Cavanaugh Pride. Marie Ferrarella

well.

      “Thank you but there’s no need to worry about me,” she told him coolly. “And Millie Klein wasn’t my first dead body,” she informed him. “Just my first homicide.”

      Her uncle had been the first dead person she’d seen. And that scene had been made that much more brutal because he was dead by her hand. Blood had been everywhere. She could still see him staring down at the knife, anger and shock on his face as the life force fled from his veins.

      But there was no way she was about to go into that now.

      Frank could sense she was holding something back. He had a feeling that if she were drowning, White Bear’d throw the life preserver back at his head, determined to save herself on her own. Pride was a good thing, but there was such a thing as too much of it. For the time being, he let it go.

      “Okay.”

      As he approached the Dumpster, he saw that the crime scene investigators had already been called in. A slight, younger man was busy snapping photographs of the area directly surrounding the one Dumpster, while another man, older and heavyset, was inside the Dumpster. Wrinkling his nose involuntarily against the pungent smell, he was taking close-ups of a woman who could no longer protest.

      Overturning a wooden crate that, if the image painted on the side was correct, had once contained bean sprouts, Frank pushed the box next to the Dumpster and used it as a step to facilitate his getting into the Dumpster. The thought of just diving in seemed somehow repugnant.

      The smell of death and rotting food assaulted him. Still, a job was a job. The first thing he noticed, before he climbed in, was the wig. A blond wig, obviously belonging to the victim, had slipped halfway off her head.

      The second thing he noticed was the woman’s face.

      He’d seen that face before. Less than an hour ago.

      Stunned at the way fate sometimes toyed with them, he turned to see that Julianne was gamely about to follow suit, waiting her turn to use the wooden crate as a stepstool.

      “Stay back,” he ordered.

      The barked commanded caught her off guard. “Why? I said I can handle it.”

      Not this. “I don’t think so,” he told her tersely. There was no arguing with his tone.

      Except that she refused to be browbeaten. Nor would she accept any special treatment that he could later hold over her head.

      “Why don’t you let me decide that?” It was a rhetorical question and she didn’t wait for an answer. Bracing her hands on the front of the Dumpster, she was about to vault in.

      “Might get crowded in here,” the investigator speculated.

      “White Bear, I said get back,” Frank ordered angrily.

      He shifted, trying to block her view, but it was too late. Because that was when Julianne saw her. Saw the face of the serial killer’s latest victim.

      She could almost feel the blood draining out of her face.

      “Mary.”

      Frank jumped down from his perch in time to catch her as her knees gave out.

      Julianne vaguely felt arms closing around her even as fire and ice passed over her body. For a split second, the world threatened to disappear into the black abyss that mushroomed out all around her.

      Only the steeliest of resolves enabled her to fight back against the darkness, against the overwhelming nausea that almost succeeded in bringing up her hastily consumed dinner from last night.

      Sucking in air, Julianne struggled against the strong arms that held her prisoner.

      “I’m all right,” she insisted, hot anger mingling with hot tears she damned herself for shedding. “I’m all right,” she repeated, almost shouting the words at Frank.

      The sound of an approaching car had Frank looking down the alley. He recognized Riley’s vehicle. “Look, why don’t I have Riley take you back?” he suggested kindly.

      She bristled at what she thought was pity. “No.” The word tore from her throat like a war cry. Shrugging out of Frank’s hold, willing her legs to stiffen, Julianne moved back to the Dumpster. “I’m not going anywhere,” she cried defiantly.

      “You’re off the case, White Bear,” he told her tersely.

      Her head snapped around and she glared at him. “No, I’m not,” she insisted. “You can’t do that.”

      Oh, but he could. And he had to. “You’re related to the victim.”

      Her eyes blazed and she took out all the pain she was feeling on him. “You wouldn’t have known that if you hadn’t invaded my privacy.”

      He wasn’t going to get sucked into nitpicking. “Doesn’t change anything. You can’t—”

      Suddenly grabbing his arm, Julianne dragged him over to the side, away from the investigator who had made no secret of listening to the exchange. It killed her to beg, but if she had to, she would.

      “Please, I’m asking you not to take me off the case. That girl in the Dumpster is the only family I have. I had,” she corrected. Even as she said it, she could feel her heart twisting in her chest. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. “She’s in there because of me.”

      “How do you figure that?”

      “You’re not going to be satisfied until I rip myself open in front of you, are you?”

      This woman could raise his temper faster than anyone he’d ever encountered, but his aim wasn’t to irritate her. He had only one focus. “My only interest is in solving the case. Now if you have anything to contribute that might be helpful—”

      The words, propelled by her guilt, rushed out. “If I’d taken her with me instead of leaving her with her father, she wouldn’t have run away, wouldn’t have tried to support herself by resorting to the world’s oldest profession.”

      He didn’t buy that. There was always another choice. “Lots of other ways for a woman to earn a living besides that,” he told her.

      Julianne knew she would have never resorted to that, but she wasn’t Mary. Mary’s demons had branded her. “Not if she thinks she’s worthless. Her father didn’t just steal her innocence, he stole her soul. And I let him.” She pointed toward the Dumpster. “That’s on me.”

      His eyes held hers. Frank could all but feel her misery. “You knew what was going on?”

      “No, but I should have.” If she hadn’t been so involved in making a life for herself, she would have realized what was going on, would have understood the desperate look in Mary’s eyes.

      If there was the slightest case for her staying, he thought, White Bear wasn’t going to do either of them any good by blaming herself for something she had no control over.

      “Listen, I’m not up on my Navajo culture, but I don’t recall hearing that the tribe had a lock on clairvoyance. If you didn’t know, you didn’t know. What happened to your cousin isn’t your fault.” But he could see that his words made no impression on her. It was as if they bounced off her head.