To Touch a Thief (An Everly Gray Novella) by L. j. Charles Page B

this, because I couldn’t risk having it thrown out of court on a technicality, especially since it most likely involves a cop gone bad.”
    Jayne bit down on her cheek to stop the flow of emotion, then opened the bottle of water and took a long swallow. “All right then, Chief Hayes, let me ask again. Why am I here?”
    “Because I need your help,” Reese answered. “I’m like this with computers.” She held up crossed fingers. “Don’t know a thing about forensic accounting, but I figure together we can catch the scum who’s set you up.”
    “You don’t think I did it?” Jayne asked.  
    “Nope. I Googled the crap out of you, ran you through every database I know and some I had no business searching. Nothing popped. Besides, you have a hell of a reputation. If you’d planned Tarik’s murder, you wouldn’t have left evidence lying around.”  
    Chief Hayes paced. “We’d like to put you in protective custody…”  
    He stopped, stared at Jayne. She figured he noticed her open mouth and wide-eyed stare—the cartoon caricature of someone in total shock.  
    The chief turned to Reese Bryant. “Explain the situation, Detective.”  
    “Your knowledge of forensic accounting would be invaluable in helping us trace the monies that have been misappropriated. We also have reason to believe—” her voice took on a hard edge— “that there’s a link to someone in our station. We don’t know who or how yet, but we’ll find whoever is involved. And see that they’re prosecuted.”
    Jayne closed her eyes, sorting through this new data. “You think we can trace the killer through the funds that have been siphoned from Steele Management?  
    “Yes. And from analysis of the evidence against you.”
    “I hope you’re right.”  
    “I often am,” Reese said, her smile showing a row of orthodontically perfect teeth.  
    “What exactly is the alleged evidence against me?”
    Smith shook his head, shoving several sheets of paper toward Jayne. “Not alleged. Your fingerprints were on a vial of powder that tested for a combination of ingredients—all of them potentially lethal, and all of them tested positive from an area of contact dermatitis on Solomon Tarik’s neck.”
    Jayne pushed her fingers tight against her temples. “That makes no sense. I don’t know anything about a vial of powder, and I wasn’t anywhere near Tarik’s neck.” But…her sloggy brain started to clear as scenes from the fundraiser raced through her mind.  
    Detective Bryant reached into her pocket, smiled, and pulled out a white, plastic container, offering it to Jayne.  
    Jayne’s nerves went spastic for a second, the container blurring into a lethal vial, then back to white plastic. She shook her head, reached for the bottle of ibuprophen, and downed two. “Thanks. It hasn’t been my best day.”
    “Want to share what you were remembering? Had to be something important, considering your face turned the exact shade of the last cadaver I visited in the morgue.” Bryant’s brown eyes sparkled, expectant.
      “Two things. From the back, Solomon Tarik looks, looked, like Parker. They were the same height, had the same color of hair, and the night of the fundraiser were dressed in the same cut of dinner jacket.”  
      “Confusing, possibly—if you’re a nervous killer looking for a specific neck to target.” Reese made a few notes on a pad of paper. “Would you have confused them?”  
    “No, I…Parker has a small scar on the back of his neck, and I like to rub my fingers over it.”  
    “Uh, huh.” The detective chugged half her bottle of water. “What else?”
    “When I went to the lobby to attend to the chaos of stampeding felines, I climbed on a table to catch everyone’s attention.”  
    “Um-hmm. Bet that worked.”  
    “Yes, but it was tricky for a minute or two. I had on a straight skirt and there were a few things on the desk. I moved them to the side, and I think there was a glass