he owed for the warm, half-drunk beers at his table.

“They’re on the house,” the bartender assured him, refusing his money. “Thanks for clearing out the riffraff.”

There were any number of things he’d rather be doing tonight than working, and all of them had to do with a woman. But since there were none in his life, he turned his attention to his partner. If something was wrong with the family, Keir would have mentioned it right away. This was KCPD business. Hud pushed to his feet and pocketed Keir’s soiled handkerchief before crossing the noisy bar to his table. “Why aren’t you home with Kenna making goo-goo eyes at that new baby of yours? I know you didn’t drop by just to back me up with Stupid and Stupider.”

Keir followed. “That new baby is six months old and you haven’t visited your goddaughter in two weeks, Uncle Hud.”

His mood brightened by the mention of his goddaughter. Hud grinned as he tucked in his flannel shirt and adjusted the gun holstered on his belt. “Lilly’s eyes still as blue as the sky?”

“Now that’s the line you ought to use,” Keir teased. “She’s as beautiful as her mother. Just as headstrong, too.”

Hud pictured Keir’s wife, a former criminal defense attorney turned county prosecutor who enjoyed the well-earned professional nickname, The Terminator, and laughed. “I bet she is. Hey, if you and Kenna need a night out on your own, all you have to do is call Uncle Hud, and I’d be happy to come babysit that sweet little angel.”

“I will take you up on that offer,” Keir said. “But not tonight.”

“I take it we caught a case?”

Keir nodded. “Murder. One of the professors over at Williams U was found dead in his lab. Multiple stab wounds. B shift is short staffed, and this is a high-profile enough victim that the captain wants us to get the investigation started ASAP.”

“High profile?” Hud shrugged into his jacket, his personal life pushed aside at the urgency of those first few hours in a murder investigation.

“It might be related to that bombing we had downtown this past summer.”

“When the Lukinburg royalty was in town?”

Keir nodded. “The professor’s lab is funded by the Lukin government. Not sure if the two incidents are related, but Captain Hendricks wants us to check it out. You up to working on a Friday night?”

“Well, I’m not going home to snore in my recliner, watch TV and feel sorry for myself.”

“Good man. I’ll drive.” Keir buttoned his jacket and headed for the door.

Hud tossed a tip on the table for the waitress and followed his partner out into the night. “Works for me.”

FORENSIC EVIDENCE WAS in plentiful supply at the crime scene. But it was up to Hud, Keir and the crime lab to make sense of it.

While the medical examiner rolled the victim to the elevator in a body bag, Hud pulled a pair of disposable foot covers over his work boots and squatted down to inspect the broken glass and paperwork tossed around the pool of blood in Ian Lombard’s office. Clearly, there’d been quite a fight in the lab—one that had probably started out there, then ended in the office. Judging by the blood trail, Lombard had been stabbed repeatedly before dragging himself back here.

But why? To reach the phone? There were plenty of bloody fingerprints and smears around the desk, but none on the phone itself. Even though there was no evidence that he’d made a call, Hud scribbled a reminder in his notebook to pull the local usage details on Lombard’s office, home and cell numbers. If nothing else, an earlier call might give them a clue as to who he’d been meeting on campus after hours.

The man must have been expecting company, judging by the two untouched shot glasses and pricey bottle of rye whiskey sitting on the coffee table in front of the leather couch. The bottle still had a red wax seal over the lid, indicating Lombard and his guest hadn’t gotten around to pouring drinks. Had his killer been here to make a business deal? Was someone offering money for or demanding results from his research? Murder was one way to resolve a disagreement in terms—or to ensure a deal before those terms could be changed.

And if the victim hadn’t been trying to reach the phone to call for help, then what had he been after? Why not use the cell phone linked to his name to call 911? Why not crawl to the door and shout for the guard downstairs to help him? Or trip the security alarm? The guard had indicated that opening any of these doors without the right card swipe and passcode would trigger an alarm at the security desk and at the campus security office. And why hadn’t the guard responded to a brawl of this magnitude in the first place? The guy would have to be deaf not to hear the shattering glass and shifting of furniture and equipment.

Hud studied a neat, rectangular void in the blood pool. On a hunch, he pulled his own cell phone from his pocket and held it over the empty spot, confirming his suspicions before snapping a picture.

Keir appeared in the doorway, pausing to pull on his own shoe covers. “Find something?”

“Lombard’s cell phone is missing, right?”

His partner crossed the room. “The ME couldn’t find it anywhere on him. Just his wallet, watch and his glasses case. He had a wad of cash on him, so I think we can rule out a robbery. Although, I don’t know what half that equipment out there is for. Something could be missing. We’ll need to talk to someone on his staff.”

Hud pointed to the open safe and file cabinet in the corner. “Those drawers don’t hold anything but personnel files and student records. The safe has been ransacked, but the perp left a box of rocks behind.”

