toward her.
“Ms. Porter!”
“What’s going on?” she asked, baffled.
“There are two detectives here to see you.”
Detectives? That was when Beatrice noticed the two trench-coat clad guys rise from the lobby couches. Not missing a beat, she nonchalantly walked to the concierge desk to pick up a newspaper and tucked it under her arm before she faced the approaching detectives.
“Detectives Moore and Smithers of the Metropolitan Police Department.” Both detectives flashed their badges.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
“Can we talk somewhere private, Ms. Porter?”
The penetrating look on Detective Moore’s face indicated that the matter was grave. She tried to wrack her brain on what could be wrong?
A knot of anxiety formed in her gut.
She nodded to the elevators to take them to her condo.
Beatrice set her keycard and coffee on the foyer table, turned and folded her arms in front of her. “What’s this all about?”
“Where were you between three and seven a.m. yesterday morning?”
Oh, my God, did something happen to Gabe?
“Did something happen to Gabriel Sullivan?” she blurted out, panic in her voice.
Both detectives frowned; one of them started writing on his notepad.
“Well?” When she heard herself shriek, Beatrice forced herself to calm down. But the silence of the two detectives was making it extremely difficult.
“Were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”
Warning bells and self-preservation trilled in Beatrice’s consciousness. “Do I need a lawyer? If you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’m not saying anything else.”
“Eric Stone was found dead last night. Time of death initially puts it around the early hours of Saturday morning.”
Beatrice felt the room spin. Shocked at Eric’s death, relieved that Gabe was okay, it was too much. She forced her unsteady legs to walk across the foyer toward her living room and sat on the couch. The detectives followed but remained standing.
“How?”
“We can’t disclose the circumstances for now,” Detective Smithers said. “So, were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”
“I was drunk; I’m not sure of the time frame.”
“Do you have his contact information?”
“No.”
“Really? That’s—”
“He was a one-night stand.” She had the resources to track him down, but linking Gabe to Eric was not a good idea given the two had an altercation a few days ago. The detectives might eventually find out. She didn’t even want to dwell on her reasons for wanting to protect Gabe.
“Oh.” Detective Smithers smirked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have more information to help you,” Beatrice said. She wasn’t even going to volunteer information about Eric’s drug use. “Eric and I broke up a few weeks ago.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Beatrice clenched her jaw.
“I understand he was harassing you two days ago,” Detective Moore pressed immediately after Smithers’s question. “Even after you’d threatened him in a voicemail to leave you alone or else.”
Shit.
“You’ve got connections with private security groups—”
“Gentlemen, either charge me with something or this meeting is over. I will not entertain any more questions without my lawyer. Got it?” Beatrice snapped.
“Very well, Ms. Porter,” Detective Smithers said, still sporting an annoying smirk. “Don’t leave town.”
With that parting shot, the two detectives left.
Beatrice called her father.
*****
It was early evening when Gabe let himself into his house. Poor Rhino must be ready to explode. If he had been thinking straight, Gabe would have thought to bring his dog along. After his stop in Chevy Chase, Maryland, he just drove around until his gas tank was almost empty.
After walking Rhino for half an hour, he returned to the house. Admiral Porter was waiting for him. The admiral was sitting on the top steps with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his
“Ms. Porter!”
“What’s going on?” she asked, baffled.
“There are two detectives here to see you.”
Detectives? That was when Beatrice noticed the two trench-coat clad guys rise from the lobby couches. Not missing a beat, she nonchalantly walked to the concierge desk to pick up a newspaper and tucked it under her arm before she faced the approaching detectives.
“Detectives Moore and Smithers of the Metropolitan Police Department.” Both detectives flashed their badges.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
“Can we talk somewhere private, Ms. Porter?”
The penetrating look on Detective Moore’s face indicated that the matter was grave. She tried to wrack her brain on what could be wrong?
A knot of anxiety formed in her gut.
She nodded to the elevators to take them to her condo.
Beatrice set her keycard and coffee on the foyer table, turned and folded her arms in front of her. “What’s this all about?”
“Where were you between three and seven a.m. yesterday morning?”
Oh, my God, did something happen to Gabe?
“Did something happen to Gabriel Sullivan?” she blurted out, panic in her voice.
Both detectives frowned; one of them started writing on his notepad.
“Well?” When she heard herself shriek, Beatrice forced herself to calm down. But the silence of the two detectives was making it extremely difficult.
“Were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”
Warning bells and self-preservation trilled in Beatrice’s consciousness. “Do I need a lawyer? If you don’t tell me what this is all about, I’m not saying anything else.”
“Eric Stone was found dead last night. Time of death initially puts it around the early hours of Saturday morning.”
Beatrice felt the room spin. Shocked at Eric’s death, relieved that Gabe was okay, it was too much. She forced her unsteady legs to walk across the foyer toward her living room and sat on the couch. The detectives followed but remained standing.
“How?”
“We can’t disclose the circumstances for now,” Detective Smithers said. “So, were you with this Gabriel Sullivan?”
“I was drunk; I’m not sure of the time frame.”
“Do you have his contact information?”
“No.”
“Really? That’s—”
“He was a one-night stand.” She had the resources to track him down, but linking Gabe to Eric was not a good idea given the two had an altercation a few days ago. The detectives might eventually find out. She didn’t even want to dwell on her reasons for wanting to protect Gabe.
“Oh.” Detective Smithers smirked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have more information to help you,” Beatrice said. She wasn’t even going to volunteer information about Eric’s drug use. “Eric and I broke up a few weeks ago.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
Beatrice clenched her jaw.
“I understand he was harassing you two days ago,” Detective Moore pressed immediately after Smithers’s question. “Even after you’d threatened him in a voicemail to leave you alone or else.”
Shit.
“You’ve got connections with private security groups—”
“Gentlemen, either charge me with something or this meeting is over. I will not entertain any more questions without my lawyer. Got it?” Beatrice snapped.
“Very well, Ms. Porter,” Detective Smithers said, still sporting an annoying smirk. “Don’t leave town.”
With that parting shot, the two detectives left.
Beatrice called her father.
*****
It was early evening when Gabe let himself into his house. Poor Rhino must be ready to explode. If he had been thinking straight, Gabe would have thought to bring his dog along. After his stop in Chevy Chase, Maryland, he just drove around until his gas tank was almost empty.
After walking Rhino for half an hour, he returned to the house. Admiral Porter was waiting for him. The admiral was sitting on the top steps with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his
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