“I’m not at liberty to discuss details at this point.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought the FBI was trying to leave behind its reputation for trampling all over local PDs to snag a case.”

Nice try. “I have no intention of trampling over anyone or snagging your case, Detective.”

Torgerson didn’t look convinced.

“Is it possible for me to visit the crime scene?” he asked.

The detective shrugged. “Sure. There isn’t much to see though. No struggle. Guy died in bed. He’s at the morgue.”

“Get the ME to do a full tox panel and put a rush on it.”

The detective tipped her head to the side, and her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because if that young woman’s defense,” he pointed dispassionately through the window at Darby as if he hadn’t held her in his arms while she cried, “is that she can’t remember anything, you better damn well have run blood work looking for any chemical traces of drugs in both their systems.”

The detective pulled a face. “Fine.” She pulled out her cell phone and spoke to the medical examiner. While she did so, Eban watched through the window as Darby spoke to the lawyer.

The guy was handsome, polished and assured. Mid-thirties. His suit probably cost more than Eban’s car. Blond, chiseled, built. Eban fought against the natural inclination to hate the guy. Defense attorneys were never flavor-of-the-month within law enforcement circles even though they were a necessary evil.

Eban texted Haley to tell her that her guard dog had arrived. The lawyer better be as good as he obviously thought he was. Knowing Haley Cramer and her protective feelings toward Darby, the guy was probably the best damn criminal defense attorney in the entire state, if not the entire west coast.

Darby was going to need him.

He squashed his protective instincts. As much as Eban wanted to go in and comfort Darby, as much as he wanted to hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be okay, he couldn’t show his hand to the police here. Not until they were as convinced as he was that, unless her life depended on it, Darby O’Roarke would never hurt a fly.

He turned to the detective who had zeal and determination oozing out of every pore. “Let’s go.”

Leaving Darby in another man’s capable hands and hating himself for failing her all over again.

Chapter Three

Darby tried to hide her disappointment that the man who entered the room wasn’t Eban. The relief at hearing Eban’s voice over the intercom had hit her like a cataclysm. She hadn’t realized how desperate she was for a friend, but he was here now. Hopefully, vouching for the fact that she wasn’t a homicidal maniac, at least, not under normal circumstances.

She was a good person. Wasn’t she?

The lawyer—because who else dressed that elegantly in this climate?—stared at her steadily and she stared back.

Was he looking for signs of guilt or signs of innocence? She didn’t know what happened last night so had no idea how she was supposed to act. Presumably she’d been the one to kill Martin and that terrible possibility threatened to obliterate everything she’d thought she’d known about herself.