If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

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. Head bowed, he stared at the ground, tried to think. He was so focused on trying to figure out the next step, he had probably been staring at it for a full twenty seconds before he
really
saw it.
    It was small, much smaller than what they’d found at the house.
    Already dry, too. But the blood still looked pretty fresh. At least that was what he’d say if he got asked. He drew his weapon as he put a few feet between him and the door. Remy had already started back down the path—it wasn’t until he heard Ezra kicking the door in that he bothered to look back.
    “Damn it, Ezra, what in the
fuck
are you doing?”
    “There’s blood on the ground and on the threshold.Gives me reason to think there might be somebody inside here that’s hurt,” Ezra said, keeping his voice low. Remy came rushing up and Ezra caught his arm, jerked him to the side. “Didn’t you hear me? If I think there could be somebody
hurt
, that means somebody who could be
doing
the hurting could also be in there. Makes sense that the person with the gun goes first.”
    Of course, Ezra knew Carter wasn’t in there.
    The bastard knew he’d been figured out. He was on the move. Ezra knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand. And as much as he was throwing procedure out the window right now, he didn’t know why he was bothering. But he wasn’t letting a civilian go in there, not until he’d checked it out.
    It was easier to think that Ezra had lost his mind than to think about the alternative. Remy was very much clinging to his thoughts of the sheriff’s sad future, how people would shake their heads and sigh about how he’d cracked under the strain.
    It wasn’t much comfort, though, because there was nothing about Ezra that he could totally write off as nuts. He’d even looked at the spot on the threshold, tried to convince himself it could be anything
but
blood. Hell, Carter glazed stuff here, right? Could be glaze.
    But the longer Remy had stared at it, the more it looked like blood. His imagination—that was all. Getting away with him. Finally, Ezra appeared back in the doorway and nodded. “He’s not in here. Nobody is.”
    “Then we leave, damn it,” Remy snarled. “You’ll be lucky if I can talk Carter
out
of pressing charges. He’s insane about his privacy—” The second the words left his mouth, he snapped his jaw shut, wished he hadn’t said anything.
    Ezra’s mouth twisted in a smile, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I bet he’s insane about his privacy.”He ambled off, back into the workshop, not even remotely resembling something that looked like he was leaving.
    Remy closed his eyes and swore. He had to get the bastard out of here. Had to, before
he
ended up screwed as well.
    “What are these things?” Ezra asked, stopping in front of a huge receptacle that took up most of the eastern half of the workshop.
    “His kilns.” Remy started over to him, snagged his arm. “You can learn about pottery while you’re in jail for breaking and entering. Come on.”
    “You might want to take your hands off me, Remy,” Ezra said, keeping his voice light, easy.
    Remy snarled at him, fisting his hand in Ezra’s shirt. “Will you just get the fuck out of here before you screw
your
career
and
mine?”
    Ezra glanced down at the hand that still held a fistful of his shirt. Then, eyes narrowed, he looked up. “You want to watch it there, Jennings. I mean it.”
    “We’re leaving.”
    Ezra reached up with one arm, shifted the other, managing to trap Remy’s hand. As he did it, he whirled around, using his momentum to shift Remy’s body around. Remy hit face-first into one of the smaller kilns—hard. For a second, he saw stars. Then he saw red. But he was hard-pressed to do much about it, which only pissed him off even more. He shoved back, but Ezra had somehow managed to get his arm locked and twisted high between his shoulder blades.
    “Enough, Remy,” Ezra snapped. “You got it?”
    Remy shoved back, ignoring it as his shoulder screamed a warning at him. “Get the hell off of me.” He managed to budge himself. About one inch. Shit. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Counted to ten. “You can’t expect me to believe this shit. Carter’s not just mycousin—he’s one of my best friends. You can’t just expect me to believe this.”
    He opened his eyes. Stared at the kiln just an inch from his face. “You can’t.”
    Behind him, Ezra swore. Then said something.
    But it was