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out of the hole right into my hand.
    I placed it in my handbag, closed my eyes, and pieced the situation together as best I could.
    Paul must have been driving when Scott, lying on the backseat, came to. Disoriented and fearing for his life, Scott probably drew his ankle gun and fired once at Paul. The first round had hit the headrest.
    Paul might have turned then and struggled for the gun. Then it must have gone off again.
    In Scott’s jaw.
Jesus, God.
    I took a scalding breath of bleach before I continued my reasoning, such as it was.
    After that, Paul must have panicked. Even in self-defense, he knew that a dead cop just wasn’t going to go away. So he’d come up with a quick plan, the best he could do. Scott was a cop. Who kills cops? Drug dealers kill cops. So Paul had driven into the Bronx and didn’t stop until he found a busy drug area. Then he dumped Scott, came back home, and cleaned the car.
    I shook my head as tears welled in my eyes again. For about five minutes, I knelt over where Paul had killed Scott and wept until my eyes ached.
    This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. One mistake in judgment and now three lives were totally wrecked. I finally wiped my tears and got out of the car and headed for my house. And Paul.
    But first I made a little side trip.

Chapter 24
    I AM A HOMICIDE DETECTIVE, and a pretty good one, and I easily found Scott’s gun and badge in our garden toolshed.
    It takes a lot of work and cleaning materials to erase a crime scene. I didn’t see any obvious evidence in our garbage can outside the garage, so I went to the next logical hiding place. On the other side of the shed door was one of the Stop & Shop bags we used for garbage. It was brimming with blood-pink paper towels.
    And underneath the bag were Scott’s badge and the gun Paul had used to kill him.
    It was a short-barreled Colt .38 revolver, a Detective Special. It was special, all right. I used one of the paper towels to lift it. I tipped out the chamber and looked at the dark holes where two rounds were missing.
    I carefully placed it back under the bag and then locked the shed. I was walking up the driveway to my front door when my cell vibrated.
    I looked at the caller ID, then at my lit bedroom window. I pressed myself into the shadows beside the garage door.
    It was Paul.
    What did he want? Should I pick up and talk to him? Had he seen me? I wimped out and let my voice mail take it. I played his message back a few seconds later.
    “Hi, Lauren. It’s me. I’m at home. I ran into difficulties with my flight. I’ll explain what happened later. Was there a problem with your flight, too?” Paul said. “I noticed that your car’s not here. Are you at work? Give me a call when you get a chance, okay? I’m worried about you.”
    Worried about
me?
I thought, staring up at my window. Why?
I
didn’t kill anybody.
    Could this get any more bizarre? At least he was all right, I finally thought, folding my phone closed.
    Paul was all right physically, if not otherwise.
    I was taking a deep breath by my porch stairs, preparing myself to finally go inside and face him, when my phone vibrated a second time.
    But it wasn’t Paul this time.
    It was my partner. I headed back into the shadows by the garage before I picked up.
    “Mike?”
    “Time’s up, Lauren,” he said. “Keane’s on the move. I won’t be able to stall for you much longer. You have to get back here now.”
    “On my way,” I said.
    I looked up at my window again. What the hell was I waiting for? I thought. Why was I skulking around in the dark outside my own house? I needed to go in and talk to Paul. Get some crisis management in motion. Call a good lawyer. Be rational. Be an adult. Figure this thing out somehow.
    It was just a matter of looking Paul in the eye and saying, “Yes, I cheated on you. Yes, I made love to another man tonight, and now we have to deal with the terrible consequences of what you’ve done.”
    I thought about that as the rain