Stirred (31 page)

The technician shook his head. “No, that’s probably semen. We’ll take a sample and confirm in the lab.”

“No.” Reed swung his arm over the bed. “I want the whole spread.”

The technician nodded.

With the pounding in my head and heart in overdrive, I pulled away and hustled back up the hall, my phone in hand, already scrolling through my contacts until I found the one I was looking for. While I wanted to call Ian first and tell him to come home immediately, I needed to get our attorney here first, before anything else was discussed. I pulled up Ira Breckmeier’s info and selected his cell number as I scampered up the north hall to Declan’s office, where I closed the door to a crack. It didn’t look like anyone had been in here yet. I didn’t want to touch anything and draw even more suspicion, but I needed privacy from prying eyes and ears. Although I was following Detective Reed’s advice, doing what he’d suggested, I didn’t want to be overheard, so I texted Ira rather than call.

Ira, this is Eden Ross. I have an emergency & need you at my house immediately! Can’t talk so please don’t call. Hurry!

I hit send and waited nervously for his response, not sure if Ira, at his advanced age, even used his cell to send and receive text messages, but I stared at the screen regardless, willing him to reply.

“Come on!” I laid the phone down on Declan’s rich mahogany desk and plopped into his leather executive chair.

That’s when Detective Reed walked in with a member of his team. He threw me a heated look, his mouth firm.

“Mrs. Ross, I thought I told you to stay put.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “This is
my
home, Detective. I’ll go wherever I wish. I’m not under arrest, correct?”

He hitched his hands along his hips. “Be that as it may, Mrs. Ross, I need you to remain in the other room and ask that you not touch anything until my team is finished.”

Snatching up my phone, I stashed it in my back pocket and walked out from behind Declan’s desk. I stood in front of Detective Reed with my arms crossed. “I was simply calling my attorney, as
you
suggested.” I dropped my arms and turned to leave.

But Reed caught me by the elbow. “Your cell phone, please.”

“I beg your pardon?” I bristled and tore my arm free.

“Your phone,” he ordered with is hand out.

“You can’t take my cell phone, Detective.”

“Actually, I can. It’s included in the warrant, as are all the personal electronic devices in the house—your computers, laptops, tablets, even security videos.” He wiggled his fingers impatiently.

“Not until my attorney arrives, and I have to call my son first,” I replied, but Reed was not deterred.

“Mrs. Ross, I’ll remind you, we have a legal warrant, and you gave us consent. Your lawyer would merely advise you to comply, so the sooner you hand over what we ask for, the quicker we can finish up and get out of your hair.”

I ground my teeth until my jaw popped, not that it did me any good. I was trapped, forced to surrender what could be perceived as very damaging texts between Sean and me. With those, and the fact my husband was screwing my so-called best friend—which I’d already stupidly admitted knowledge of—they could easily say I had motive. I needed to tread very carefully from this point forward and not antagonize the authorities or draw unnecessary attention. The texts might be compromising, but provided no real evidence, only circumstantial. And surely any real evidence would prove I was in no way involved.

After relinquishing everything as requested, I took a seat at the kitchen table, directly under the vigilant eye of Detective Reed, who stood watch over me as he pored over my phone. He shook his head and snickered more times than I could count, sometimes even peering over at me with judgment burning in his eyes. Merely an intimidation tactic, no doubt, but there was no need to torture me that way. He’d already copied every text. Yet Reed treated this like some sort of game.

It was unnerving to be so closely observed, my personal information dissected as they attempted to piece together the puzzle that was our lives. Reed even taunted me about the phone records they were working on obtaining, as soon as the request was answered and the warrant issued. His threats and scrutiny did intimidate me, twisting and twining with the grief and fear already roiling through my gut. Unable to sit still a moment longer, I bounced out of my seat and began pacing around the kitchen and family room as a thousand thoughts swirled through my mind.

The most urgent was Ian. I needed to find him and ask him to come home, but I didn’t want to break the devastating news about his father over the phone, and I didn’t want him to arrive while the house was being searched by the police. I needed to shield him from this as much as possible.

I also wished I could call Sean, to warn him of what had happened and was now taking place. For all I knew, they were tearing his place apart, too. At least he knew more about the law than I did and likely would know to keep his mouth shut, unlike me.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. “So stupid,” I whispered under my breath.

“What was that, Mrs. Ross?” Reed asked, stepping away from the counter’s edge where he’d been leaning while scrolling through my phone.

“When will you be done, Detective? I need to call my son and speak to him in private about his father.”

Flipping my phone over and over in his hand, he sauntered over in my direction and stood before me. He took one last look at my phone then held it out to me with a patronizing smirk.

“We’re wrapping up now and will be gone within a few minutes.”

“What about this mess you’ve left, Detective? What am I supposed to tell my son?”

For a moment, Reed had the presence of mind to appear sympathetic. “I’m very sorry for your boy. This won’t be easy on him, I’m afraid.” But then he scanned the room and shrugged. “As for the mess, well, it’s nothing a well-paid army of servants can’t clean up…eh, Mrs. Ross?”

I snorted. “I don’t have servants, Detective. Only a cleaning service that comes once a week.”