“A box of rocks?”

Hud had been skeptical, too, until he opened the container and read the packing slip inside. “Gold rocks. The university shipped it in from Lukinburg. Over twelve thousand dollars’ worth. Apparently, there’s some science-y thing they do with it.”

Keir let out a low whistle. “So, we’re not looking at a robbery. Still, either the perp knew the combination to that safe or Lombard opened it before he was killed.”

“Or he was forced to open it. Maybe the perp didn’t find what he wanted and lost his temper.”

“Could this be industrial espionage?”

“Possibly. We’ll need to check Lombard’s computer, broaden our search for missing flash drives.” Hud pushed to his feet. “Check out that void. It’s the same size as my phone.”

“You think the killer stole Lombard’s phone? Would it have a big enough memory to store his research data?”

“I’m not tech savvy enough to know. But it could hold contact information that identifies the killer, or something else incriminating, like a picture or text.” Stepping across the spot where Dr. Lombard had died, Hud pointed to a second, much smaller stain several feet from where the body had been found. “What do you make of that? I’m wondering if the killer got hurt, too. That happens a lot with stabbings. We might get DNA.”

Keir checked his notes. “The security guard seems to think it’s from the witness.”

“We have a witness?” Hud’s job just got simpler if they could get a description of what had happened or who the perp might be.

Keir’s weary sigh blew the idea of simpler out of the water. Apparently, nothing was going to come easy for Hud tonight. “One of the lab staff found Lombard before he died. Called 911 and tried to administer first aid.”

“Any dying declarations from the victim?”

“Haven’t talked to her yet. The paramedics are checking her out. Blow to the head. She’s lucky she’s not dead, too, walking into the middle of a crime like that.”

Her. She. Apprehension knotted in his gut. “My luck with women hasn’t been stellar lately. Why don’t you handle the witness interviews. I’ll stay up here and see if I can find whatever was used as the murder weapon.”

“Unless the killer took that with him, too.”

Hud nodded at the possibility, if not probability, that he wouldn’t find the weapon here. If the killer had been clearheaded enough to pick up the victim’s cell phone, then he wouldn’t forget to take the murder weapon. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

Keir pocketed his notebook. “I need to finish up with Officer Galbreath. Have him run me through the security system. A lot of it’s computerized, apparently. He showed me where he reset the breaker in the basement after the power outage.”

“Give me a good gun and a guard dog any day over all that high-tech mumbo jumbo,” Hud grumbled. “It’s too easy to hack into or override a system and cover up any sign of what’s been done. I hate all those nano-bits sneaking around behind my back.”

“This is the school of technology,” Keir reminded him with a teasing grin. “Not everybody’s as old-fashioned as you are, my friend.”

“Have I told you to bite me lately?”

“Not for an hour or so.”

Hud made an exaggerated show of typing the reminder into his phone. “I’ll add looking for a way to overload the circuitry while I’m up here.”

“Maybe our witness can help with that. Besides giving us a rundown on anything that might be missing.” Keir backed toward the hallway. “I can talk to her as soon as I’m done with Galbreath and the medics clear her.” He hesitated a moment, wanting to say something more.

“What?”

“You know I was just giving you grief at the Shamrock earlier. Don’t give up on the idea of finding the right woman. Other than Dad, you’re the babysitter Kenna trusts most with Lilly. And look at Millie—she’s practically adopted you because she thinks you’re a prize.” A married woman, a baby and Keir’s stepgrandmother. Yeah, Hud had a real prowess with women, so long as they were taken, under the age of two or over seventy-five. “Don’t let the fact that this witness is a woman get in your head. You won’t screw anything up by talking to her.”

“Not tonight.” Hud combed his fingers through his hair, then shook it back into its spiky disarray. His heart and his ego had taken one too many hits lately to trust that he wouldn’t scare off a fragile woman with the wrong word or stupid impulse. “I’ll owe you a solid if you take this interview for me.”

Keir considered the bargain for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll ask one of the unis to hold her until I’m done with Galbreath. He’s retired KCPD, so his testimony should be reliable. But...”

But was not an encouraging word. “But what?”

“Galbreath claims he might have been drugged. He insists that no one could have gotten in or out of Lombard’s lab and office without a key card and passcode, even with the power off. I’ll ask him to report to the crime lab for a blood draw. See if there’s anything in his system.”

Relieved to be focusing on the case and not his own shortcomings again, Hud exhaled a measured breath. “That would explain why he didn’t see or hear anything. Lombard must have known his killer if he loaned him a key card or brought him in with him. Sounds like premeditation to me if the killer knew to take out the guard, and how to get around the security system.” He surveyed the trashed lab, shaking his head. “This mess looks like a disagreement that got way out of hand, though. Impulsive, not planned.”

