Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

Good girl, Harry thought. He turned back to his New York Times. The Singleton killing hadn’t made the deadline, he noted, reading the National Report. Maybe tomorrow. By that time, Miami PD would have some jealous husband in custody, and he could forget about it.

When the agent came to report back to Harry, he had left the office. The agent left a note on his desk.

40

Holly put in a full day at the station, meeting with each of the four officers Hurd Wallace had chosen to take over his duties. At the end of the day, she drove home and was looking in the fridge for something to eat when Daisy was suddenly on her feet, growling, looking at the door to the beach.

Holly grabbed her 9mm and walked to the door, the weapon held at her side. She turned the

knob slowly, then kicked open the door and stepped outside.

Grant Early was lying in the sand, a bottle of wine beside him. “Hey, is this how you always greet a neighbor? I was about to knock when the door hit me.”

Holly offered a hand and helped him to his feet. “I’m sorry, Grant, it’s been a little tense around here.”

He picked up the bottle and dusted off the sand. “I just thought you might like some dinner.”

“I feel like pizza; that okay with you?”

“Sure, I’ll order. Anything you don’t like on your pizza?”

“I like everything but green peppers; I hate green peppers.”

Grant picked up the phone and called in the order. “So why are things so tense?”

“Long story,” Holly said.

Grant began opening the wine. “I’ve got all the time in the world.” He poured them both a glass, and they went to the sofa and sat down.

“Okay, yesterday I shot and killed a man; he has a relative who might have taken it badly. Fortunately, Harry already had a tail on him, and he told me Lauderdale PD picked him up yesterday, but I guess I’m still a little spooked.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I mean, are you okay with the shooting?”

“It was a good shooting; I’m getting over it.”

“I know how that feels,” Grant said. “The first man I killed haunted me for a long time.”

“There was more than one?”

“Two. They were both good shootings, but it was still hard to live with. You might want to talk to somebody.”

“I’m talking to you,” she said.

“I was thinking of somebody more professional,” Grant said.

“Who’s more professional than you? You understand it a lot better than any shrink would.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I got a call yesterday from a woman who had some evidence in my case. I drove down to Lauderdale to get it, and when I walked into her house, somebody else was already there, wanting it too. He tried to draw down on me, and I shot him once, middle of the target. Blew a hole through my handbag.”

“Did you play it by the book with the local cop shop?”

“I did.”