1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

“Nick?” cried his wife. “What are they talking about? Why are they here in our house?”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, the veins bulging on his neck. “I asked you, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

I didn’t answer, just recited the Miranda warning.

“What you’re doing,” he raged, “is engaging in the biggest mistake of your little life.”

“What are they saying?” His wife was pale. “Nick, please tell me. What is going on?”

“Shut up,” Jenks spat out at her. Suddenly, he spun back toward me with a vicious fire in his eyes. He lunged forward with his fist. He swung at me.

I cut his feet out from under him. Jenks fell across an end table to the floor, photos falling everywhere, glass shattering. The writer moaned loudly in pain.

Chessy Jenks screamed, stood there in a paralyzed state. Chris Raleigh cuffed her husband and dragged him to his feet.

“Call Sherman,” Jenks shouted at his wife. “Tell him where I am, what’s happened.”

Raleigh and I pushed Jenks out to our car. He continued to struggle, and I saw

no reason to be gentle.

“What’s your theory on the murders now?” I asked him.

Chapter 87

AFTER THE LAST NEWS CONFERENCE had ended, after the last flashbulb had dimmed, after I had rehashed for what seemed the hundredth time how we had narrowed in on Jenks, after a beaming Chief Mercer had been chauffeured away, I hugged Claire, Cindy, and Jill. I then passed on a celebratory beer and wandered back to the Hall of Justice.

It was well past eight, and only the prattle of the night shift interrupted my being alone.

I sat at my desk, in the well-earned silence of the squad room, and tried to remember the last time I felt this good.

Tomorrow we would begin meticulously compiling the case against Nicholas Jenks: interrogating him, accumulating more evidence, filling out report after report. But we had done it. We had caught him just as I had hoped we eventually would. I had fulfilled the promise I made to Melanie Brandt that horrible night in the Mandarin Suite at the Grand Hyatt.

I felt proud of myself. Whatever happened with Negli’s, even if I never made lieutenant, no one could take this away.

I got up, stepped over to the freestanding blackboard that listed the cases we were working on.

Under “Open Cases,” somewhere near the top, was her name: Melanie Brandt. I took the eraser and rubbed her name, then her husband’s, until they disappeared, until the blue smear of chalk was no more.

“I bet you that feels good,” Raleigh’s voice sounded behind me.

I turned. He was there, looking smug.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “So late.”

“Thought I’d straighten up Roth’s desk, steal a few brownie points,” he said. “What do you think, Lindsay? I came to find you.”

We were in a corner of the squad room, and there was no one around. He never had to move. I went to him. Nothing in the way. No reason to deny this.

I kissed him. Not like before. Not just to let Chris know I was interested. I kissed him the way I had wanted him to kiss me that night in Cleveland. I wanted to steal the breath right out of him. I wanted to say, I wanted to do this from the first time I saw you.

When we finally pulled apart, he repeated with a smile, “Like I said, I bet that feels good.”

It did feel good. Right now, it all felt good. It also felt unavoidable.

“What’re your plans?” I smiled at him.

“How loosely are we talking?”