“Maybe the guard’s covering for falling asleep on the job. I’ll press him on it, see if I can get him to admit anything.” Keir paused in the doorway and turned. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

Wasn’t that the irony of the evening? Hud snickered a wry laugh and waved his partner out the door. “I’ll manage.”

“The ME will run a full autopsy, but he says the victim probably died from exsanguination, either from the multiple wounds, or one that nicked an artery or internal organ. He suspects we’re looking for something long, sharp and jagged. Probably not an actual knife.” Hud had suspected as much. He was looking for a weapon of opportunity. Unfortunately, the lab had plenty of possibilities. “Should I send the CSIs up?”

Hud nodded, already spotting something he wanted to investigate. “Yeah. We’ll need a team to clear this place.”

Keir left to meet up with the security guard who was waiting downstairs with the uniformed officers who’d cordoned off the building. Meanwhile, Hud squatted down to snap a picture of glass shards from several beakers and a door that had shattered when a stainless steel table had tipped over into the storage cabinet where they were shelved. If there was a longer piece, it might do as a murder weapon. He’d ask the lab techs to collect the glass and piece it back together to see if a big enough sliver was missing.

He moved on to a narrow tube of steel sticking out from beneath a metal cart. A Bunsen burner. It had a long cylindrical shape with a ridged rim at the top that could account for a jagged entry wound if the killer was strong enough to drive the blunt tip through the skin. The scattered drips of blood dotting the debris that had spilled out of the cabinet and off metal trays from the table were cast-off drops, not indicators that any of these items were the actual weapon. But there were dozens of possibilities littered throughout the lab. Scissors. Giant tweezers. Even some of the knobs on this equipment could be broken off and used to stab someone.

Hud was photographing the possibilities of a good, old-fashioned toolbox that lay open on the floor inside a storage closet when he heard someone softly clearing her throat at the open doorway.

“Good. I can use the backup,” he answered. “All I’m doing is taking pictures. I haven’t touched anything. I’ll be done with my initial scan in a few minutes.” He dropped to his knees to count the number of screwdrivers in the top tray of the toolbox. “The number-one thing we need to find is the murder weapon. You can start in the office.”

“Okay,” a soft voice answered. He heard tentative footsteps, as if the CSI was tiptoeing around the evidence scattered across the floor.

Okay? No warnings about detectives disturbing potential clues and giving orders? No complaints about already having to wait for the ME and how the clock was ticking away on their Friday night plans?

Hud turned his head toward the unexpected acquiescence in that one word.

From this vantage point near the floor, all he saw were a pair of killer black high-heeled pumps. He frowned. What crime-scene technician reported for duty dressed like that? Hud sat back on his heels. “Where are your booties?”

The sexy heels stopped. “Booties?”

With a tabletop of equipment and half the lab between them, his view of the woman hadn’t improved much. And yet, the scenery had improved in a way that stirred a heated interest in his blood.

Through the open space beneath the table, the high heels connected to bare legs that went up and up. He took in miles of creamy skin stretched tautly over strong calves. A sweet curve at the knee. His gaze traveled three or four inches higher until he finally ran into a hem of shimmery black material. For a man who was vertically challenged, he’d never had a problem admiring legs that were long and lean and...

There was a smear of blood on her left thigh. A circle of crimson darkened the sequins above the smear. The observation splashed cold water on the awareness sizzling through him. Blood on her skin, but no sign of a cut or scrape. Not her blood, he hoped. “Ma’am, do you have authorization to be in here?”

“The officer downstairs said the detectives wanted to talk to me.”

“Ah, hell.” Hud pocketed his phone and pushed to his feet. “Don’t move.”

His initial fascination with those sexy legs dampened with a tinge of concern and anger. This must be the witness, the woman who’d found Ian Lombard and tried to save him. Somehow, she’d missed connecting with Keir. As he rose, he finished his assessment of the woman’s appearance. The cream-colored sweater she wore was stretched out of shape and spotted with more blood. The sweater was pulled tight over the flare of her hips. The front overlapped and was held in place by tightly crossed arms. The rolled-up cuffs were stained with blood, too. In her fingers, she clutched an ice pack.

His gaze finally reached a long strand of straight, brick red hair, caught in the clasp of her arms across her chest. Then he saw the swanlike neck, the gently pointed chin, the glasses over dove-gray eyes and... Any lingering lust burned completely out of his system as recognition kicked in with a vengeance. He was embarrassed that he’d ogled her like that for even one moment. That he’d equated sexy with any part of her.

This woman was a nerdy mix of brains and class. She was awkwardly shy, too complicated for him to fully understand and not anybody he should be getting hot and bothered over. And she had absolutely no business showing up at his crime scene covered in blood.

“What the hell?” Gigi Brennan’s was not the face he was expecting to see. “What are you doing here?”

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