“There’s a little Las Vegas going on here. Mia’s got a twenty on you getting the girl and the bad guy.”
“Against?”
“My twenty that you only get the bad guy.”
He smiled a fuck-you-too smile. “Thanks, asshole.”
“Wait a sec. It’s kind of dull down here. Mind if I come over and take a peek?”
“I’ll meet you there.” Zach flapped the cell shut, tearing the SUV onto the street.
Paige was home.
God help him, his chest felt ready to burst. Thoughts, memories, feelings, bolted through his body, working up a storm.
A storm called Paige. Avery.
By the time Zach pulled over in front of 106 Dominion Drive, his heart was thudding like a beast unleashed.
Paige was back, and apparently he wasn’t the only one with his nuts in a twist about it. Someone was alarmed, panicked, determined to frighten her off, or all of the above.
The judge’s old residence sat in sprawling splendor atop a flat stretch of land; six thousand square feet of Spanish Colonial, burnt-tile rooftops and arched windows. The cacti flourished along the walkway that led up to its wide front doors, and the scent of fresh paint clung to the warm spring air.
Stepping to the sidewalk, his hunter’s instinct simmering inside him, Zach narrowed his eyes against the glaring afternoon sun and focused on his surroundings, sweeping the area with one sharp, calculating look.
Evidence. Damned if he wouldn’t find it. He knew this house like the back of his hand. He’d driven past it mornings and nights, rain and shine. He knew every plant, every rock, every bit of grass on its lawns, he knew every window. The top west window. Her window.
He passed a glaring for sale sign that jutted out of the ground. This, for one, was new. Hell, Zach actually entering the house was new.
“Well, well, well, Stalker’s here. Our very own detective now.”
City cops were already on the scene, well-trained officers in most capacities. Vance Dean, whom Zach had patrolled with before he’d made Homicide at the VCB, looked up from an old gold clock he was dusting for prints.
“Welcome to the party, sweetheart. Though I’ve yet to see the dead guy?” he added with a lift of his eyebrows.
Zach panned across the room, noting the havoc the perps had wreaked. Overturned sofas. Torn lampshades. Crystal chandeliers in tatters. Photos, dozens and dozens of broken photos, of her as a child, of her parents.
The Averys’ living room looked like the anteroom of hell.
He tamped down his anger. “Forced entry?”
“Nope.”
“Hairs? Blood?”
“On my wish list.”
“Stolen articles?”
“Victim says everything’s here. Just a B and E so far.”
“Victim,” Zach tersely repeated. “She all right?”
“Pale. We secured her in an area adjoining.” Vance pointed down the hall. “Found nothing upstairs, but you might want to check it. Miles is on the south of the house.”
Zach pulled out his Sony camcorder and began to record, taking in everything with his eyes first, then with his camera. Give me something, asshole, so we can finally meet, me and you.
Upstairs, the bedrooms were undisturbed, the master and guest bedrooms clean and luxurious. Paige’s bedroom . . . smelled nice. Like lavender, hell, he didn’t know. Like her.