"And why did you break up?"

She glanced at the recorder. "I found out he was married."

"You didn't know that when you started going out with him?"

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "No."

Will stared at her for a moment, waiting to see whether she'd squirm. She looked annoyed, but calm.

"So Mr. Alvin lied to you? About his marital status?"

She scoffed. "He lied about everything. He told me his name was David, that he was down from Dallas working on a case. I didn't even know his first name, or that he lived in Austin, until I googled him and found his law firm."

Will gave her a long, hard look. He had a knack for knowing when people were lying. It was something he'd picked up in Afghanistan, back when the ability to detect a lie was a survival skill, every bit as important as the ability to fire an M4.

And this woman appeared to be telling the truth, at least for now. He decided to switch topics.

"You remember him leaving the car running?"

"The SUV?" She frowned. "I don't know. Why?"

"His keys were in the ignition. Anyway, so you were saying? He pulled up?"

"He got in my car. And almost the same moment, this guy jumped in the back. He had a ski mask on. I-" she cleared her throat. "It scared me to death."

The fear in her eyes looked genuine. She had olive green eyes. Her skin was fair, but tanned slightly and freckled, like she'd been in the sun all summer. He figured her natural hair color for a rusty brown.

"Are you sure about the timing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when this man got in the car with the two of you. Are you sure it hadn't been a few minutes?"

"It was right after David got in. We exchanged, like, two words, and then suddenly this guy jumps in and pulls a gun on us."

This was one of the places where her story didn't line up with the witness account. A woman walking her dog on the trail had seen a couple arguing in the Buick a few minutes before hearing the gunshots. The dog walker claimed she was thirty or forty yards down the path at the time of the noise.

But Will didn't want to focus on that just yet. "Could you describe him for me?"

She took a deep breath. "Black ski mask. Dark blue tracksuit. Black leather gloves."

She tapped the nail file on the table. Witnesses typically got agitated recalling their attacker.

Or when fabricating a story.

"You notice his build? Big? Small?"

"He was bulky," she said firmly.

"Bulky."

"You know, bulky." She gave him a once-over. "Not like you or anything. Like, soft. He had a beer gut."

"And his height?" he asked, fully aware he was being manipulated.

"Shorter than I am. Maybe five-eight? I couldn't tell for sure."

"Race?"

"Caucasian. And his eyes were gray. I could see them through the mask."

"Okay, then what?"

She took another deep breath. "He said, 'Gimme your phone,' and David froze up. Then he said it again, and David did it. That's when he turned the gun on me and said, 'Yours, too.'"

Will nodded.

"I remembered my Mace that I keep in my purse. So while I was digging through there for the phone, I grabbed hold of it." She swallowed and looked down. Will waited.

"Then suddenly he just shot David. Out of nowhere. I don't know why he did it, either. He'd just given him the phone and he was getting out his wallet."

"Maybe he thought David was reaching for a gun," Will suggested.

"I don't know. Maybe." The nail file was in motion again, a rapid staccato against the faux wood.

"And then?"

She gulped. Looked down. Seemed to notice the tapping and stilled her hand. "And the rest is a blur, really. Next thing I knew, we were struggling with the gun."

"You tried to get the weapon away from him?" Will leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. This part struck him as odd. When faced with a fight or flight situation, most women chose flight unless there was a child involved. And based on her description, this attacker probably outweighed her by fifty pounds, minimum.

"I...I don't know how it happened, really. I just panicked, I guess, after he shot David. I thought, 'I'm next.'"

"Show me."

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Show me how you struggled with him." Will needed to understand why the gunshot residue test she'd submitted to in the field had come back positive.

She inched back, as if she was afraid of him. "I can't really remember, exactly. I just-"

"Try your best." He scooted his chair around, positioning himself behind her. "Pretend I'm in the backseat. Was he right-or left-handed?"

She turned to look at him, and he knew she was way out of her comfort zone. She bit her lip and stared at his chest for a moment.

"Right, I guess. He held the gun in his right hand."

"Do you remember the weapon?"

"Not really. Something black."

"Let me know if you recall any more details. We could use a description of it." Will pretended to be holding a gun and pointed it at the hypothetical front passenger. "Okay, now show me what you did."

After a brief hesitation, she reached over and cupped her hand around his. Her fingers were soft and cool.

"I don't remember, exactly. I guess I did this." She squeezed his hand and tried to push it down. He resisted. She winced. He glanced at her wrist and saw the angry purple welt there.

"Then the gun went off again. And I pulled the Mace up and pointed it at his face." She demonstrated with her left.

"Where was his other hand?"

Her eyebrows arched. "Huh?"

"His left hand? While you were struggling with the weapon."

