Page 50 of Three Steps Behind

“And the rest?”

“He referred her to an eye doctor for the blurred vision and color perception, but that was only days before she died. It doesn’t sound like she made it.”

“What do you think caused it?”

“Poisoning.”

His eyes widened. “You think Nick poisoned Taylor?”

She nodded. “All these symptoms are common with several floras’ ingestion.”

Her forensic botany background was kicking in. Good. Maybe she’d remember how smart and how strong she was. Dive back into her life instead of drowning in pain.

“What kind of plants? And it sounds like it took a while for her to pass. Is that the norm?”

She leaned forward, jotting down more scribbles on sticky notes and lining them up, her mind clearly reeling. “It could be any number of plants—foxglove, lily of the valley, oleander. And the timing . . . if it was put in the perfume she used daily, it was most likely a small concentration that would take time to build up and eventually cause acute myocardial infraction.”

“A heart attack.” He sat back, believing she’d nailed it.

“Yep.”

“So what do we do next?”

“See if we can get our hands on that perfume bottle and test it at my lab. I can slip away during the remembrance ceremony. She always kept it on her vanity, but . . .”

“But?”

“When I got my dress, I noticed it wasn’t there.”

“Maybe she moved it into a cabinet?”

“Not Tay. Everything had a place.”

“That explains the color-coordinated closet.”

“Yep.” She shifted her lips to the side, like she always did when pondering. “I bet he got rid of the evidence.”

“Still worth looking for?”

“I will, but I think we’re too late.”

Aubry took the hotel steps up to the second floor. Bristol kept him hopping. Always had. In fact, she outright exhausted him at times. She never seemed to stop. Never slowed down, like she lived on Red Bull. But from all he could ascertain, it was simply her personality. It had made her all the harder to track, but he’d finally caught her. He felt half bad busting her after it appeared she’d turned her life around, but she had to do time for her crimes. And then they’d discovered who Dalton Shaw really was, thanks to their keeping an eye on him while they kept an eye on her. But it was six months into her stint before they realized the depth of his depravity and conceded they couldn’t catch him without her.

Aubry raked a hand through his hair. He had to get it together. Bristol was a criminal—a sassy, far-too-intelligent, and masterful criminal. She carried herself with a confidence that said she was in control of the world, but he believed there was more to her story, and he prayed he was right. She frustrated him to no end—tension heightening whenever they sparred—but her life . . . He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine growing up in that environment, having two of the biggest cons Vegas had seen in decades as parents.

While it wasn’t an excuse, her upbringing would have screwed up the best of kids. How they all got out except Bristol, he didn’t fully understand, but being the oldest, she’d been in the environment the longest—no doubt used in con after con before her siblings were old enough to be put to work too. Had that bothered her? Seeing her younger siblings compromised as she’d been?

But that was her past. The only way she’d truly turn her life around in the present was by finding Jesus.

He trekked back to the room, where Mark stood outside her door. “How’d you know to put alarms on the windows?”

“Because she’s a creature of habit.”

He entered the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression mad rather than sorry. He didn’t say anything, simply handed her the orange chicken and egg roll he’d gotten her. Then he strode for the connecting doors. She arched a brow as he opened the one on her side.

“See you bright and early. We’ll make a plan for moving forward unless you prefer heading back to prison. It’s one or the other. But stop and think. Think about the enslaved women. You can help them or turn your back on them. Your choice.”

He shut both connecting doors behind him.