Perfect Victim (Nadia Stafford 3.6)

"Don't let him see you," Howard said as I peeked over the fence.

I resisted the urge to say this wasn't my first stakeout. As far as Howard Lang knew, he was the expert here--the cop turned PI. I was just a bodyguard who fancied herself a PI and got lucky on this lead. He'd never say that--he was too nice--but that was the setup I'd given him, so I had to stick to it, and I only said, "right," when he warned me to duck.

"You should go into this full-time," he said as we waited. "You've got real talent. Two days on the case, and you solved it. We've been working it for months."

"The fact that I'm not officially a PI means I don't need to play by PI rules. You can't ask someone to impersonate a cop."

"But your friend never actually said he was a cop. That's the trick."

Maybe. It walks a thin line, though, and it could piss off the police and lose them as a potential source. That was a risk I'd taken, betting on a long shot. Well, maybe not such a long shot. My advantage, in this case, was that I seemed to be the only person who believed Sheila Walling was innocent. It seemed so cut and dried to others. They took Sheila at face value, stuffed her into a stereotype box and saw a cold-blooded killer.

No one had paid any attention to the other person connected to both Cherise and the family court victims. The person who had access to Sheila's mother's house. The person who could get access to both Sheila's hair and her credit card information. The person who, despite working in insurance, had gone through chemical engineering with Sheila. He

just wasn't good enough to get a job in the field.

So I had Jack plant the seed. The laboratory was about to be raided . . . giving Victor just enough time to clear out anything incriminating. Victor had snatched the bait. Jack had watched him leave and called me. I'd called Howard. Now we waited as Jack periodically texted updates on Victor's location. Sure enough, he was driving straight for this house.

"Five minutes away," I said as Jack texted again.

Howard speed-dialed a call. "Hey, Jillian, it's Howard again. Yeah, we've definitely got something. Let's just say it's very suspicious. Would you happen to have a car near Sheila's mom's house?"

A low murmur as Detective Lee answered.

"Right. Yeah. It could be completely innocent, and I don't want to go raising a ruckus, but this looks bad, and there's the possibility of an arrest. I can't tell you much more than that."

Another pause.

"Two cars would be excellent. Have them stay clear until I text you. We don't want to spook our suspect."

Pause.

"Yes, I will be careful," he said with a chuckle.

As he hung up, Jack texted me again.

"Victor's parked in a strip mall at the corner," I said. "He's walking this way."

"If he has a lick of sense, he'll come through one of these backyards. Hopefully the one on the other side, but we need to be ready to run, just in case . . ."

Footfalls thumped along the driveway.

"All right," Howard said with a sigh. "Apparently, he doesn't have a lick of sense. At least he's heading for the back door."

We watched Victor race into the rear yard, breathing hard.

"Yeah," Howard muttered. "Run down the street in a suit. That's not suspicious at all."

It took Victor a moment to get the door unlocked. Even from here, I could see his hands shaking. He raced through, not pausing to step over the tripwire, which I supposed made sense if he was the only person it alerted.

As Victor barreled into the house, I climbed the fence. When I perched on top, Howard looked up at me with a soft laugh.

"Ah, to be young again. I'm going to take the long way around."

He set off at a run while I jumped down. I jogged to the back door and eased the screen open. Victor had left the inside door ajar. I slipped through and stepped over the alert laser.

A rustle sounded at the front of the house, and I tiptoed that way. I peered around the hall corner, expecting to see the attic ladder lowered. It wasn't. The rustling came from an open door farther down. When Victor walked out, I backed up fast, through the living room, into the kitchen.

I was ready to keep retreating, but Victor's footsteps paused in the living room long enough for me to get out my mirror and check around the corner. He'd perched on the edge of a wooden crate as he flipped through a handful of papers.