Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,2

over to the computer. I close out the images. Then, because I have enough experience to know it won’t be enough, I pick up the gun from my husband’s lifeless hand. I curl my palm around the checkered grip. I slip my finger into the cold trigger guard.

And I start shooting.

• • •

WHEN THE POLICE finally burst through the door, I stand at the top of the stairs, both hands up, gun in plain view, while turning slightly so that the curve of my stomach can’t be denied.

“Drop the weapon, drop the weapon, drop the weapon!” the first officer shouts from the base of the stairs.

I do.

He scrambles up the stairs, cuffs in hands. I hope for his own sake that he doesn’t stumble against the bannister.

A marriage is a mosaic. A thousand moments. A hundred memories.

The officer twists my arms behind my back. He cuffs my wrists tight, pats me down as if expecting even more weapons, as more uniforms pour through the door.

“My husband,” I hear myself say. “He’s been shot. He’s dead.”

“Ma’am, is there anyone else present?”

“No.”

A thousand moments. A hundred memories.

“Ma’am, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”

The officer escorts me down the stairs, out of the house, away from my husband’s body.

“Do you think I’ll be allowed to plan the funeral?” I ask him.

He looks at me funny, then deposits me in the back of the patrol car on a hard plastic bench seat.

More cops. More sirens. The neighbors appearing to watch the show. I know what will come next. The trip to the police station. Where my hands will be swabbed for blood, tested for GSR. Fingerprinting. Processing.

Then, when my past appears on the computer screen …

“An accident,” my mother whispers again in the back of my mind. “Nothing but an unfortunate accident.”

I can’t help myself; I shudder.

She will come for me now, I think. And because of that, as much as anything else, I curl my hands around my belly and tell my baby, this fragile, fluttery life that hasn’t even had a chance yet, how sorry I truly am.

Chapter 2

D.D.

“OKAY. JUST LIKE WE’VE DONE before. I’ll head straight. Alex will cut left. Jack, you ready?”

Jack nodded. Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren took a steadying breath. Three of them. One target. How badly could things go wrong?

First step forward. Light tread, heel, toe, designed not to make a sound. Alex utilized the same strategy, heading sideways to intercept the line of retreat. They’d done this enough times to know that silence was the key. Alert their opponent too early, and that was it. She was both faster and—D.D. was beginning to suspect—smarter than the three of them put together.

Which made the situation particularly dire, given that it was D.D.’s favorite black leather boot at stake.

She eased into the dining room, where Kiko had wisely retreated beneath the table with her prize. So far, the best spotted dog in all the land was lying contentedly on the rug, chewing on the heel of D.D.’s shoe, as D.D. and Alex made their circular approach.

Five-year-old Jack had taken up position in the family room. His job: catch Kiko when she inevitably bolted from beneath the cherry wood table. They expected the dog would run toward Jack, her partner in crime. The two adults of the household, on the other hand …

A floorboard creaked beneath D.D.’s foot. She froze. Kiko looked up.

Time stood still. Detective and dog locked eyes, D.D. wearing one boot, Kiko holding the second between her paws.

Alex appeared in the left-hand doorway of the dining room. “Kiko! Release! Bad dog!”

Kiko grabbed the boot in her mouth and ran for it.

D.D. lunged to the right. An act of desperation, and she and the dog both knew it. Kiko, a Dalmatian–German shorthaired pointer mix who was all long legs and high energy, dodged the move effortlessly. Alex came charging from behind.

Kiko galloped straight for Jack, who cried out in boyish delight, “Roo, roo, roo!” right before he tossed Kiko’s favorite toy straight up into the air.

True to form, Kiko dropped the boot and leapt up for her stuffed hippo.

D.D. snatched her boot. Kiko caught her toy. Then Kiko and Jack were off, tearing around the family room in a whirlwind of puppy-boy energy.

“Damage?” Alex asked, coming to a halt beside her. He was