By Sandra Brown
Kari Wynne is desperately looking for the reality surrounding her husband's loss of life however the guy who destroyed his attractiveness, who she may still particularly hate, is awakening in her a fondness that she hasn't ever recognized sooner than.
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I kept the light on, but as I got nearer to the cops at the crime scene above, I took out my handkerchief and wrapped it over the lens, cutting the light down by two-thirds. Then I swung the dull beam right and left looking in the underbrush, praying I wouldn't find her. I don't know how long I walked around. Ten minutes, maybe thirty. I could hear cops talking above me on the road. Then, I shined my light to the right, and something glinted. I moved over and found myself looking down at a small, nickel-plated, 9mm foreign automatic.
I couldn't think of anything. Half an hour later, the coroner's van swept into the lot. I waited while Ray Tsu and the driver pulled the gurney out of the back. They popped the wheels down and rolled the dead Crip inside. On their way, they hit a button to close the electric parking lot gate. I jumped out of the Acura, locked it with a chirp, and sprinted across the street, making it through the gates just as they were closing. I rang the bell at the back door of the building, held up my badge for the security camera, and was buzzed in.
I'll . . we'll talk it over. I'll ... I don't know. " "Tell the coaches. I'm sure they'll let you take some time off. But you've gotta stay where you are. " There was a long pause. I could hear him breathing. " "They're cops. They'll follow the evidence wherever it leads. But whatever you hear on TV, remember who your mom is. I'm not letting this get sideways. " "What if . . what if . " "She's not dead, son. She can't be. " After that, we didn't know what to say to each other. "I'll call you in the morning," I said.