Christi Daugherty - A Beautiful Corpse

Their brief, passionate affair had started when she was investigating a murder and ended when she broke into the records room at police headquarters. Luke only found out about it after she got caught.

Tainted by his connection to her, he’d felt betrayed.

He’d walked away and, as far as she could tell, never looked back.

It had been easy not to run into each other, even by accident. He worked the late shift. She was going home when he clocked on. So, what was he doing here now?

‘I thought you were still on the graveyard shift,’ she said.

‘I’m moving to evenings,’ he said. ‘Bit of a promotion.’

Their eyes met and held. The moment felt weighted down with all their history. Harper wondered if he regretted it all as much as she did.

But there was no way she’d ever ask.

Luke cleared his throat.

‘This case is something else,’ he said, turning to look at where Shepherd was now being bundled into the back of a police car. ‘Did someone tell me you knew the victim?’

‘Only a little,’ she said. ‘The dead girl worked with my friend Bonnie at the Library Bar.’

‘Oh yeah. I’d forgotten you had a friend who worked there,’ he said. ‘You ever meet this guy?’

He pointed at Wilson, who was now in the car and still pleading his innocence through the glass.

Harper shrugged. ‘A couple of times. I sure didn’t know he had any of this in him. He always seemed like a nice guy.’

‘He doesn’t seem so nice now.’ Luke’s tone was dry.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I better get a move on. My part in this little drama’s about to kick off.’

Harper’s eyebrows winged up. ‘You’re interviewing Shepherd? Isn’t this Daltrey’s case?’

‘I’m partnering with her on it,’ he told her, pulling his keys from his pocket.

Harper kept her expression neutral but her mind was racing. If Luke took on this case, they’d see each other all the time.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, Bonnie swears he doesn’t have it in him,’ she said.

‘We’ll see.’ He gave her that slow, serious smile she remembered so well. ‘It was good running into you, Harper.’

‘Right back at you,’ she said, like it was no big deal. ‘Good luck with the new shift.’

He hesitated for a second, as if there was something else he wanted to tell her.

But then, lifting one hand in silent farewell, he turned and walked away with that easy, long-legged stride she knew she would always be able to pick out of a crowd of thousands.

It was one in the morning before Harper finally finished work and headed home.

Almost twenty-four hours had passed since she first heard about the body on River Street. Her head felt light from exhaustion. She gripped the wheel hard, eyes fixed on the blurring road.

All the way, she kept going over that meeting with Luke. Thinking of the things she should have said.

When she parked in her normal spot on East Jones Street, the raised, two-story Victorian house looked still and safe.

A young lawyer had moved in to the upstairs apartment a few months ago, replacing the group of art students who had previously occupied it. The lawyer worked a lot and kept reasonable hours. No more late-night parties that left the entire house smelling of pot smoke and incense. No more strange music permeating the ceiling at all hours.

To her own surprise, Harper missed the kids. The house was almost too quiet these days.

Her keys jangled as she fitted one after another into the three, high-security locks on the solid front door.

As the door opened, the burglar alarm gave a series of shrill, warning beeps, and she punched in the four-digit code that silenced it.

She’d had the alarm fitted after her apartment was broken into last year.

There hadn’t been another incident but she was hyper-aware that the person who’d done it hadn’t been identified. And she didn’t know what he wanted or why he’d targeted her.

She crossed the entrance hall to the living room and flipped on the lights.

Hardwood floors gleamed. There wasn’t much furniture – two dark gray sofas facing each other across a low coffee table. All of it hospital clean.

The place looked a bit like a furniture showroom, in part because everything still had a sheen of newness.

Almost all her previous furniture had been damaged in the break-in. After her insurance paid out, she’d replaced the lot. Doing it that way made sense but it gave her the occasional disconcerting sense that someone else lived here. And that this was their stuff.

From the kitchen, a small shadow darted toward her.

A sleek, gray tabby rubbed itself against her ankle.

‘Hey, Zuzu,’ Harper said, bending down to stroke her soft fur. ‘Did you chase away any burglars today?’

Purring, the cat led her to the kitchen.

She pulled a can from the half-empty cupboard, found a spoon in the dish drainer from that morning and put some tuna into her dish.

As the cat ate, she pulled a bottle of Jameson’s whiskey from the cupboard and poured a double shot into a water glass.

It had been a long time since she let herself think about Luke.

She’d underestimated how much it would hurt to see him, and not be anything special to him. Just a woman he used to know.

Their conversation had been so normal. They used to have conversations like that all the time. Until they ruined it.

She swallowed the whiskey neat and poured herself another.

One drink wouldn’t be enough. Not if she was going to think about this stuff. There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world.

The night Lieutenant Smith was arrested, Luke had been the one to come to her aid. After Smith shot her, it had been Luke who’d knelt over her body, trying to stop the bleeding.

She could remember every detail of that night. The fear in his voice. His hands trying to hold back the fountain of blood.

After that, though, he’d avoided her for weeks.

Finally, one day, he’d called her.

‘I’m sorry for disappearing on you,’ he’d said, far too casually. ‘We need to talk.’

He’d chosen a neutral spot – a bar neither of them frequented regularly. When she walked in and saw him sitting there, a bottle of beer untouched on the table in front of him she’d felt helpless with longing.

She could tell from the moment she sat down next to him that it was over. There were things she had to say though.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ she’d said, ‘for saving my life.’

He’d looked uncomfortable. ‘You don’t need to thank me. I was doing my job.’

‘Like hell you were,’ she’d said. ‘You risked your life for me. At least let me say thank you.’

Their eyes met and she felt the connection between them like a blast of furnace heat.

A muscle in his jaw fluttered – the only sign that he felt it, too.

‘I would have been there sooner, but I couldn’t get to my phone,’ he’d said, after a long silence. ‘I got your message too late.’

She wouldn’t let him downplay his role. ‘You were there when it mattered. I’m only sorry I had to drag you into it. I know it was the last thing you wanted.’

At that, his face hardened. ‘You getting hurt was the last thing I wanted. It didn’t have to happen. You’re just so damned stubborn …’

Stopping himself, he’d reached for his beer, taking a quick swig.

‘Luke, I hope you can understand why I did what I did,’ Harper pleaded, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘I truly believed I could solve my mother’s murder if I solved that case. I only wish there was some way I could make it up to you for everything I did that hurt you.’

She leaned forward, begging him to understand. Surely anyone who knew her history would see why it meant so much to her. Who wouldn’t push the limits to solve their own mother’s murder?