Where All the Dead Lie

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

It took Sam hours to clear the crime scene. Marcus, diligent, talented detective that he was, had pinned the wife down in a lie, and was back at Metro, interrogating her. It wasn’t his fault; they were all terribly distracted.

All they knew was that Bowerman planned to run all along, get settled somewhere, then bring his wife and kids. She swore she had no idea who the dead man in her living room was.

They didn’t believe her.

The dead man’s fingerprints registered back to a man named Joseph Trimble. Trimble was homeless, and according to a quick check with the folks at the mission, Trimble had a benefactor, someone he claimed was “helping him back on his feet.” Proving it was Bowerman was a different story.

On the surface, it seemed he’d been setting him up to be the fall guy for the bank robberies. But Marias Gonzalez had ruined the plan, and Bowerman had been forced to stop her.

It was far from a tidy little scheme. It was unfortunate that they didn’t know where Bowerman was truly headed. The Regretful Robber, at least for the time being, had gotten away.

Sam finally got home at eleven-thirty, only six hours later than she’d been expected. Simon had put the twins down and was waiting for her with an open bottle of wine. Honestly, all she wanted to do was fall into the bed and sleep forever, but she accepted the offering and sat at the kitchen table with him for a few minutes.

“We need a vacation,” he said.

“I couldn’t agree more.” She accepted a glass of wine from him. “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere warm.”

“Can you leave the lab?” Simon ran Private Match, which specialized in running DNA samples for a variety of clients, some public, some private. He usually accepted the overload from Metro if they got too bogged down and needed results ASAP.

“Yes. I think you and I need to find ourselves again. Maybe think about getting pregnant?”

He looked so hopeful. She didn’t know how to tell him she wasn’t ready.

That she didn’t know if she’d be ready ever again.

She was saved from answering by the ringing of her cell phone. She glanced at the ID: Taylor. Finally.

“Baby, I need to take this. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

Simon was not happy with her. “Can’t you put this conversation first? Really, Sam. This is important.”

“It’s Taylor. Baldwin and I have both been trying to reach her for hours. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

Simon stalked off toward their bedroom. Shit.

But this was something that couldn’t be helped. Taylor needed her.

She answered the phone. “Taylor Bethany Jackson, I have been worried sick about you.”