“That’s not the address of Samson Crisp and Associates,” Alice said.

Kirk glanced at the card. “He was using a fake name so he went with a fake address, as well. Not that it matters now that we’ve got a positive ID. Damn. This is a genuine homicide. Too bad the chief isn’t here. He was FBPI. He knows how to run a murder investigation.”

“Well, Slade isn’t here, so we’re on our own,” Myrna said. She gave Drake a narrow-eyed look. “But this is Foundation Security business, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Drake said. “It is. Normally Harry would handle a Preserve-connected murder, but since he and Attridge aren’t around, I’ll take the lead.” He paused for a beat. “If that’s okay with you and Kirk?”

“Fine by me,” Myrna said. “Crisp wasn’t a local and it doesn’t look like the perp was from the island, either. Not our problem.”

Kirk gave a clipped nod of his head. “As the only representative of the Foundation available at the moment, sir, you’re in charge. But you need to keep Myrna and me in the loop. The chief will want a full report when he gets back.”

“Understood,” Drake said. He turned to the doctor. “What can you tell us, Dr. Forester?”

“Call me Ed,” Forester said. “And I don’t have squat for you. No visible wounds. If Sylvia had found Crisp’s body in one of the rooms upstairs, I would have said the guy had suffered a heart attack or a stroke.”

“Just like Fulton,” Alice said quietly.

With the exception of Drake, everyone looked at her.

“My ex,” she explained.

“Oh, right,” Rachel said. “The guy you spent your first honeymoon with here on Rainshadow.”

Alice flushed. “It was just an MC.”

Drake stepped into the short, awkward silence. “Given the facts, I think we can assume that Crisp was killed with the same weapon that was used on Fulton Whitcomb.”

Kirk’s jaw hardened into a grim line. “Alien technology?”

“I think so,” Drake said. “A couple of the people involved in this thing—Zara Tucker and Aldwin Hampstead—had access to a lot of Alien artifacts.”

“I don’t get it,” Charlotte said. “If the killer knew the death would look like natural causes, why would he go to the trouble of concealing the body in the freezer?”

“I can think of a couple of reasons,” Drake said. “First, he wanted to buy some time. He had to know that the body would be identified fairly quickly once it was discovered. It wasn’t like Crisp was working under deep cover. He just checked in with a fake name and address.”

Alice nodded. “And once the body was identified, there was a strong possibility that someone back in Resonance—Crisp’s last client, for example—would start asking questions about why he had gone to Rainshadow and what he’d found there. Said client might have gone to the police with her suspicions and convinced them to reopen the investigation.”

Myrna arched her brows. “Crisp’s last client being you.”

“Yep.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Told Burt ages ago that he needed to clean out that freezer.”

“What about the killer?” Drake said. He studied the handful of cards on file. “Doesn’t look like there were a lot of other folks staying here the night Crisp checked in.”

“It was off-season,” Sylvia said. “We weren’t booked solid. Looks like mostly couples, though.” She paused. “Here’s a single man. Roger Carter. Gave a Resonance City address and paid cash, too. One night only. Left early the following morning.”

“We think the killer is a man named Aldwin Hampstead,” Alice said. “He’s a museum director and he looks the part. Mid-thirties, slender, blond hair, good looking in a polished, classy sort of way. He would have been well dressed and rather aloof.”

“Huh.” Sylvia snapped the registration card against the desktop a couple of times and looked thoughtful. “I don’t think this is your guy. Hampstead sounds like someone I would remember. But I can’t recall anything in particular about Roger Carter. Medium height, medium build. Very ordinary type, I guess.”

“Damn,” Drake said softly. “Sounds like Zara Tucker found herself a pro.”

Everyone looked at him.

“A professional hit man who knows how to fade into the background,” Drake explained. “The kind of guy no one remembers.”

Alice shook her head. “That’s definitely not Aldwin Hampstead.”

Chapter 28

DRAKE STOOD AT THE WINDOW OF THE LANTERN-LIT room, watching the shadows of the paranormal fog roll through the main street of Shadow Bay.

Alice was still in the bathroom. He could hear water running in the sink. It seemed to him that she had been in there for an inordinate length of time. Something told him that their second night together at the Marina Inn was going to be a lot more complicated than the first.

Last night had been simple because they had both been exhausted. The sex had come out of nowhere, blindsiding them. Like the torrid kiss in the parking garage, the fiery passion last night had hit hard and fast. It was not the kind of sex that implied a commitment to another such encounter tonight.

He was sure that when they climbed the stairs to their room a short time ago they had both been thinking about the bed that awaited them. He certainly had been thinking about it. But he could not get a read on Alice. He should not push her, he thought. She’d had a rough day. Finding a dead body was a traumatic experience made even worse in this case because she had known the victim. He should give Alice some space tonight.

Too bad Houdini had taken off a short time ago. The dust bunny served as a sort of chaperone.

The bathroom door opened. Drake turned around and watched Alice emerge in the robe and nightgown that she had borrowed from Rachel. Her hair was tumbled down around her shoulders. In the glow of the lantern she looked freshly scrubbed and sweetly vulnerable.

His wife. For now, at least.

His blood heated. He fought the nearly overpowering impulse to take her down onto the bed and lose himself in her arms. She was a dazzling drug to his senses, and he was completely and utterly addicted.

He really should give her some space tonight.

She stopped and looked at him. “Anything going on outside?”

“No,” he said. Intensely aware of his fierce erection, he started toward the bathroom. “Be out in a minute.”

Give her some space, he thought.

When he emerged a short time later, he discovered that Alice was in bed. She had turned the lantern down very low. To his eyes, the room was still fully illuminated, but he knew the shadows that she perceived gave her a sense of privacy. At least she could not see how aroused he was.

He went around to the far side of the bed and stripped off his trousers and shirt. He climbed under the covers wearing only his briefs, folded his arms behind his head, and concentrated on the ceiling.

There was a short silence.

“You can turn off the lantern,” Alice said.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind sleeping in my glasses.”

“That’s not necessary, really.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He hesitated and then reached out and de-rezzed the lantern, plunging the room into what he knew was utter darkness for Alice. He took off his glasses and put them close at hand on the bedside table.

There was another short silence. Alice stirred.

“You can still see me, can’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“As if I’m lying here in broad daylight?”

He turned onto his side and looked at her. “No, not unless I jack up my talent a little. But I’m not doing that now. I’m just looking at you with what passes for normal vision for me.”

“What do you see?”

He looked at her with a sense of wonder and tried to find the words. “It’s as if you were lit by moonlight and shadow, but the hues and shades are all from the far end of the spectrum. You look . . . beautiful. Magical.”