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remain calm exploded. “Have you ever lost someone you’ve loved more than your own life? A child maybe? A wife? A parent? Do you know what it’s like to have that person ripped from you and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it? Do you?” The tears started coming but she didn’t try to stop them. “I lost my baby girl when I was six months pregnant and not a day goes by that I don’t think about her and grieve for her.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I was going to name her Danielle.” He killed her, Alexander pushed me down the steps and killed my baby.
    “I’m really sorry.”
    She didn’t want “sorrys”. She wanted him to feel her pain. “Tell me. Have you ever lost someone you loved more than your own life?”
    He looked away, just for a second, then met her gaze.  “No.”
    “Then you don’t know what it’s like, do you? Losing someone can make you go crazy, especially if you feel somehow responsible, like maybe there was something you could have done, or something you shouldn’t have done.”
    He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. “I really am sorry.”
    They were small words, inadequate, but she sensed pain in them. “I’m not crazy,” she whispered. “And I didn’t kill him on purpose.”
    “You can’t go back. They’ll crucify you.”
    “So, I let them crucify an innocent man instead?”
    He shrugged. “If he has an alibi, they’ve got no case. And they still have to find the murder weapon, which I assume is gone?”
    She forced herself to push out the truth. “I dumped it in a garbage can at a Wendy’s in St. Louis.”
    His look said he’d expected as much. “Then, they’ve got no case. Who knows, maybe you saved the ex-convict, drug dealer from landing back inside. You said he threatened to come after your husband once he got out and now he’s lost that opportunity.” He rubbed his jaw and started pacing again. “You know, there is one thing I can’t quite figure out.”
    “Yes?”
    “You said you shot him in the stomach.”
    “That’s right.” How could she ever forget his bloody hands clutching his middle?
    “Then how do you explain the coroner’s report that said there was a single gunshot wound to the head?”
    ***
     
    The day was never going to end. Quinn sank back in his leather chair and dragged his hands over his face. If Roberta Carlson brought that damn notebook to the next meeting and started reading off every detail of her husband’s life since the accident , Quinn would rip it to shreds. And then burn it.
    Thank God it was almost the weekend. Between the Carlsons and the mystery woman, he deserved a break. His thoughts turned once again to Mrs. Eve Maldonando aka Danielle. Now, there was a real piece of work. The woman actually refused to give up the shot in the gut story, said she’d never come anywhere near her ex’s head.
    He’d called her on it and asked her to explain the coroner’s report but of course, she couldn’t. All she could do was let those big blue eyes overflow. Did she think he was stupid? That a beautiful face would render him brain dead? He was done with her anyway; he’d told her what she wanted to know. Her estranged husband was dead, and if she wanted to put a big bulls-eye on her forehead and turn herself over to the San Diego police, then go for it.
    But why couldn’t she just admit she’d shot to kill? Why did she have to give him some lame brained excuse about an intruder? She should disappear and forget the Maldonando name and the West Coast. She could keep up with the “Danielle” ruse and get away with it. People did it all the time. One minute they’re washing dishes at the kitchen sink, and the next, they’re gone . . .
    “Quinn?”
    Vanished . . .
    “Quinn?” Sylvia stood in front of him, eyes bright, plump fingers fanning her face.
    “Don’t tell me the Carlsons are back.”
    She shook her ginger-red head and the extra skin under her chin jiggled. “No. There’s a woman