If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

Almost. Not quite.
    Voices intruded on his thoughts, Ms. Tuttle’s firm, insistent tones, then a low, softer voice—although no less firm, no less insistent. Accompanied by another voice, one that made Ezra scowl as he kicked his feet off the desk.
    Concentration shattered, he stood up as Law Reilly appeared in the doorway.
    “You know, the point of having a cell phone is so people can call you,” he drawled.
    Law frowned, patted his pocket. “Shit. I guess I left it home. Sorry.” Then he nudged Nia inside, shutting the door in Ms. Tuttle’s surprised—and furious—face.
    Oh, he was going to get it later, Ezra thought. Really get it—and he’d be sure to take it out on Law. When he had a chance.
    Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Law, I don’t have time for this. I’m exhausted, I’ve got too much work to do, and I have to get back out to the site today.”
    “This is more important,” Law said, his voice flat.
    “More important.” Smirking, Ezra hooked his thumbs in his pockets. Absently, he shifted his weight to his right leg, taking the strain off his bad one. “Just what is more important than finding whatever clues we can that will lead us to finding a killer?”
    Law rested his hands on Nia’s shoulders. Then he looked up, focused on Ezra. “How about this … I think Nia knows who it is.”
    In that moment, a gorilla could have danced by Ezra’s window in a pink tutu and he wouldn’t have noticed. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Nia. She had her eyes closed, and she was pale—almost ashen, her breaths coming in rapid, shallow pants. Alarming, that.
    “Nia?”
    She swallowed and looked up. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled something out—a plastic bag. She barely touched it, holding it only with the tips of her fingers, like she couldn’t bear to touch it.
    “You’re going to find fingerprints on it,” Law said. “Hers, mine … probably from other people. We found it at the Inn.”
    Nia opened her mouth to say something else, but Law’s hand shot out, caught hers, squeezed. He shook his head.
    Ezra narrowed his eyes. “What’s up, Reilly?”
    “Nothing you need to know about.”
    “Why don’t I believe that?” he muttered, shooting Law a dark look as he came out from behind the desk. He took the bag and lifted it. The second he saw what was in it, his heart sank to his knees, and then leaped up to his throat.
    The bracelet. Kathleen Hughes—
    Shit. He’d done some investigating on the girl’s death after Nia had shown him her report. Yeah, this fit the description. But still … hell, Carter bought Roz jewelry all the time.
    “It’s inscribed,” Nia said, her voice reed-thin. “I didn’t tell you that. But her boyfriend had it inscribed to her.”
    Ezra turned it over.
    For my angel
.
    There was also a small blue sapphire set there.
    “It was Kathleen’s birthstone,” Nia whispered.
    Ezra looked at her, his hand tightening on the bracelet. “You said you found this at the Inn.”
    Nia nodded jerkily. She opened her mouth, but then closed it without saying anything.
    Ezra didn’t need her to say anything, though. Because just like that … those missing pieces Ezra had been searching for fell into place.
    The man he’d seen in the courthouse—he hadn’t been able to place him because he hadn’t
looked
right.
    Carter.
    Carter
fucking
Jennings. He’d looked different, because he hadn’t had any hair—bald.
    What in the holy fuck …
    “Son of a bitch, Lena’s over at the Inn,” Ezra snarled.
    *   *   *
     
    He was running out of ashes, Carter mused. He’d known he would. Couldn’t get the ashes when he didn’t have his special ingredients. He’d been hoarding what he had, but he was now just about out. Roz did love the pieces with that glaze, but what could he do?
    Sighing, he added some more copper oxide. It was going to be lovely when he was done. A deep, burnished red glaze he’d use on a few of the pieces he’d fired—one of them was an anniversary present for Roz.
    The glaze had to be perfect. He had used the last of his ashes for it, so it would be perfect. The ashes had a way of giving the pots a special gleam … like they glowed with some inner spark. A soul.
    After leaving the sheriff’s department, he’d come here. He’d been tempted to amble around town and see if he could learn anything. In the end, though, he had needed the peace of his workshop, needed to focus on something other than