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“Maybe.” She considers it. She moves to the living room, peeking around without touching. I wish she’d shown this much self-restraint in the bathroom.
I join her in the small living room, tiptoeing around dog toys and stray shoes. My shoe gets caught in the pile of clothes on the ground and they might be alive because it seems like they are getting tighter. I twist, trying to free myself, but it only makes matters worse.
The room tilts and then I faceplant on the floor, landing at Amelia’s feet.
“Caleb?” Amelia asks curiously looking down at me.
I got taken down by dirty laundry. Amelia Quinn is chaos.
“I told you it was a hazard,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I anticipated. “You’re a hazard, Amelia.”
Tears pool in her blue eyes and I immediately regret my choice of words. Yes, she’s a hazard, but she’s also human. And her ex-fiancé just died in her apartment.
“I know.” She crumples to the floor beside me, tears streaming down her face.
My reaction is instinctive. I pull her to me, tucking her into my side as she cries. And there’s nothing I can do except lay there and hold her. I cradle her head, rubbing her back as she sobs. She’s in shock. But most importantly, she’s in danger. And I never want to let her go.
“Police! Hands in the air.”
I guess I’ll be letting her go after all.
“I’m the one who called you.” I bark at the police officer who looks barely older than a teenager as he tightens the cuffs on my wrists.
The detective marches by. “You claim to be with the FBI but carry no ID?”
I flex my hands until the cuffs dig into my wrists. “I told you, I was in a hurry to get here for Amelia and left it in my truck. If you would let me go—”
“We’re not letting you go,” he snaps.
Amelia, who is not being detained by handcuffs but has been relegated to the kitchen table, pipes up. “He didn’t kill Justin. I called him first.”
The detective turns a glare on Amelia. “I’ll get to you, and your assistance with the crime scene in a moment.”
The door bursts open. It’s been doing that a lot in the last five minutes. Police. How helpful they’ve been. EMT’s. Unnecessary. A medical examiner, and crime scene detectives. But this time it’s someone useful.
“Cruz,” I say her name like a song of praise.
“Who are you?” the detective barks.
“FBI.” Cruz holds up her ID. At least someone was thinking. “I can vouch for him. He’s my partner. And the dead guy is connected to an ongoing investigation.”
I never told her my suspicions that Amelia’s ex may somehow be connected to our case. Does she know something I don’t, or is she saving my butt here?
The preteen cop snickers. “Case closed.”
I wish. I have a sinking feeling that this is only the beginning.
“What happened?” Cruz asks.
The detective motions her to the bathroom.
“Hey, kid,” I say to the younger police officer. “Get these off, please.”
He debates for a minute before getting the key and opening them. I rub my wrists as I join the already full bathroom.
“Was he drowned?” Cruz asks.
The detective glares at me before answering. I’m not sure why he hates me so much. Maybe because he found Amelia and I in a semi-compromising position at a crime scene. Surely he’s walked in on worse.
