Evelyn walked past them without a word and entered the family room. Careful not to interfere with the CSI unit or touch anything, her eyes took in every awful detail.
In front of the large marble fireplace lay two blonde girls in their pajamas. Bound and gagged. One with a bullet hole through her forehead, and the other with her throat slashed. Evelyn walked over and looked into their faces, sadness washing over her. Even in death, they appeared sweet...innocent.
She took in the scene at her feet. Something was off. What was it? She bent down again and leaned in. “What in the world?”
The younger child’s wrists were cinched tight behind her back, causing an involuntary arch in her body. She hadn’t had any way to defend herself as the knife ripped into her neck. Strangely, the older one’s hands had been bound in front. They huddled together. The younger one slumped into her sister’s chest, her head resting at an odd angle against her big sister’s shoulder. The older girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
Olivia’s age.
Evelyn banished the thought and focused on the girls in front of her. In her mind’s eye, she could see the older sister scooting closer, reaching her arms around her dying sister and cradling her. Blood from the gaping slit in the little girl’s throat soaked the front of her sister’s yellow pajamas and formed a dark crimson puddle around them. Evelyn frowned. That blood looked darker than the splatter on the fireplace, almost as if the blood on her chest—her sister’s blood—had dried before she’d been shot.
Evelyn jerked back. Her stomach rolled. “Ry—”
She looked up and into the scowling face of her nemesis, Detective Josh Sanderson. Shit. She’d walked right by him on purpose and assessed the scene on her own with fresh eyes. Hadn’t that been Kessler’s direct order?
Wrong move.
She stood and tipped her head in recognition. “Sanderson.”
The short athletic man’s face twisted into a snarl. She swallowed a sigh. Were they really going to go around this mountain again? Once, in a drunken stupor, the narcissistic, arrogant man in front of her said that had they met at a local bar, and he didn’t know anything about Diaz’s golden girl, he’d have loved to see what was beneath the jeans and black North Face jacket that hugged her curves just right, positive that it would only be better than his wildest imagination.
She’d wanted to clock him. Ryan had done it instead.
“I’d say it was nice to see you, but it isn’t. This is my case. What are you doing here?” Sanderson asked in an icy tone.
She ignored his glare and locked eyes with him. Apparently being polite wasn’t in the cards tonight. Fine. She doubted he knew that they now led this investigation. If he did, he wouldn’t have been so pleasant—if she could call this pleasant.
“Chief Diaz sent us over. What have you got, Sanderson?” Evelyn asked.
Ryan walked up, crossed his arms. Evelyn bit back a smirk. Ryan would surely win any pissing match with Sanderson, and the other detective knew it.
Sanderson glanced between the two detectives and shoved back his cheap blue suit jacket, looping his thumbs through his belt as he jerked his head toward the elegant family room. “Family annihilator.”
“Shit,” Ryan muttered under his breath.
She normally dealt with Sanderson’s kind in a perfectly PC way, took all the egotistical bullshit in stride. And judging by the way Sanderson glared up at her now, she’d have to do it again—take his bullshit. She took a deep breath—no use egging him on any more than her sheer existence on planet Earth already did.
“And how did you come to that conclusion, Detective Sanderson?”
She’d meant it as a polite question, trying to be cordial. Sanderson’s face reddened. The vein in his neck bulged.
“Listen, Davis. It’s a theory.” Although anger had pushed color to his face, icicles dripped from his tongue. “Just because you have the chief wrapped around your little finger doesn’t mean you can come in here and make accusations.”
She seethed, but managed to ignore the underhanded, out-of-line remark—she’d deal with that later—and tilted her chin down to look into his shadowy eyes.
“Yes, actually, I can. I’m the senior officer here and we—” she pointed to Ryan and then herself “—have the lead on this case. Not to mention that this little ‘theory’ of yours, the one you so flippantly expressed, is one you cannot substantiate until further into the investigation. If ever.”
Sanderson took a menacing step toward her.
Evelyn’s pulse jumped angrily as she also took a step forward. Before she could respond, Ryan stepped between the two detectives and shoved an open hand onto Sanderson’s chest.
“How about you stop right there, Sanderson,” Ryan said in a gruff, don’t-mess-with-me-you-little-shithead voice. “You can call the chief and confirm what Detective Davis just said.”
Sanderson tried to take another step toward Evelyn. Ryan’s face hardened. “Make the damn phone call.”
Sanderson shot a look past Ryan’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, Davis.”
Turning on his heel, he stormed into the kitchen, punching numbers into his phone as he went.
Ryan grabbed Evelyn’s wrist and towed her outside, where he released her.
“Okay, look, I know you were trying your best to be nice—” he rubbed his hands over his face “—but are you out of your mind?”
“Ryan—”
“Stop. Anything that puts Sanderson on edge weakens this team. You know that. I know that. So what the hell’s going on? Are you—”
“I’m fine.”
Evelyn wasn’t sure she could explain her actions. They were just as foreign to her as they were to Ryan. Her cool, steel-like outer shell, which had served her well the past fifteen years, had just cracked, ever so slightly. And that scared the hell out of her. At the sound of Sanderson uttering those two horrid little words, she’d wanted to rip off his face and weep at the same time. If he had pushed it much further, she didn’t know how she would have responded.
Ryan paced in front of her, hands clasped behind the back of his neck. He halted, stared at the floor, then glanced back at her. “No, Ev. You’re not.”
She went to argue, but snapped her mouth closed as he put up his hand.
“Maybe you’re too close for this one.”
“What? Why?” She felt her cheeks flush. “Because tragedy struck my family? Is that it?”
“Maybe.”
He’d said it so softly as he sagged against the porch railing, watching her, that she almost missed it. Almost.
Rebellious tears gathered in her eyes. She couldn’t believe he’d thrown her family’s murder into her face like that and questioned her ability to do her job. He knew the job meant everything to her, kept her sane. She’d never jeopardize her position. How could he not trust her to handle herself and put her work first? Her heart stumbled and her shoulders sagged. How could he think she wasn’t okay?
But was she really fine? She’d already harnessed the ghosts of her past—and their occupying emotions—twice. In less than two hours. She grimaced. Okay, so maybe he was right. Still...she wasn’t ready to give in to that emotional tailspin. Not now.