The patrol officer climbed out of his vehicle. He was easily six-foot-seven, and when he placed his hat on his head, he looked like a giant. He nodded to Eban before trudging off into the woods.

“Anything else before we proceed, SSA Winters?” The detective’s tone was waspish.

“No, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he stepped around her and headed toward the front steps, being sure to avoid treading in any footprints or tire impressions on the frozen ground.

The great thing about being a negotiator was knowing exactly what to say to get the reaction he wanted. Usually, he was hoping to diffuse a situation. Today, he was intentionally ruffling the feathers of this female detective. It wasn’t exactly fair, but these were not ordinary circumstances. Darby O’Roarke was not an ordinary woman. She was not the usual suspect.

To say she’d suffered was an understatement, but it was more than that. She was good. Good down to her bones, and he’d stake his life on her innocence. If she’d killed this guy, she’d had a valid reason, but Eban hoped he could prove someone else had done it.

And neither he, nor his boss, wanted anyone else to know that was the true reason he was here, since both their careers were at stake.

Chapter Four

Detective Torgerson preceded Eban up onto the porch which creaked with each step. At the top, they both pulled paper booties over their footwear. Inside, a box of protective gloves sat on a chair beside a coat rack. She offered him the box, and he took a couple.

“Have the crime scene techs already finished processing the scene?” he asked, snapping the latex into place.

Detective Torgerson massaged her fingers as if to get the blood flowing again before pulling on the thin barrier. “Fingerprint guy was here and dusted. The bedding was taken for DNA analysis as soon as the body was transported.”

He wanted someone in here with a bottle of Luminol looking for signs that someone had cleaned up body fluids or moved the body. Maybe the detective was planning to come back later when it was dark to carry out that test.

“Suspect says she woke up on the couch.”

Eban clamped down on his resentment at the term. He looked at the rumpled blanket piled on one end of the worn leather couch and pushed aside the competing sense of relief that raced through him.

Darby had slept on the couch.

He wasn’t allowed to be jealous. He’d made his choice and had to live with it. More importantly, he needed to concentrate on the situation at hand. Even so, something inside him eased.

A man’s coat was thrown over one chair arm.

“Did you go through that jacket?”

The detective frowned. “Now you mention it, I don’t think so.”

“Shall we?”

She gave an annoyed shrug.

“Any drug use known for the victim?”

Torgerson’s expression shut down. “No record of anything.”