“He didn’t want to worry her any more.”

Brody’s gaze sharpened. “Is everything OK with you?”

“Sure.” She avoided his gaze.

Brody’s eyes doubted her answer. “It’s not like you to be late with a form, let alone a qualification. You’re usually disgustingly punctual and efficient about these things.”

She smiled, but the effort felt weak. “I’m not used to juggling so many cases.”

Brody stopped her with a hand on her elbow, turning her to face him. “Do not hesitate to call me if you need help, and I’m not talking about the cases.”

“Thanks.” She turned her back on Brody’s stare and bolted toward her cubicle. She hadn’t fooled him. He knew something was wrong. She added a trip to the firing range to her to-do list. She’d have to go at closing, when no one else would be there. Spectators didn’t help.

At her desk, she reviewed Dena’s cell phone call log. Adam, the spa, the physical therapist’s office. Adam again. She highlighted an unidentified number, then continued down the list to the previous day. A few numbers that needed to be traced. More calls to and from the husband. Many more.

Odd.

Making a notation, Stella scanned Dena’s contact list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except for her very long list of doctors, but that wasn’t unexpected from a person who’d suffered a debilitating injury.

Stella moved on to Missy’s phone, which had only a few contacts. Stella matched a few numbers to the short list that had been on Missy’s refrigerator. Wait. Stella recognized the next number. She pulled out her own phone to double check.

Gianna Leone was one of Stella’s former informants. Gianna had also kicked a drug addiction, which could explain the connection between her and Missy.

Knowing exactly where she could find Gianna later that morning, Stella gathered her files and contemplated snagging a uniformed officer to go with her for her first interview. But a uniform affected the way people reacted during questioning. Some would talk more, others less, but in general, it put them on guard. They never forgot they were talking to a cop. Stella had already found in her six months as a detective that she could get people to say things they never would have blabbed if she was in uniform.

“Detective Dane.” An administrative assistant waved a yellow clasp envelope at her. “This came for you.”

Stella turned the envelope over in her hands. No return address. Stella’s name and rank and the address of the police station had been printed on an adhesive label.