He glanced around at all the open drawers and doors, their contents left in haphazard piles. “Money well spent in this case, I’d say.”

I sneered at him, sick of his condescending attitude. “I’d like you to leave now, Detective. I’ll show your team out when they’re ready.

He chuckled and looked me up and down. “I certainly get what the kid sees in you,” he remarked with an insinuating grin.

I gasped, my mouth open in outrage.

Reed started to walk away, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “How ‘bout we go for a ride, Mrs. Ross? I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you down at the precinct.”

I snapped my mouth shut. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, but that can be arranged if necessary. I just thought you’d be anxious to help us find your husband’s killer…and Ms. Wylde’s, too, though I can certainly understand your reluctance, considering…” He left the rest hanging.

I felt he was giving me little choice but to cooperate, that not doing so would be construed as some measure of involvement or even guilt. So, with his team now departing, I grabbed my purse from the kitchen desk and tossed my phone inside before hitching it over my shoulder.

Reed stepped aside with his arm out. “Ladies first.”

I walked out the front door with my chin up, waiting for Reed so I could lock up the house. He sauntered down the stone walkway and opened the backdoor on his unmarked American sedan, where he directed me inside. Slipping behind the wheel, he started the engine and followed the line of three police cruisers out my long driveway.

When we threaded the opening in the dense hedge along the street, I saw Ira Breckmeier behind the wheel of his Bentley, pulled in tight to the bushes, his mouth wide in wonder as he spied me sitting in the backseat of Reed’s car. I placed my hand on the side window as we passed and pleaded silently,
Please, Ira, help me
, before we drove away.

Voices echoed. Echoed all around me. Calling my name. Calling. Calling. Softly, at first. Then louder. So loud. Urgent. Insistent. I tried to answer, but nothing came out. Nothing. Only silence. Then the earth moved beneath me. Shaking. Shaking. Urging me out of the darkness. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

“Wake up, Mr. Bennett!”

With great difficulty, I pried my eyelids open, blinking against the harsh light. My surroundings came into focus ever so slowly. A small crowd of strangers were gathered around me as I lay in bed on my back, naked, with only a sheet covering me, hips to waist. I glanced about and recognized my bedroom, yet I felt oddly disoriented.

Lost.

Floating.

And very confused.

Last thing I remembered was blacking-out on my living room floor. So how had I ended up in my room, and why couldn’t I recall undressing and climbing into bed?

I had little opportunity to contemplate the possibilities when an older guy in a tie and jacket started ordering a pair of uniformed cops around—Seattle cops—as well as several others in black jackets with embroidered patches on their backs that said FORENSICS in thick white letters.

I leaned up on my elbows. “What the hell?” I slurred, then grimaced at the bitter taste in my mouth. “Who the fuck are you?” I demanded of the grey-haired guy who appeared to be in charge.

He gave one last command and turned to me. “Sean Daniel Bennett?” he asked, his blue eyes raking over me.

I covered my legs with the sheet and yanked the blanket over top then struggled to sit up. I scrubbed a hand down my face while the world around me spun to the right.

“You better have a solid legal reason for breaking and entering,” I warned.

He tossed a tri-folded piece of paper onto my lap. “Reason enough, and your building concierge let us in. No breaking required,” he said and walked away when someone called out from the other room.

I unfolded the paper, a legal search warrant issued by the very King County judge I clerked for, a major conflict of interest for the cops, but troubling for me nonetheless.

“Fuck,” I swore as I scanned the legalese. “‘
Ongoing murder investigation
’? What the…” I laid the warrant down on the bed and glanced around for some clothes, but it didn’t appear I’d left anything laying around like I usually did, so I yanked the sheet from the mattress, wrapped it around my waist, and stumbled over to my dresser.

“Don’t touch anything,” the old guy ordered as he returned to my room.

“Dude, come on,” I pleaded with my hand out. “There’re a bunch of strangers crawling all over my pad. I need to get dressed.”

He shook his head. “Not until my guys go through everything.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Seriously. Now sit down and don’t move ‘til I say. Amari?” he called out, and one of the uniforms stepped to his side. “Watch him,” he ordered with a finger in my direction.

The uniform nodded and pointed to my bed. “Have a seat,” he insisted with a hand on his gun belt.

I did as commanded, but looked back at the old guy. “At least tell me what’s going on, why you’re searching my house.”

The old guy—who I assumed was the lead investigator on whatever case they were working on—tapped one of his men on the elbow and politely asked him to search the dresser so I could grab some clothes. Then he settled his attention back on me again.

“Evidence gathered at another location included electronic material connected to you,” he said without explaining much at all.

I shook my head, confused. “What material? Gathered from where?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that at this time,” he said and turned to leave yet again.

I stood and took a step after him, stumbling as my feet tangled in the loose sheet.

The uniform was quick with his hand at my shoulder. “Please sit back down, sir.”

I attempted to shrug him off while I called out, “Wait,” to the old guy.

With a huff, he stepped back into the doorway, his brow knotted in annoyance. The uniform shoved me down along the foot of the bed and stood uncomfortably close, but I kept my eye on the old guy.