“What?” Cassie gasped. “Murdered?”
“Gunned down on the very street where Dead Heat’s final scene took place, about a block away from where Lucinda Rinaldi was shot. It’s all over the news.”
“My God.” She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to.
“That’s the second one with ties to the movie. Third, if you think Lucinda Rinaldi was an intended victim.” He stared at her and didn’t say the obvious, the unspoken thought: Fourth, if Allie turns up dead.
Shaken, her knees suddenly weak, Cassie leaned against the counter. “I don’t get it. Why? This is horrible.” She didn’t know Brandi Potts, couldn’t even dredge up a picture of the woman in her mind, but she felt a deep, overwhelming sadness. “How? What happened?” she asked as he took a seat at the table.
“Details are sketchy. I heard about it on the news this morning, called Carter and he checked, then called me back. Apparently she was out running late last night, early in the morning really, and her route took her on that same street, which is where she was attacked. Looks like a gunshot.”
“Like the others.” A coldness that started in her soul swept over her. She rubbed her arms, tried to think straight. Another murder? Why? She sat down opposite Trent.
“Yeah.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
The question was rhetorical, but he answered with, “I wish I knew. You think this has anything to do with McNary? Him being in town?”
“Because he was out last night? I don’t know. The guy’s a prick, yeah, but a murderer? That just doesn’t seem right.” Then she caught his drift and sucked in a breath. “I was out last night. Don’t tell me that just because I was out, you think—”
“Of course not.” His gaze held hers across the table. “But other people might. The cops.”
Her stomach did a nosedive. He was right. She thought about asking him to lie for her, to say that they’d spent the entire night together, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead she tried to concentrate on what had happened last night, the quicksilver moments in time that didn’t hold together. Some events, though, were clear. “You know, I thought I was being followed last night. I mean I heard someone behind me on my way to the car after meeting with McNary.”
She saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. “What happened?”
“Nothing, I ran into a big guy, a preacher, or maybe a priest, I think. He wore a clerical collar, but no one was following me and then . . . then, I know this sounds crazy, but I thought I saw Allie.”
He froze. “You saw your sister?”
“I thought so at the time, for a minute anyway. She was standing in an alcove, a doorway to a coffee shop. Maybe waiting for a bus?”
“But you’re not certain?”
“Of course not. It was dark and I was already freaked, thinking someone was behind me.” She then explained where she’d been, how the woman she’d thought was her sister had disappeared when the bus rolled up. “I didn’t know if ‘Allie’ got on, so I followed after the bus. I pulled up next to it at a traffic light and looked at the passengers inside, but I didn’t see her. There were only four passengers and none of them remotely resembled my sister.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“Because I was exhausted and upset and you were already freaked out and then . . . and then, we . . . well, you know . . .”
“And then you kissed me and we ended up in bed.” His unemotional voice worried her.
“Fast forward and I woke up, you were gone. So I didn’t have much of a chance to explain.” She couldn’t help the bit of irritation in her words. Did he really think she was somehow complicit?
“You followed the bus to the end of the line? You talked to the driver?”
Uh-oh. Here’s where it got murky. “I don’t know.”
His eyebrows slammed together. “You don’t know?”
She bristled a bit. How could she explain? “That’s right. It’s . . . it’s just that.” Rather than let her anger get ahold of her again, she expelled a long breath. “It’s just that I kind of blacked out, I guess.”
“What do you mean, ‘kind of blacked out’? Either you’re awake or you’re unconscious.”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s happened before.” He was staring at her so hard she pushed her chair back and stalked to the sink, looking out the window once more. “It’s one of the reasons I checked into Mercy Hospital.” Her insides churned as she admitted things she hated to acknowledge, even to herself. “You remember,” she said, her voice softer with the memories, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “When we lived together, once in a while I was . . . a little fuzzy about things.”
He nodded slowly.