“Raul’s a lefty. Sylvia was always getting him those silly gadgets for lefties.”
“That doesn’t rule out that he used his right hand,” the M.E. said.
Diana went over the M.E.’s earlier report on the entry and exit wounds. “He was lying on his side, facing her, when he did it.”
The M.E. bobbed his head up and down. “That would explain the lack of defensive wounds. He could get the weapon in place and fire without her noticing.”
“Or someone could put the gun in his hand, hold it in place and pull the trigger. Especially if Sylvia and Raul had been drugged. What about gunshot residue?”
“We haven’t tested him for GSR yet. Before you arrived, he clammed up and asked for a lawyer,” Peter said.
Years of experience had taught her that the innocent rarely felt the need for a lawyer, but then again, being married to an attorney might make Raul hesitant to provide assistance without legal advice. He had probably heard his share of horror stories from Sylvia about how things got twisted into something other than what they really were.
“The GSR test would confirm whether or not he was close to the gun when it was fired,” Peter said.
“But not whether he was the one who actually pulled the trigger,” Diana reminded him. “The blood splatter pattern, however, might tell us.”
With an annoyed sigh, likely at the prospect of doing additional work, the M.E. said, “Special Agent Reyes, you can’t actually believe the husband didn’t do it? The case is almost airtight.”
“Airtight? If someone placed the gun in Raul’s hand and pulled the trigger—”
“There would be an area on the sleeve that lacked splatter,” Peter finished for her. “Have CSU check the entire right sleeve and make sure those toxicology reports are carefully reviewed for any unusual residues.”
“Of course, Detective Daly,” the M.E. answered. The glance he shot Diana was anything but friendly. As if to retaliate for the extra assignment the M.E. picked up the scalpel and let it linger above Sylvia’s body. The light caught the sharp edge and a chill transferred itself to Diana’s skin.
She had seen hundreds of autopsies before, but this one…
“I need to get back to the office.” She bolted from the room, Peter hot on her heels.
“You okay?” he asked as she leaned against the wall outside the autopsy room.
Swallowing to keep down the bile, she could only nod. “Will you call me later? Let me know what’s up and if toxicology finds something?”
“Will do.”
As she started to walk away, he said, “Diana?”
“What?”
“Will you be all right?”
With a shake of her head, she said, “I wish I knew.”
She couldn’t face going home. Couldn’t deal with sitting there alone, thinking about all that had happened. How what had started out as a normal day had spun into…darkness. As black and numb as that which had claimed her nearly a decade earlier.
Rushing out of her office, she started walking, headed nowhere in particular. Each step took her farther away from where she began, but no closer to where she needed to be. She wanted to be with other people, somewhere she could let go of the pain that had staked a claim on her this morning.
She could have gone to her brother, only she didn’t want to drag him down with her misery. As for her partner, David had tried to help her upon her return to the office, but had failed miserably. Her wound had been too fresh for her to accept sympathy.
Her reaction to today’s events was familiar, she realized. After her father’s death, she had driven away those closest to her. Her mami, her then boyfriend and lover Alejandro, even Sebastian, at first.
A stitch in her side made her stop. She suddenly realized she had been running, attempting to escape her emotions.
Only there was no escape.
As she paused until her breath became regular, hands on her hips, she glanced down the street and realized she was only a block or two from Ryder’s nightclub.
Had she been running to him or to the darkness she would find there?
With a deep inhalation, she told herself there was only one way to find out.
The Lair was the same as always. Charcoal-gray walls, structured to look like rock, absorbed most of the light, leaving the club with the feel of a subterranean chamber. Overhead, by the length of the stainless steel bar, hundreds of fake bats hung from the catwalks and ceiling. The only difference tonight was that the club was less crowded. It was early. So early that not even the band was on stage yet. Instead, music was piped in from a sound system.
Fine by her. Although she didn’t want to be alone, Diana wasn’t in the mood for masses of people milling around.
She couldn’t feel Ryder, but then again, she couldn’t feel anything but pain and anger. Loss. And worse than any of them combined, guilt—for not protecting her friend, for being absent from Sylvia’s life so often lately.
She had been too busy with work—and with Ryder. Years earlier, she had experienced something similar. She had been too busy with college and with her boyfriend, too involved with the needs of her own life to have time for her father…
Until he was gone.
Grief squeezed her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to move forward, but not toward the steps leading to Ryder’s office. Not yet, anyway. Instead, she plunked herself down on a bar stool. Raising her hand, she motioned to the bartender she recognized from previous nights at The Lair.
The attractive blond laid out a coaster with the club’s stylized bat-and-blood logo.
“A shot of Cuervo.” Diana waved her hand toward the back of the club. “Is Ryder here?”
The girl shot a look up at Ryder’s office window. “I don’t think so.”
So he was gone, Diana thought. She had suspected as much with the connection she hadn’t felt from the moment she had stepped into the club. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe if he had been here tonight, she would have made a mistake she would so totally regret in the morning.
She rubbed at the tattoo on her shoulder, letting it remind her about not only protecting her heart, but avoiding rash actions. Seeing Ryder tonight likely being bad on both counts.
Diana slugged back the shot and then asked for another, which the bartender immediately supplied, although concern clouded her All-American features.
“Worried that I can’t handle it?” Diana asked, both interested and amused by the young vampire’s obvious anxiety.
The girl motioned to the tequila with a manicured nail done in pink. Nothing Goth about this vamp, Diana thought. “Last time I had one too many of those, I ended up undead.”
Diana choked on her drink. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. But I guess you go on, don’t you?” She gave a careless shrug that couldn’t quite hide the sorrow in her inquisitive blue eyes.
Diana only nodded her agreement. Was that why Ryder wasn’t here? Was he going on, moving on? She peered around again, trying to open herself up to sense him.
“I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”
Diana experienced a rush of heat to her cheeks. “Am I that obvious?”
The vampire leaned her elbows on the bar and grasped the bar towel between both hands. “People tell me I’m intuitive. I guess that’s