Page 97 of Three Steps Behind

A half hour later, they approached Nick’s door. Harper lifted her hand to knock, then paused and gestured to the door.

“What is it?” Deck asked, then his gaze dropped to the open slit between the door and the frame. He moved toward a window.

“Hello?” she called, knocking on the door. The house was dark inside, no lights on. “His car was in the drive—”

Suddenly, Deck moved in front of her, gun drawn. “I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“What do you . . . ?” She followed his outstretched finger. Nick Jackson lay in a pool of blood at the base of the stairs.

Cameras flashed as Joel directed the crime scene team scouring Nick’s home and preserving evidence. Then he knelt beside the body.

“To state the obvious, the victim died from a GSW to the chest.”

“What time are you placing death?”

“Last night. I’d say between ten and midnight.”

“So . . . after he returned from his outing with Morgan?”

“Yeah.” Joel stood. “With no forced entry. I’d say he knew his killer.”

“Wish we did,” Deck said with a tilt of his head.

“It’ll come,” Joel assured him. “Sometimes it just takes a bit. But we’ll get him or her.”

“Her?” Harper asked. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

Joel shrugged. “You never know.”

“When you have a minute, could you see if Taylor’s hairbrush is still here?”

“Of course.”

She still wanted to prove Nick had poisoned her friend even if he’d already received his sentence in a way.

She waited outside while Deck accompanied Joel upstairs, heading for Tay’s bedroom and the vanity drawer she’d directed them to.

Five minutes later, they returned with Tay’s pink hairbrush in a sealed evidence bag. “I’ll sign this over to you,” Joel said, writing down the chain of custody.

“I’m going to get this to the lab straightaway.”

“I’ll drive,” Deck said before turning back to Joel. “Keep us posted.”

“Will do. I have a feeling this will be an interesting one to solve.”

Forty

DECK FLIPPED THROUGH yet another magazine, then stood. What was taking Harper so long in the lab? He grabbed his third cup of coffee in the cafeteria and sat back down in the space he’d carved out for himself.

His rear had barely touched the plastic bench when his cell phone rang.

Harper, finally. He lifted the phone and glanced at the screen. Make that Riley and, no doubt, Greyson. He had to admit they made an excellent pair, but he still had to razz them. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Deck.” She sighed.

“Sorry. Cool Whip. Is that better?” She couldn’t object to her nickname, could she?

“Better,” she said.