You’re a mess, she thought. Look at that hair.

She grabbed a brush and tried to straighten out the sleep tangles. Not that she wanted to impress New York City Police Detective Third Grade William Matthews with her looks—far from it—but she at least wanted to look presentable.

Another glance in the mirror, then a shrug—What are you going to do? You can only work with what you’ve got.

She went back to the apartment door and opened it. She could hear the detective’s footsteps on the stairs as he worked his way up. Finally his head appeared above the landing. His face was red, and his overcoat was draped over his shoulder. He stopped and stared at her.

“How many times a day do you do this?” he said, puffing.

“At least four.”

He climbed the final steps and shuffled toward her.

“You must be in great shape.”

Alicia smiled. “My personal stair master.”

Living in a fourth-floor walk-up had its drawbacks—moving in had been utterly exhausting, and it was a pain when she had packages, but she wouldn’t trade the studio area and its skylights for anything.

The detective stopped at her threshold. “May I?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back.

As he passed, Alicia saw how his blond hair was receding above the temples on both sides. She hadn’t noticed that yesterday. Probably because he kept it cut so short. Even so, he still had a boyish look, especially when he smiled. Tall, good build, clear skin with ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes. Most women probably found him irresistible.

Not Alicia.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” she said as she closed the door and turned to face him. “Something wrong?”

Look casual, she told herself. Caaaasual… relaaaaxed.

“Yes, and no.” He looked around, as if searching for a place to put his coat. Alicia said nothing. Don’t ask him in. She didn’t want him getting too comfortable.

“About yesterday?”

“Right. Floyd Stevens, the man you charged with molesting that child, he’s making threatening noises.”

“From jail?”

“Oh, he’s not in jail. His lawyer got bail set, and he was home in time for dinner.”

Damn! She’d hoped he’d have to spend at least one night in a cell with other lowlifes like himself. She’d heard jailbirds tended to get a little rough with child molesters.

“Great,” she said. “So he’s out on the street where he can make threats and hunt other little kids. What a system.”

“Actually, he’s not making threats—his lawyer is.”

Alicia stiffened. “About what? About finding his pervo client with his hand down a little girl’s pants? Fondling a four-year-old’s genitals?”

“Well, of course, he says his client did no such thing, that you were completely mistaken and physically assaulted poor Mr. Stevens without the slightest provocation.”

“Just what you’d expect a lawyer to say.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yeah, but what?” Alicia swallowed. Her tongue felt like crepe paper. “You’re not buying that, are you?”

“No. But I gotta tell you, Kanessa Jackson is no help. That little girl is a ball of confusion.”