LITMIR.BIZ

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      * * *

      LILAH RUBBED HER swollen eyes, then riffled through the stack of bills that had collected in her mailbox during her absence. Absentmindedly going up the stairs, she almost ran smack into Luke McCoy at the bottom of the apartment stairwell.

      “Whoa there, missy,” he said with a laugh. “We missed you while you were gone.” She glanced up, and his easy grin melted away. “You all right?”

      Lilah gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine.”

      “You don’t look fine. Need a friend? We could talk over breakfast and coffee.”

      Sure, but she hated to encourage the guy. He’d been asking her out for weeks now, and if she went out with him, he’d make a big deal of it.

      “No, really. It was a rough night, but I’m okay.”

      “Missing your family, I bet,” he said knowingly. “Ms. Cranston told me you went home for your father’s funeral and stayed awhile to take care of the estate and stuff.”

      She made a mental note to be more circumspect with her elderly neighbor. “Right,” she agreed, clutching at the excuse.

      A brown-and-white cop cruiser whipped into a nearby parking spot, and she idly watched as a man got out. He locked the door and turned, rapidly making his way toward them. It couldn’t be. A familiar shock of brown hair, a strong jaw and piercing blue eyes... Yes, it was Harlan. What was he doing here? And dressed in his uniform, too?

      “I think breakfast is just what you need,” Luke continued, unaware of Harlan approaching from behind. “Let me take you out.”

      Her stomach revolted at the thought of food. “No, thank you.”

      “Ah, come on—”

      “The lady said no,” Harlan snapped.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked.

      His jaw tightened. “We have business to discuss.”

      Luke held up a hand and shuffled backward. “I’ll leave you two alone then.”

      Well, at least he might not pester her for dates anymore. So at least something good would come of this unexpected meeting with Harlan.

      “Is that him?” Harlan asked stiffly.

      “What? Oh, you mean... Never mind, it’s still none of your business.”

      “Seemed pretty spineless to me,” Harlan observed. “He cut out pretty quick when I came.”

      “You practically ordered him to leave,” she argued. “Besides—”

      “Yoo-hoo, officer!” They looked up the stairs, where Ms. Cranston stood in her housecoat. “That was quick. I just called five minutes ago.”

      “Ma’am, I’m not—”

      “I got to puzzling on that stranger hanging around here last night, and the more I thought on it, the more scared I got on account of—”

      “Stranger?” Harlan took the stairs two at a time and withdrew a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “When? What did he look like?”

      Lilah followed him, trying to quell the butterflies of alarm in her stomach.

      “He was medium height, a little on the thin side and dressed all in black. Kept walking back and forth in that hallway there.” She pointed to the hall where Lilah’s apartment was.

      “Did he wear a black ski mask?” Lilah asked, holding her breath.

      “No. If he had, I’d a called the police right away.”

      “Could you describe his face or hair?” Harlan asked.

      Ms. Cranston shook her head. “He stayed in the shadows.”

      Harlan sighed and returned the notepad to his shirt pocket.

      “Thing is,” Ms. Cranston continued, “another feller came ’round this morning dressed all in black. I leaned out my window and yelled, ‘Hey, whatcha doin’?’ He took off running to the parking lot without even turning around to see who was talking.”

      “Did you get a look at the car make and model, or a tag?”

      “It was a big dark blue car,” she said. “Sorry, I don’t know models and such as that.”

      Harlan nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He took Lilah’s arm and motioned for the stairs.

      “Hope you catch him,” Ms. Cranston called to their backs. “I don’t cotton to strangers roaming around here. Up to no good, I bet.”

      “We’re going to your apartment, and you’re going to pack your things,” Harlan said in his no-nonsense voice. “We’ll talk on the way to Lavender Mountain.”

      * * *

      “WON’T BE ANY safer there,” she muttered. Inside her apartment, she whirled to face him. “You can’t just show up and start ordering me around.”

      His face was as set as she’d ever seen it. “Have a seat.”

      Something was wrong. Bad wrong. Her jellied legs no longer felt strong enough to support her weight, and she sank into the nearest chair, clasping her hands in her lap. “What’s happened?”

      Harlan ran a hand through his hair and sank to his knees beside her, so close she could feel the heat of his skin and inhale the scent of his woodsy aftershave. “There’s no easy way to break this, darlin’.”

      Who was in trouble or hurt this time? Jimmy? He’d returned to his tour in Afghanistan last week, and Lord knew that he’d been placed in dangerous missions time and again—

      “It’s Darla,” he said gently, placing a large rough hand over hers and squeezing. “She’s been murdered.”

      No. No, not her sister. “I just saw her yesterday,” she mumbled. How stupid. As if that meant Darla couldn’t possibly be dead. Lilah shook off the useless denial. “How...”

      “Shot in the back.”

      Murder again. The air pressed in and her lungs seized. She squeezed in a painful breath and exhaled. “Same as Dad?”

      “Yes.”

      Without thinking, she collapsed onto his broad shoulders, her body shaking uncontrollably. Not again. Not again. Harlan shifted into the chair beside her and guided her onto his lap where she felt cradled by his strength. His hands rubbed up and down her back. She focused on his touch—it was all she could grasp to stop the maelstrom of mourning, which threatened to overwhelm her.

      First Dad, and now Darla. All in the space of a week.

      Lilah snapped her head up, remembering she wasn’t alone in her grief. “Those poor kids! And Ed, too.”

      Harlan brushed away the tears on her cheek. “We’ve called Ed’s parents, and they’re on the way. If need be, they can keep the children at their place while we get to the bottom of this.”

      “Surely Ed wants them there with him. And I can go over and stay a bit until things settle down. Help him out. He must be devastated.”

      “You think so?”

      “Of course.” She cocked her head to the side, digesting the impact of his words. “You don’t... I mean... You aren’t saying Ed killed Darla, are you?”

      “We’re not ruling anything out. Usually, a killer is someone known intimately by the victim.”

      She tensed, fighting the sudden shudder that crawled up her spine. “Not in this case. It’s the same way my dad was killed, so it must be the same person. And Ed had no beef with Dad.”

      “That you know of,” Harlan corrected.

      “Only when he got

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