Matter of fact, he’d been a complete ass about it.
“I just want to ask her a few questions about the break-in.” He intentionally added a gentle tone to his voice, though he was feeling anything but gentle at the moment.
Laney’s eyes narrowed again, as if she saw through the pretense. But after a moment, her expression cleared. “I’ll introduce you.”
He’d have preferred to approach the woman alone, away from all her friends, but he couldn’t exactly make any demands, could he? It wasn’t as if she were the culprit here.
At least, not that he could prove.
He followed Laney across the waiting room floor, ignoring the watchful gazes of the others, though he did spare the slightest glance at Dana Massey, as if his eyes couldn’t resist one more quick look to make sure he hadn’t been mistaken about the resemblance.
No, still there, the faint but unmistakable traits that had convinced her, on the day of their first meeting, that he was the long-lost half brother she’d only recently learned about.
He dragged his gaze forward, grinding his teeth.
“Briar?”
The dark-haired woman looked up at Laney, then let her gaze slide slowly to Dalton’s face, her clear gray eyes darkening with recognition. So she already knew who he was. Probably not good news, given the tumble his reputation had taken around the Bitterwood Police Department in the past few weeks.
“Mrs. Blackwood, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the break-in this evening,” he said, not waiting for the unnecessary introduction.
Beside him, Laney released a soft sigh. “Briar, this is assistant county prosecutor Dalton Hale.”
“I know who he is,” she said quietly, still holding his gaze. “I’ve given a statement to the Bitterwood Police Department. Detective Nix is the lead detective.” She nodded toward the dark-haired man sitting next to Dana Massey. Walker Nix. Bitterwood detective and Dana’s significant other. Nix stared back at him, as if daring him to cause a ruckus.
In Briar’s lap the dark-haired little boy stirred and made a low mewling noise that sounded like a puppy whining. He tightened his little arms around his mother’s neck, clinging like a monkey as she rubbed his back and murmured soothing nonsense to him until he settled down.
A painful sensation wriggled in the pit of his stomach. He killed it with ruthless dispatch. “I understand that. But I have some questions about the incident that the detective may not have known to ask.”
Something shifted in those gunmetal eyes, a flicker of flame warming their wintry depths. “Such as?”
Ah, he thought, she’s curious. That was good. Curiosity was exactly the sort of trait he needed from this woman if he was going to get the answers he sought. “Such as, do you believe this most recent break-in could be related to the one that happened a few weeks ago?”
Her eyes went from molten steel to flinty ice in a split second. “What makes you think Nix wouldn’t have asked such an obvious question? Do you have such a low opinion of the police?”
Dalton gave himself a mental kick. Once more he was letting his anger at Massey taint everything and everyone connected to him. Of course Nix would have asked the obvious question. “Fair enough.”
Briar glanced up at Laney. Some communication moved silently between them, for Laney patted Briar’s arm and walked away, leaving him alone with her.
He sat in the empty chair beside her. “You like handling things on your own. Don’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
“You’re sitting off here by yourself, away from your friends. You sent Laney away so you could handle my questions alone.”
“You seem to know something, or think you know something, about the break-in. So spill it.” She kept her voice low, her hand still drawing soothing circles around her son’s back.
“I know your husband died seven months ago.”
“He was murdered seven months ago,” she corrected quietly. Her voice had an oddly detached tone, making him wonder about the state of the relationship at the time of Johnny Blackwood’s murder.
“You weren’t a suspect?”
Her gaze flicked toward him. “I had an alibi.”
“Work?” She’d still been the emergency services night-shift dispatcher at the time of Johnny’s death.
She nodded. “Plenty of security video to establish my whereabouts.”
“But you had a motive?”
She took a quick, sharp breath through her nose. “Is there a point to this line of questioning?”
He supposed there wasn’t, other than curiosity. He knew the basics about Johnny Blackwood’s goings and comings during the months leading up to his murder. It was how he’d latched on to Johnny in the first place—reading through the case notes and seeing signs of a potential connection to another case he was looking into. But the personal details in the case file were scarce, perhaps because Briar was part of the Bitterwood P.D. family. Personal matters not pertaining to the case would have been minimized and even left out to protect her privacy.
Like the state of the marriage at the time of his death. The cops would have wanted to know if there had been trouble in her relationship with her husband. And Dalton knew that on Johnny’s side, at least, there had been trouble to spare.
But did his wife know what Dalton knew?
As he puzzled through how best to ask her such a delicate question, a doctor in a white jacket over green scrubs entered the waiting room. “Mrs. Franklin’s family?”
Briar’s whole body seemed to snap to tautness at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She stood, clutching her small son more tightly to her, and crossed to meet the doctor halfway.
Dalton trailed behind her, catching up in time to hear the doctor say, “We’ll want to keep her until tomorrow because she lost consciousness, but she’s not showing any continuing mental confusion, which is a very good sign. She did sustain a fracture of both bones in her lower right arm, however. We’ve reset the bones and applied a fiberglass cast to just above the elbow. She’ll need to wear the cast for at least four weeks.”
“Can I see her?” Briar asked.
“Check with the nurse at the front desk in the E.R.—she’ll tell you what room she’ll be in.” The doctor smiled, gave Briar a comforting pat on her shoulder and left the waiting room, moving at a clip.
“Good news,” Dalton murmured.
Briar turned her gaze toward him, her eyes narrowing. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, I am,” he said, not taking offense. He knew he was making a nuisance of himself by coming here at this hour of night to bother her, but it couldn’t be helped. She might hold the key to his uncertain future without even realizing it.
“I have to go check on my aunt.” She turned away from him and crossed to where Laney sat, murmuring something before she handed off her son to the other woman.
Dalton watched her straighten her back and leave the waiting room with her shoulders squared and her chin up, like a soldier readied for battle. It struck him, in that brief glimpse of her steel core, that Briar Blackwood was a woman who thrived on challenges that made other people collapse.
Could that trait of hers be useful to him?
As Dalton started out the door after