“Your questions were hostile and insensitive. She’s in a position to have you removed from this investigation. I don’t think you need another black mark on your record.”
Lucy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you know about me or my record, but I stand by my questions. Without asking, she contacted the deceased’s daughter. Over the phone. That was insensitive.”
“We do not judge how other people handle their personal lives. The congresswoman is not a suspect under interrogation.”
“Perhaps.”
“I will have you removed myself if you step over the line again.”
“I didn’t step over a line.”
“She’s a grieving widow.”
“She wasn’t surprised about the prostitute.”
“She was in denial.”
“I don’t think so.” Two years ago, Lucy would never have challenged anyone verbally, particularly someone with seniority. But she’d learned that her unique experience coupled with years of intensive training gave her insights that not all cops had. Confrontations still weren’t easy for her, but she’d become more confident since Quantico.
“Were we even in the same interview?”
“One of the benefits of you asking the questions and me observing is that I can catch subtle psychological clues that aren’t always obvious. She was clearly surprised that he was in San Antonio. But I think she either knew or suspected that he was sleeping around. Maybe she didn’t think prostitute, but that he was having an affair. Her reaction was off.”
“People don’t react in a set way.”
“If she had broken down when you first mentioned the prostitute, then I would have believed her. If she had completely denied it from beginning to end, I would have believed her. But she went from No, my husband never would have to Well, I should have seen the signs without any leading down that path.”
“You’re reading far too much into this.”
Lucy bit her tongue. It was difficult, but she did. “If she knew that her husband had a proclivity for underage prostitutes, that makes her just as guilty as he is.”
“Stop. We’re not investigating a congresswoman who may have known her husband was using hookers to get his thrills. We’re investigating the death of a man under suspicious circumstances. The chances are, he died of natural causes. No blood, no external sign of injury, nothing. If it looks like a duck and acts like a duck—”
Lucy interrupted. “It looks like a duck, but we have no proof that it acts like a duck.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’m saying, we need to find out why Harper Worthington spent hundreds of dollars to travel from a big city to his hometown to have sex in a twenty-dollar-an-hour motel with a streetwalker when he planned on attending a breakfast meeting three hours away with his daughter.”
Barry opened his mouth, then closed it. “Point taken. But I’ve been working Violent Crimes long enough to know that sexual deviants don’t care how much money they have to spend to fulfill their fantasies.”
Lucy’s stomach turned over and she glanced away. Barry was right. Perverts would spend anything for their sick fetishes.
She should know.
*
Sean had picked the house in Olmos Park not only because of the privacy the landscaping afforded, or the attention to detail inside, but because it was located in an established neighborhood filled with trees, quiet streets, and families. The weekends were alive, with kids riding bikes, families walking to the nearby park, and the splashing of water from neighboring pools before the brutal heat of early summer drove everyone inside for the afternoon. With the dangerous and often unpredictable lives he and Lucy led, he’d picked the most normal, traditional neighborhood for their home.
Sean hadn’t thought he’d like San Antonio when Lucy was first assigned here, but the city had quickly grown on him, and he and Lucy could be happy here—if he could help her overcome whatever was truly bothering her so deeply that it disrupted her sleep nearly every night.
His cell phone rang while he was finishing his morning workout in the small gym he’d added downstairs. He put a towel over his neck and grabbed his phone. He recognized the number and his heart sank. He could no longer put off this conversation.
“Rogan,” he answered.
“Sean, it’s Clive Devlin.”
“I was expecting your call.”
“Funny, I was expecting yours.”
“I got your message, but I had to assess a few things.” Sean walked down the hall to his office.
“I understand, especially if your answer is yes.”
He hesitated. “I can’t take the assignment.”
Devlin didn’t say anything for a minute. “If it’s the money, name your price.”
“It’s not the money, it’s the time.” He sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. “I can’t be gone for the next two weeks.”