Caroline. If the killer was here, and wanted to get at her, he’d have a tough go of it.
Satisfied that Caroline was being well protected, he scanned the crowd to find Mitch. There, on the top of a knoll, separated from the closest group of media hounds by about ten feet, Mitch snapped pictures with a big grin on his face. Luke wryly wondered if Mitch had found his true calling in life. He certainly never looked that happy at the office.
Using his binoculars to search the crowd, Luke located Alex and was surprised to see him standing beside Leslie Harrison. The two of them had no love for each other. Maybe Alex was trying to get in Leslie’s good graces to extract information from her.
Screams sounded from the crowd. Luke focused on the tent. He couldn’t find Caroline. Panic squeezed his throat. But then he saw her being carried in the arms of one of her guards, with the rest of the guards circling her, guns drawn, ready for any threat. As soon as she was in the car, the caravan of security vehicles raced away.
Another scream rent the air. Luke whirled around, urgently searching for the other people he knew. He located them, one by one—first Leslie, unhurt, running toward the parking lot. Then Alex, at her side, using his tall, muscular frame to protect her. One more person to find. He scanned back and forth over the area where Mitch had been just moments ago.
A small crowd had gathered on a slight rise. Luke zoomed in, trying to see why they were all looking down. He sucked in a sharp breath. It was a body, deathly still, blood seeping through his shirt. A camera lay like a forgotten trophy beside him. Mitch.
No! Luke drew his gun and tore off in a sprint, desperately offering up a prayer as he ran.
* * *
A N HOUR LATER , Caroline sat with Alex on one side of the table in the interview room at the police station, while Luke sat alone on the other end, stone-faced, pale, his lips drawn into a tight line. Cornell sat in the middle.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dawson,” Cornell said.
Luke gave him a curt nod.
Alex clasped Luke’s shoulder, expressing his sympathy in silence before dropping his hand.
“I’m sorry, too,” Caroline whispered.
Luke’s dark gaze fastened onto hers. “I know. It’s not your fault.” His eyes narrowed. “You realize that, right?”
She looked away.
“Caroline?” he repeated, his voice raw but insistent. “You’re not the one who stabbed him. It’s not your fault.”
She nodded, since he seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“Did Mr. Brody have family we can notify?” Cornell asked.
A pained expression crossed Luke’s face. For a moment Caroline thought he was going to break down. But, instead, he straightened his shoulders, as if to brace himself against giving in to his grief.
“No. He was homeless when I met him. No family, no education to speak of. I’m all he had.” His last sentence came out a stark whisper.
Caroline’s guilt nearly choked her. Luke had taken Mitch in and given him a new life. And now—because of her—his friend was dead. She twisted her hands together in her lap.
“There will be an autopsy, of course,” Cornell said. “But the cause of death is obvious. Someone stabbed him in the back. He bled out. As far as a burial—”
“Give the coroner my contact information,” Luke said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Very well. I know this is a tough time, but did any of you see anything?”
All three of them shook their heads.
“Okay. We’ll examine the pictures from his camera. Maybe something will come of that. We don’t actually know if this is related in any way to Mr. Ashton’s murder, but I have to believe it’s a strong possibility. Mrs. Ashton, are you sure you’ve never met Mitch Brody before?”
She glanced at Alex. He nodded, letting her know it was okay to answer.
“Not until last Thursday, when I picked Dawson’s Personal Security Services out of the phone book.”
“Okay. At this point
Satisfied that Caroline was being well protected, he scanned the crowd to find Mitch. There, on the top of a knoll, separated from the closest group of media hounds by about ten feet, Mitch snapped pictures with a big grin on his face. Luke wryly wondered if Mitch had found his true calling in life. He certainly never looked that happy at the office.
Using his binoculars to search the crowd, Luke located Alex and was surprised to see him standing beside Leslie Harrison. The two of them had no love for each other. Maybe Alex was trying to get in Leslie’s good graces to extract information from her.
Screams sounded from the crowd. Luke focused on the tent. He couldn’t find Caroline. Panic squeezed his throat. But then he saw her being carried in the arms of one of her guards, with the rest of the guards circling her, guns drawn, ready for any threat. As soon as she was in the car, the caravan of security vehicles raced away.
Another scream rent the air. Luke whirled around, urgently searching for the other people he knew. He located them, one by one—first Leslie, unhurt, running toward the parking lot. Then Alex, at her side, using his tall, muscular frame to protect her. One more person to find. He scanned back and forth over the area where Mitch had been just moments ago.
A small crowd had gathered on a slight rise. Luke zoomed in, trying to see why they were all looking down. He sucked in a sharp breath. It was a body, deathly still, blood seeping through his shirt. A camera lay like a forgotten trophy beside him. Mitch.
No! Luke drew his gun and tore off in a sprint, desperately offering up a prayer as he ran.
* * *
A N HOUR LATER , Caroline sat with Alex on one side of the table in the interview room at the police station, while Luke sat alone on the other end, stone-faced, pale, his lips drawn into a tight line. Cornell sat in the middle.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dawson,” Cornell said.
Luke gave him a curt nod.
Alex clasped Luke’s shoulder, expressing his sympathy in silence before dropping his hand.
“I’m sorry, too,” Caroline whispered.
Luke’s dark gaze fastened onto hers. “I know. It’s not your fault.” His eyes narrowed. “You realize that, right?”
She looked away.
“Caroline?” he repeated, his voice raw but insistent. “You’re not the one who stabbed him. It’s not your fault.”
She nodded, since he seemed to be waiting for an answer.
“Did Mr. Brody have family we can notify?” Cornell asked.
A pained expression crossed Luke’s face. For a moment Caroline thought he was going to break down. But, instead, he straightened his shoulders, as if to brace himself against giving in to his grief.
“No. He was homeless when I met him. No family, no education to speak of. I’m all he had.” His last sentence came out a stark whisper.
Caroline’s guilt nearly choked her. Luke had taken Mitch in and given him a new life. And now—because of her—his friend was dead. She twisted her hands together in her lap.
“There will be an autopsy, of course,” Cornell said. “But the cause of death is obvious. Someone stabbed him in the back. He bled out. As far as a burial—”
“Give the coroner my contact information,” Luke said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Very well. I know this is a tough time, but did any of you see anything?”
All three of them shook their heads.
“Okay. We’ll examine the pictures from his camera. Maybe something will come of that. We don’t actually know if this is related in any way to Mr. Ashton’s murder, but I have to believe it’s a strong possibility. Mrs. Ashton, are you sure you’ve never met Mitch Brody before?”
She glanced at Alex. He nodded, letting her know it was okay to answer.
“Not until last Thursday, when I picked Dawson’s Personal Security Services out of the phone book.”
“Okay. At this point
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