“Just with you?”

Tammy shrugged again. “I seem to irritate him somehow.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jake said gently. “And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Annie was browsing the police reports. She looked up. “Were you aware he owned a gun?”

The woman shook her head adamantly. “The police said they found bullets in the basement somewhere. I don’t go down there often.”

“And his fingerprint was found on a shell casing at the murder scene,” Annie said.

Tammy’s eyes bulged. “I don’t believe it. He might’ve hit me from time to time, but he would never kill anyone.”

“And a witness saw his car there.”

Tammy was silent.

“Now do you believe it?” Jake asked.

Tammy closed her eyes and took a few quick breaths. “No, I don’t believe it,” she said.

“How can we find him and prove he didn’t do it,” Annie asked.

“I don’t know,” the woman said. “I honestly don’t know.”

Annie put the printout back into the folder, tucked it into her handbag, then looked at Jake and stood.

Jake pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Tammy. “Call us if you think of something that can help us find your husband. Or you can call the police.”

Tammy took the card, stood, and followed them quietly to the door. “Let me know if you find anything,” she said.

Annie promised her they would, and then followed Jake to the car and got in.

“After all that,” Jake said, turning to Annie. “She still defends him.”

Annie sighed. “They almost always do.”

Chapter 16

Tuesday, 2:54 p.m.

THE MAN WAITED patiently, glancing at his watch more than once, spinning the cylinder on his revolver often, humming a nameless tune all the while.

His quarry wasn’t at home and time was wasting, but he was being well paid for this job, so wait he would. As long as it took. He prided himself on getting the job done perfectly every time. And this time would be no different.

From where he sat in the comfortable living room, he could see the driveway and half the street. He would know when they arrived, and would have time to prepare for the ambush that would earn him his pay.

He looked at his watch again. He knew they had a kid, and if he got home from school before the job was finished, that could complicate things somewhat. However, he had no qualms about taking out the boy as well, if necessary. It would be the first time he ever killed a kid, but you have to start sometime.

He smiled grimly as a car roared into the driveway. It was a big, shiny, red Firebird. They were here. He slid from the chair, circled into the kitchen, and waited. He decided the best plan of action would be to sit tight until they were inside, then step into the hallway and nail them both at once before they could react.

He knew how important the element of surprise was.

Then the car roared once more and he frowned. It sounded like they were leaving again. He circled back into the living room and eased to the front window in time to see the Firebird turn from the driveway and head up the street.

Now what?

And then a key rattled in the door and he froze. It must be the woman. The guy probably dropped her off and left again.

He didn’t have time to get back to the kitchen. He would have to wait until she came in, then go into the hallway and take her out from behind. He didn’t often shoot people in the back. He preferred to see their face as they went down, but he would have to make an exception this time. It was either that or risk failing—something he never did.

He ducked behind the chair and peered around. He could barely see into the hallway at the front of the house. He heard the door open, someone step in, and then the sound of the door snapping closed.

It was a woman. He heard her singing softly. Some stupid ’80s song.

He was faced with a minor dilemma. He could kill the woman first, wait for the man to return, and then nail him the same way. The problem was, someone might hear the gunfire, and he didn’t like to hang around for long after the first shot was fired. That could get him caught.

He had wanted to get both at once. It was always easier that way. Taking out only one would put the other on his guard—never a good thing. But half a job done was better than nothing, and anyhow, there was no other choice.

Though he’d done his fair share of hits in the past, he wasn’t a professional. It was something he aspired to, but hadn’t made the move yet. There was a lot of money to be had in that vocation, but he was still practicing for that big day. He vowed to invest in a good silencer. It would come in handy right now.

He heard another footstep and peered around the back of the chair again. She was still not in sight. Probably putting her key away or taking her shoes off or some such thing.

Then he saw a pair of eyes on the far wall of the foyer. They grew wide and he heard a gasp.

She had seen him in a mirror on the entryway wall. He cursed his stupidity as he sprang to his feet. He raised the revolver and aimed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Too late. She had scurried up the hallway toward the kitchen. Fortunately, she never tried to run back outside. That was a good thing, and should work in his favor.

He knew the layout of the house. He’d arrived early, let himself in the back door, and spent a few minutes becoming familiar with the main floor of the dwelling. The hallway led into the kitchen and she was probably going for the back door. But he knew he could also circle into the kitchen from the living room, and that’s where he headed.

He needed to get to her before she reached the back door or he would fail completely. That would be a first for him, and his employer would be none too pleased.

He couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.

He leapt across the living room and into the kitchen. He raised the gun. She wasn’t there and he frowned.

She must still be in the hallway. She hadn’t gone upstairs or he would’ve known.

He eased across the room, both hands on his weapon, his eye sighting down the barrel, ready to finish the job that had started so poorly.

She wasn’t in the hallway. Did she turn around and circle back? He spun, ready to fire, and moved to the living room door. She wasn’t there.

He went back to the kitchen, stood still, and dropped his gun hand to his side. Listening. Listening for any telltale sound. All he heard was his own breathing and the beating of his heart.

He’d never been outsmarted before and wasn’t about to let this one be the first to get the better of him. Especially not a woman. How humiliating.

Raising the weapon again, he tiptoed silently down the hallway, into the living room, then back to the kitchen.

That’s when he saw the doorway, just inside the kitchen, near the entrance to the hall. It likely led to the basement. He crouched down. A small amount of light seeped out from underneath.

He sprang across the room and whipped the door open. The basement light was on.

He had guessed correctly. He heard a rustling, scrambling sound. She was down there somewhere. He hoped she wasn’t armed. He would need to be careful.

He took the first step and crouched. He couldn’t see her but his ears told him she was definitely down there somewhere. He took another step, then another, stopping briefly each time, his revolver ready to bring her down at a split-second notice. All he would need was one shot—he was that good.

He leaped down the last two steps and crouched on the concrete floor. Nothing. He swung around, the weapon and his body moving as one entity. One deadly killing machine.

Where was she? He frowned.

Across the room. Just behind a large treadmill. A door. It was closed, and he sprang toward it, hitting it fully with his shoulder. The door held. He tried again, and it crashed open, the frame shattered. The door bounced off the inner wall and sprang back. He stopped it with his hand and stepped inside, the revolver ready.