"I don't remember. The windshield shattered, and then I sprayed the Mace, and he let go. All I could think about was getting out."

She dropped her hands now and scraped her chair back a few inches. She blew out a breath and folded her arms over her chest.

Will moved his chair around to face her. His knees almost touched hers, and he nodded at the abrasions there.

"And you got those...?"

"From the gravel. I got the door open and fell out onto the parking lot. He was cursing and moaning. Then I heard the back door open and I ran."

"To the emergency phone."

"That's right. I ran into the bushes. I tripped on all the vines and everything and lost my shoes, but it was easier to run without them, and I just kept going until I found the phone."

"You went straight there? Or did you stop, maybe to look for your shoes?"

She pursed her lips. "I had an armed maniac after me. I didn't care about my shoes."

He nodded and leaned back in his chair. She seemed relieved to get him out of her personal space.

"And then what?"

"I called 911. I told the operator everything. And then I waited there until I heard sirens."

"You ever think to go back to the car? See if David needed CPR?" It was a cheap shot, but he needed her reaction.

"He was dead." Her voice quivered, but she looked him directly in the eye. "I could tell. And I didn't know where the ski-mask guy was, so I waited for the sirens. Actually, I hid. In a clump of trees."

"You hid."

"Yes, damn it! I hid. I was scared, okay? You try running for your life from some armed psycho! I wanted to get out of sight."

Will watched her. If her story was true, she'd done the logical thing. But that was a pretty big if.

"Then what happened?"

"When the sirens sounded really loud, like there were lots of police, that's when I went back to my car."

She reached for her Coke and took a long gulp. He watched her slender throat as she drank, noting all the scratches on it. She had scratches on her arms, too. They corroborated at least part of her story, but there were still lots of holes.

She plunked the can on the table.

He stood up and switched off the recorder. "All right, ma'am. That should do it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's it?"

"That's it for now."

"I'm free to go?"

"Just some paperwork to fill out, then you can head home." He pulled her chair out for her. The APD windbreaker was draped over it, and he planned to check later to see if that bloody handkerchief was still in the pocket.

She turned toward him, her face a mix of relief and confusion. "Okay. Thanks."

"Oh, just one more thing." He reached around her to open the door.

"What's that?"

"Don't plan on leaving town."

Courtney slid her hand behind the drainpipe leading down from the gutter and found the magnetic box that held her spare key. She unlocked the front door to her side of the duplex, stepped into the foyer, and took what seemed like her first breath of air in hours.

She could feel herself decompressing as she kicked off her flip-flops and tossed her backpack on the floor. She walked across the living room, grateful for the familiarity of home-the smell of lantana outside, the soft carpet beneath her feet, the hum of her neighbor's television through the shared wall.

The entire bus ride home, Courtney had been fantasizing about a glass of ice water, but now all she could think of was the need to get clean. She made a beeline for the bathroom, unbuttoning her sundress on the way and shedding it in the hall. Before today, it had been her favorite summer outfit-light, breezy, with a flirty, fluttery skirt. Now she wanted to burn it. She twisted the shower knob to hot and stood in front of the mirror as the bathroom filled with steam.

She looked like hell. The quick repairs she'd made to her makeup while waiting in the interview room had done almost nothing to help. Tiny, hairline cuts covered her neck and arms, and her eyes were bloodshot. She turned away from her reflection and stepped into the shower. The scalding water sluiced over her, and she reached for her most textured loofah. She scrubbed every inch of her body in a manic-and futile-attempt to wash off the day. After double shampooing her hair and using a moisturizing conditioner, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cabinet. She wrapped it around herself and went into the bedroom.

The room was dark. She sank down onto the corner of her queen-size bed and stared at her closet.

David was dead.

No matter how much she tried to distract herself, she couldn't get his expression out of her mind. Surprise. Just before he'd slumped over.

Courtney shuddered. The tension that had drained away in the shower returned, and she felt a muscle spasm at the base of her neck. She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. She opened the top drawer of her nightstand.

Empty.

For a moment, she just stared at the drawer. She slid her hand to the back, but turned up nothing more than an old book of matches and a packet of sandalwood incense. She went to her closet and hunted through a few purses until she found a vial of pepper spray. Her fingers curled around the cool, smooth tube.

Someone had tried to kill her. Why, she did not know. But she had a deep-rooted feeling it had very little to do with a robbery.

She placed the Mace on her nightstand and switched off the light. She eased back against the spongy bank of pillows and tried to clear her mind. Nervous energy hummed through her veins. She felt exhausted, but knew sleep would never come. And then there was Fiona. Her sister was sure to call, or more likely show up, the moment she got wind of what had happened. Courtney didn't want to deal with it.