The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

CHAPTER ONE

Lincoln Park

Chicago, Illinois

May 17th

Lisa Barnes couldn’t believe how quickly her luck had changed.

A week ago, she’d been in poverty-stricken hell. Now, she had a job, a place to stay in a nice Chicago neighborhood, and maybe, just maybe, a future.

She strolled around the cozy, two-story rental house that was now her home—at least temporarily—touching a figurine here and a photograph there. She still had to pinch herself to accept her good fortune. Especially after last week’s start of another string of failures. How many jobs had she tried to get that week—every day starting at eight a.m.? And then again today? At least fifteen in total, maybe more.

Her doctored resume, complete with skills she didn’t have, was a loser. So she’d tweaked it just enough to include her personal background—eighteen years in foster care—hoping to elicit some sympathy.

That hadn’t worked, either.

All bullshit and full of unmerited confidence, she’d walked into every business in downtown Chicago, from a bakery to a stationery store, asking for any position they had—a stock person, a cashier—anything. She’d stopped just short of begging.

One look at her work history, plus the gaps it contained, and they’d all tossed her out.

She’d all but given up when she spotted that snotty rich-women’s gym tucked away at the end of Michigan Avenue, just past the designer shops.

It was so pink inside that Lisa almost puked. It looked like a giant ball of cotton candy—the walls, the carpeting, even the trim on the trainers’ little spandex outfits.

Pink. Pink. Pink.

How could these women stand it?

The clientele dripped money. Lisa hadn’t spent so much of her adult life living in shitholes not to be able to recognize über-wealth. Diamonds flashed everywhere, like brilliant spots of light on the women’s fingers, wrists, and ears.

Surely a place like this would have the cash to offer her a job.

Lisa approached the marble front desk, combing her fingers through her light brown hair and giving the woman behind it a glowing, fake smile. She knew she looked passable—she’d worn her only silk top and a pair of designer jeans. She was more cute than pretty, but she was also thin and fit, and she knew how to use makeup when she had to.

The woman at the desk was clearly the owner. She emanated a sense of authority. At first, she gave Lisa a familiar glance and then did a double take. Clearly, she’d mistaken her for someone else.

Realizing that Lisa wasn’t who she’d thought she was, the owner’s whole manner changed. It was marketing time. She eyed Lisa up and down, assessing her from top to bottom. She could afford to be discerning; she herself was petite, toned, and slim, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and her demeanor perky. In fact, all the trainers looked perky. That must be a requirement for the job. That and dazzling white, perfect teeth.

Smiling—also with perfect white teeth—the owner said, “Welcome to Designer Fitness. I’m Kristen. How can I help you today?”

Lisa widened her smile, hoping her teeth didn’t scream the words caffeine-stained. “Hi, Kristen. I’m Lisa. Actually, I was wondering if you might need a new employee. I’m looking for the right job.”

“I see.” A complete shift in attitude. No surprise. “Are you a trainer?”