Demonstrating his attacker’s actions, he held his right hand at shoulder level. “He held the light here, out to the side and pointed down. If I hadn’t ducked, the shots would have hit me square in the chest. A fraction more to the right, and this one would have knocked me out, at the very least. I don’t think he expected me to survive, much less return fire. I fired to the left of the light and hit nothing. When I fired right at it, he dropped it and ran, probably realizing that the shots would bring you guys running.”
“So you think he’s a pro?”
“Or a former cop. At least he’s someone who’s pretty good at his job. And there’s a good chance he’s left-handed.”
Daniel nodded. “The knife entered the right side of David’s body, low, an upward thrust.”
Ray pressed his fingers to his skull again, and they came away only slightly sticky. “That’s a combat move. Misses the ribs and goes straight to the heart.”
“But to complete that move, wouldn’t he have twisted the knife and pulled it back out? Why didn’t he take the knife?”
Ray shook his head. “I thought about that. Not sure. But I bet we don’t find any prints.” He gestured down the tunnel. “My guess is that’s our killer.”
“So David lets him in—or maybe them—in the back door because he knows them. They kill him, but then they hear June drive up. You know that old Corvette of hers needs a new muffler.”
“And a transmission.”
Ray went on, his words picking up speed. “One takes off across the yard, while the other one heads down here, giving himself more time to get away. If a pro had to run, he may have not wanted to take a chance of getting caught with the knife.”
“So you’re convinced this wasn’t a botched robbery or home invasion.”
Ray shook his head. “Whoever it was came specifically to kill David Gallagher.”
“He just didn’t expect June to show up.”
Ray nodded. “She made him get sloppy.” He paused. “You did send someone to the other end of the tunnel?”
“The minute we heard the shots. June told us the tunnel came out at the spring house. I sent the rest of the crew there. Carter was already out in the crowd out front, so I put him on point.”
Ray scowled. “Who’s watching June? She’s still officially a suspect.”
Daniel glanced down, his lips twitching slightly. “The coroner was there, but I…uh…I handcuffed her to the kitchen cabinet in case the coroner needed to leave.”
Ray’s eyebrows arched as an image of exactly how well that idea must have gone over flashed through his mind. “I’m glad you’re the one married to her sister.”
“Well…”
“Well, what?”
“The handcuffs weren’t just to keep her away from the evidence. They were to keep her from coming down here. She heard the shots and took off for that ladder. I almost had to tackle her to keep her out of here.”
Ray stared at his young deputy. His racing thoughts stalled for the first time as conflicting emotions and images swirled through his head and heart. June, his suspect—his lovely, brown-haired, blue-eyed suspect—had stood terrified and trembling over David’s body. Yet when gunshots rang out, her instinct had been to run toward him…and into potential danger. What is going on with her?
Ray wrestled his thoughts about June aside, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “Let’s go upstairs and soothe the ruffled feathers.”
“You need a doctor for that wound.”
Ray turned and headed toward the ladder. “I’m not dying. First things first. Let’s clear the crime scene, then I’ll go over and have them stitch this up.”
They headed upstairs to find that the kitchen held only the coroner and her assistant. A pair of handcuffs dangled from one cabinet’s door handle. Ray glared at Daniel, who said weakly, “We have her car blocked in. She couldn’t have gone very far.”
“June!” Ray bellowed suddenly, almost amused at how Daniel jumped.
“What?”
The quiet question came from behind them, and they turned to see June, wiping her hands on a small towel.
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “How did you—”
“Why are you bleeding?” June stared at the side of his head. “Did you get shot?”
“I’m fine. Answer my question.”
“You’re not fine. You have a hole in the side of your skull. Being a Marine doesn’t mean you’re invincible, you know.” She reached for Ray, but he caught her wrist.
“Just answer the question.”
Relenting, June rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand away. She turned and pointed at Daniel. “You. You should never handcuff anyone next to a drawer full of tools.” She looked back at Ray. “Don’t have a fit. Your deputies wouldn’t let me go to the tunnel, and standing there handcuffed to the cabinet was distinctly undignified.”
When Ray continued to stare, unmoving, June gave in with a soft sigh. “Okay, I had to go to the ladies’ room before things got dire. And it wasn’t easy in this suit.” She plucked at the arm of the white coverall.
“You washed your hands.”
She nodded. “I only touched the floor and the phone, Ray. No evidence at all on my hands.”
“Unless you killed him.”
“Well, if I did, then your deputy is going to have to find a new career, isn’t he?” she said with a forced smile.
There was a false lightness in June’s voice that worried Ray. He wondered if being handcuffed might have pushed her into her dark past, dredging up memories she’d do anything to avoid. Ray moved closer to her. “Are you okay, June? I feel like I’m losing you a little. Is there anything you want to tell me?” He looked at her, hard.
June stilled, her deep blue eyes narrowing as she searched his face, her skin losing its color again, stark against her dark brown hair. When she spoke, her words were flat and void of emotion.
“If you’re going to arrest me, get it over with, Ray. But I didn’t kill him.” She pushed past the two men blocking the door.
She didn’t get far. Instead, Ray Taylor abruptly grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “June, I wish I could just let you walk right out of here, but you know I can’t. Now sit back down in that chair or I’m going to have Rivers handcuff you again.”
And then June did something that surprised everyone, especially Ray.
She burst into tears.
THREE
June wiped her face on the same towel she’d dried her hands on only ten minutes before. She perched on her kitchen chair again, a headache slowly but steadily circling her skull with pain. She clutched the towel, looking for some kind of reassurance, but her mind was flooded with memories. Seeing David’s dead body brought back the horror of being fourteen and watching her father beat her mother halfway to death. She had been sprawled out at June’s feet, so still June had thought her dead. Three years later, she would be. June’s father had kicked June out of the house the day her mother died, forcing her to live on the street.
Memories of her parents gave way to visions of her brother Marc, just thirteen, his face raw with wounds and gray in death. And her sisters, bruised and terrified, huddling away from the rages of their father, a man who turned home into a horror house that had sent April into a brutal early marriage and