LITMIR.BIZ

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over to the side as the gurney carrying Reginald Adair moved past them. Instead of paramedics, the gurney was accompanied by two men from the coroner’s office.

      Her heart felt like lead in her chest.

      Adair hadn’t made it, Elizabeth realized, startled. Somehow, maybe because the man always seemed larger-than-life to her, she’d expected him to recover no matter what the wound.

      Tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to fall. She did what she could to hold them back. Tears weren’t going to help the man now.

      Nothing was.

      Flat brown eyes took inventory of her, moving from top to bottom. “There’s a lot of blood on you,” the detective finally commented.

      Completely oblivious to her appearance, Elizabeth looked down at herself for the first time since she’d found Adair on the floor.

      The entire bottom portion of her skirt, as well as large sections of her blouse, was stained with blood. Reginald Adair’s blood.

      The realization—not to mention the sight of that blood—brought a chill racing up and down her spine.

      “I guess it got all over me when I was trying to revive him,” she told the detective numbly.

      “You tried to revive him,” the detective echoed. “Even though he was dead?”

      The latter part of the question was all but fired at her. The detective continued staring at her, his eyes nearly boring small holes into her.

      “He wasn’t dead at the time,” Elizabeth snapped irritably. Too much had happened in too short of a time frame. She wasn’t up to coping with a rude police detective who seemed to have made up his mind that she was guilty of murdering her boss and had condemned her right from the start. “I detected a faint heartbeat and tried to get his heart to beat harder, stronger.” She blew out a breath as she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold, wishing there was someone else in the room, someone familiar she could turn to for moral support as she suffered through this entire ordeal, even just for a moment or two. “I didn’t succeed,” she ended quietly.

      Kramer snorted and looked at her pointedly. “Now there’s an understatement.” The comment was accompanied by a dry, humorless laugh. “What were you doing in the building in the first place?” he wanted to know. “I couldn’t help but notice that the entire building was empty except for you two.”

      “Mr. Adair gave the order for everyone to leave by five,” she told him. Maybe this would go faster if she just answered him in simple sentences, she thought, desperate to have this over with. She had calls to make, people to notify of this terrible tragedy.

      “Convenient.” Kramer continued to stare at her intently, waiting for her to break or say something out of turn.

      “Not really.” She knew her tone sounded defensive, but there was something about the detective that just brought out the worst in her. “Mr. Adair was having the security system overhauled and updated.”

      The detective’s face was expressionless. “How many people knew about that?”

      Wasn’t he listening? “Everyone,” she answered, trying not to allow her exasperation to poke through. “That’s why they all left at five.”

      “Not all.” Kramer looked at her pointedly. “You stayed.”

      “I had something to finish. It took longer than I thought,” Elizabeth told him, leaving out the part explaining why it took longer: because she was so preoccupied with this new situation she unwillingly found herself in. “When I finished, I left the building,” she informed him coolly, then added, “It was around eight o’clock.”

      “You left,” he echoed. “And yet, you’re here. Why is that?” Kramer asked, keeping his voice deceptively light, almost friendly sounding.

      Elizabeth didn’t know if the detective was mocking her or trying to trip her up into making some kind of a confession. In either case, she trod very carefully, knowing that any misstep would have the man pouncing on her with who knew what sort of accusations—not the least of which would be naming her to be Reginald Adair’s killer.

      She phrased her explanation about her reappearance as simply as possible. “I realized that I’d left a few pages I was going to need on my desk, so I came back for them.”

      Kramer stared at her as if he was x-raying her very bones. “So you were planning on working this weekend.”

      His tone was too pleasant. She didn’t trust it. “Yes, I was.”

      Kramer circled her slowly, as if taking measure of her from all sides. “An attractive woman like you, staying home all weekend, working—what’s wrong with this picture?” he asked, standing in front of her again.

      It was obvious that he didn’t believe her, Elizabeth thought. She was telling him the truth and the detective didn’t believe her.

      Was she going to need a lawyer on top of everything else that had happened today?

      She knew that if she showed the least bit of fear in the face of this interrogation, she’d be lost.

      Raising her chin, she tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder and said defiantly, “Nothing, if that woman wants to get ahead in the company. It takes a great deal of hard work.”

      Kramer shrugged, his loose-fitting jacket shifting on his thin shoulders. “Another way might be sleeping with the boss,” he suggested.

      That might be the way you’d do it, but I wouldn’t, Elizabeth thought angrily.

      For now, the response had to remain solely in her head, since saying anything remotely antagonistic out loud would be asking for trouble and far from wise.

      “Mr. Adair is—was,” Elizabeth corrected herself, “a married man with a family,” she pointed out to the detective, hoping that would be the end of his condescending inference.

      Even so, she couldn’t deny that she felt guilty—and perhaps even partially responsible—for Adair’s death. Maybe if she’d just stopped by earlier...

      Turning, she watched the gurney being guided by the coroner’s men until it disappeared into the private elevator car.

      “I should have checked on him,” she murmured to herself.

      Kramer’s ears went up on high alert. “What did you say?” he asked, his eyes once more boring into her.

      She wanted to shout at the man to leave her alone. Instead, she patiently explained her meaning.

      “Before I left the first time, I should have checked on Mr. Adair then. He was supposed to have already left for a business trip—that’s why I came into his office in the first place. I saw the light coming from underneath his door. It should have been off and he should have been at the airport, waiting to take off,” she added mournfully.

       And now he never will.

      “Looks like he found another way to take off,” Kramer commented, his tone far from friendly or compassionate.

      Elizabeth pitied anyone who had to work with this man. “Am I free to go?” she wanted to know. The detective made her very uneasy, not to mention the fact that she desperately wanted to get out of her bloodied clothes and into an accommodating hot shower.

      “Sure,” he said magnanimously. But when she turned to leave, he qualified, “When we’re done.” His tone made her blood run cold. “I’ve still got a few more questions for you.”

      The smile that slid over his thin lips was completely disembodied from anything remotely personal, warm or sincere.

      “Why don’t you come down to the station with me where you can be more comfortable?” he suggested.

      “Come into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly, Elizabeth thought with a

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