Falling For Him

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She maintained a calmness he’d not expected.

“Look, Gavin, there’s obviously been a mix-up. I don’t know what you think I did with those journals, but I can assure you the last time I saw them they were in that box. And I submitted it.”

“So you don’t think they might have…accidentally fallen out?”

“Fallen out? No. That’s ridiculous. I didn’t even open the box, so if they’re not there, then maybe they got mixed up with some other evidence submitted at the same time. Or maybe Sarge took an interest in the case and went down to see for himself what we brought in. I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t even look in the right box.”

“It was the right one. I checked the inventory list.”

“And?”

“And there wasn’t a single notation indicating anything resembling a journal.”

Her awareness of his suspicion was clear. She studied him, as though sizing him up. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I am not going to let you stand in the middle of my apartment and accuse me of something I didn’t do. This is insane.”

He caught the brief flash of anger in her gray eyes, before she turned on her heel. Pulling the hem of her top from the waist of her pants, she stalked from the living room and headed down the short corridor, switching on lights as she went.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“To shower and change.” The light came on in the room at the end of the hall and through the half-open door Gavin saw a four-poster pine bed with a matching trunk at its foot. And before he could look away, he saw Claudia’s naked back as she stripped off her top and pulled it over her head. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking the toned lines of her shoulders and slender back caught in the warm yellow glow of the bedroom lamp.

Gavin tried to look away but couldn’t. Either Claudia wasn’t in the least bit shy, or, more likely, she was too upset by his accusations to realize she was in plain sight.

“I’ll find the journals myself,” she called out as the shirt joined the tangle of sheets and duvet piled high on the bed. She moved away from the door, but Gavin could still see her in the reflection of the full-length mirror. Only when she reached behind her for the clasp of her bra, did Gavin at last look away, ashamed at his voyeurism.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll ride over with you,” she shouted. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge if you want.” If she said anything after that it was drowned out by the sound of running water, followed by the hiss of the shower.

Gavin moved to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, his gaze falling to the near-empty shelves. Claudia needed to do some serious grocery shopping. It was as bad as his own fridge, he thought, reaching for the last can of Coke. Mayo, pickles, several shriveled apples, an unopened bottle of wine along with a couple beers, and some questionable containers of juice and milk. No wonder her place was so tidy; Claudia was probably never home to mess it up.

Snapping open the can, he wandered into the living room. Traces of Claudia’s personal life—what little there must be, given the hours he knew she worked—were scattered aesthetically on several side tables and shelving units. Family photos, trinkets and keepsakes—some were precious, while others had obviously been found on the beach. He scanned her shelves of books, wondering where she found the time to read, or if she even did now that she worked Homicide.

The light from the two stained-glass lamps gleamed against the few patches of polished hardwood floor that weren’t covered with elaborate woven throw rugs. Pacing the narrow room, Gavin marveled at the sense of home around him—everything from the half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table to the throw blanket flung over the back of the couch. He’d bought his handyman’s row house two years ago, and with all the renovations, coupled with his hours, the moving-in process was still very much under way. He’d almost forgotten that a home wasn’t normally cluttered with half-unpacked boxes.

He rounded the coffee table and lowered himself into the ample sofa. Exhaustion quivered through his body. He’d been up hours, as well, and were it not for the twinges of suspicion he’d had all day regarding Silver’s possible connection to Frank Owens’s death, and now to Claudia, he might have succumbed to sleep himself. Certainly given the soft invitation of Claudia’s sofa and the immediate comfort of her apartment, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Glancing over his shoulder and down the corridor, Gavin saw that the bedroom door remained ajar. A cloud of steam billowed past the opening from the en suite. He turned his attention to the newspapers on the coffee table, hoping to banish the image of Claudia in the shower before it could take root in his mind.

However, it wasn’t the Baltimore Sun that managed to divert his imagination. It was the unmistakable orange cover of a case file. Only a corner of it peeked out from under the sofa, but it was enough for Gavin to know immediately what it was. With the steady thrum of the shower in the background, he slid the thick file out and understood why Claudia had attempted to hide it.

It was the Owens case. Gavin recognized the incident number instantly.

Had she taken the file out of the office this morning, after going to Evidence Control? Had she felt the need to study it again, believing there to be a connection to Silver’s murder? If so, why would she take the risk?

Gavin thought of the case files at his house. IAD files. The most recent one being on Claudia. But then, he had to take files home, especially when working a case undercover, so that his comings and goings from the IAD offices were kept to a minimum.

The Homicide unit, however, like others in the Criminal Investigations Bureau, worked under a completely different set of regulations. There were strict rules and penalties for removing a case file.

Gavin opened the binder and his shock doubled. This wasn’t even the official file. Claudia had copied the entire contents: case notes, reports, investigative entries, even a complete set of the crime-scene and autopsy photos.

Understandably, Claudia would have a vested interest in the investigation into her partner’s death, but surely not to the extent of compromising her career by pulling such a stunt. Unless, of course, she had something at stake in Owens’s death. Unless she needed to protect herself with information in the event she was questioned.

“Claudia Parrish was the secondary detective on all three of Owens’s bad cases,” Lieutenant Randolph had told him five weeks ago. “It could have just as easily been her taking payoffs…it could have been her implicating him.”

Again, the niggling suspicion mounted. Gavin leafed through the file. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen many times before—the reports, the photos of Frank Owens dead in his bedroom.

Ten months ago, Gavin had been shocked to learn of the detective’s death. Randolph had called him the second the news had hit the police radios that night, and Gavin had demanded to go to the scene. He’d wanted to head the investigation himself. But Randolph wouldn’t allow it. He’d been adamant Gavin not reveal himself as the man behind the probe. At that point, though, Gavin hadn’t cared if the entire unit found out. He’d wanted to be there. He’d felt responsible.