LITMIR.BIZ

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have seen what happened without being detected.

      It was possible he might have himself a witness, after all. And if Gail had been murdered, it was imperative that he find the owner of the doll as quickly as possible.

      He turned to Dalrimple. “I’m going to need your help…Dal. This is very important.”

      The little man almost glowed. “Well, er, of course. Whatever I can do to be of, er, assistance.”

      “I’ll need a list of all the tenants in the building, and I’ll need you to flag the ones who have children. We’ll start with the families who have little girls under the age of, say, ten.”

      Dalrimple’s brow furrowed. “That could, er, take a while. I’m not so good on the computer, and Mama doesn’t like to be disturbed once she’s gone to bed.”

      John grasped the man’s arm. “The problem is, I don’t have a while. I need it now. Five minutes ago. You can help me out, can’t you, Dal?”

      The man seemed torn for a minute, some internal conflict—no doubt involving his mother—causing myriad expressions to flash across his face. Then he nodded, resolved. “You can count on me, Detective. I’ll do whatever I can to assist you.”

      “Good,” John said. “I’ll be sure to note your cooperation in my report.”

      Dalrimple said solemnly, “Mama will be so pleased.”

      ZELDA’S EATERY was closed on Sundays, and normally Thea loved to sleep in. She’d never been an early riser on weekends, but in spite of her late hours the night before, she was up by seven, tiptoeing around the apartment so that she wouldn’t awaken Nikki.

      Mrs. Lewellyn was gone, having gotten up sometime after Thea went to bed and let herself out of the apartment. She’d been sleeping on the couch when Thea got home, and Thea hadn’t had the heart to disturb her. She made a mental note to call the older woman later and thank her for coming over the evening before on such short notice. Nikki’s regular baby-sitter had already made plans when Thea had called from the diner about working a double shift, but Mrs. Lewellyn had been more than willing to step in.

      Back in Baltimore, Thea had never had to worry about child care. Nikki had been enrolled in a wonderful preschool, and when Thea was kept late at work, her stepmother, Mona, who was employed in the same office, was usually available to pick up Nikki. And on the rare occasions when Mona couldn’t do it, Kate Ramano, Thea’s best friend since high school, had readily stepped in.

      Thea wondered what Kate and Mona thought of her now. She’d left Baltimore without a phone call to either of them. They had no idea where she and Nikki were, or the real story behind Rick’s death, although Thea knew they’d both have their suspicions. They knew what her life had been like after the divorce—the midnight phone calls, the threats, the stalking.

      Rick had made her life a living hell, and both Mona and Kate had been wonderful friends through it all. But they were human. They’d have to wonder, at times, if Rick’s shooting had been self-defense or premeditated. Hadn’t they heard her say, more than once, how much she wanted him dead?

      Shivering, Thea poured herself a cup of coffee, then clicked on the TV, leaving the volume on mute as she surfed through the cable stations, trying to find a local news broadcast. She’d seen no sign of reporters on the scene last night, thank goodness, but she could never be too careful. The last thing she needed was to have her face splashed across newspapers. What if the Mancusos saw her picture?

      For a while last night, she’d worried that Detective Gallagher might have recognized her from a wanted poster or police blotter or even a newspaper. Rick’s murder, along with the disappearance of his ex-wife and daughter, was bound to have made front page in Baltimore. She couldn’t be certain the story hadn’t been picked up by one of the wire services and carried nationally, as well, even though she’d seen no mention of it in the past four months.

      When she and Nikki had first arrived in Chicago, she’d scoured the papers and listened to news broadcasts daily, but the Windy City had its own headlines, its own problems with domestic violence.

      And by the time Thea had had the nerve to venture out of their motel room and look for a newsstand carrying the Baltimore Sun, the whole grisly affair had been knocked from the pages by a bribery scandal involving high-ranking city officials. There’d been no mention of Rick’s murder, no mention of the police corruption Thea had suspected for months.

      She’d been left to imagine what the headlines must have been: VINDICTIVE EX-WIFE MURDERS DECORATED POLICE OFFICER. COP KILLER FLEES BALTIMORE WITH FOUR-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER. STATEWIDE MANHUNT FOR COLD-BLOODED MURDERER.

      Thea sometimes still had a hard time believing how much her life had changed. She’d been a business major in college and had gone to work at her father’s private-investigation firm right after graduation. She hadn’t been interested in field work, but she had been interested in numbers. She’d run the office efficiently, cutting costs and increasing profits with her innovative ideas. Now she worked as a waitress in a diner. She’d once been a respected member of the chamber of commerce. Now she was a wanted criminal.

      Deep in thought, she started violently when the doorbell sounded. Her heart skidded against her chest as her head swiveled toward the door. Who in the world would be coming to see her at this hour on a Sunday morning?

      Telling herself it was probably Mrs. Lewellyn wanting to chat for a few minutes, Thea hurried to the door. But when she glanced through the peephole, she gasped in dismay.

      Detective Gallagher stood in the hallway, his blue eyes so piercing she could have sworn he had the ability to look directly through the door, straight at her.

      Frantically she glanced around. Was there anything incriminating in the apartment? Should she hide? Pretend she wasn’t home? Grab Nikki and make a run for it?

      Smoothing her hands down the sides of her chenille robe, Thea tried to get her nerves under control. There was no reason to panic. Detective Gallagher was conducting a police investigation that she had inadvertently become a part of. All she had to do was convince him that she had seen nothing last night. She had no connection to the dead woman.

      But suddenly the woman’s picture flashed on the TV screen, and for a moment, the smiling attractive face triggered something in Thea. Not recognition exactly, but a feeling that at sometime, somewhere, she and the dead woman’s paths had crossed.

      The doorbell sounded again, and casting a glance toward Nikki’s bedroom, Thea patted down her tangled dark hair and pulled open the door.

      Detective John Gallagher was even taller than she remembered, and more formal looking than she would have expected for a Sunday morning, unless of course, he was on his way to church. But somehow Thea doubted that. He had the appearance of a man who lived and breathed his investigations. Police work would be his religion. She knew the type all too well.

      He was dressed in a dark gray suit, a starched white shirt and a silk tie that were obviously expensive—and made Thea immediately suspicious. She knew what cops made, what they had to do to afford clothing like his. A shudder of warning rippled through her.

      “Good morning.” His tone was cordial, but he didn’t smile. His expression remained impersonal, his eyes very blue and very cold.

      In spite of his grim demeanor, he was a strikingly handsome man, Thea realized. The kind of man who almost always spelled trouble.

      He gazed past her shoulder into the apartment. “May I come in? I have a few questions I need to ask you.”

      Dear God, what kind of questions? What in the world was he doing here? Thea frowned. “But I told you last night—I didn’t see anything. I wasn’t even home.”

      One dark brow lifted slightly. “But your little girl was, right?”

      His words were like a dagger through Thea’s chest. Her heart seemed to stop for a long painful moment, and she could almost feel the color draining from her face. “How did you—”

      “May

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