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  “Why, sir, I do declare,” she said with a heavier drawl than usual. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  “Where were you?”

  “I wasn’t in the buildin’,” she said. “Security’ll tell you. If they can’t, the security cameras—”

  “I know you didn’t shoot Yvonne,” Mac said. “I’m simply interested in where you were. My gut is telling me it had something to do with Audra Walker’s murder, and she would have wanted me to do everything I could to keep her daughter safe.”

  All the undertones of playfulness evaporated from Ali’s expression. With her big brown eyes, she stared across the sitting room at him. The light from the lamp was shining on her face, and he noticed that her eyes were the same color as her mother’s had been.

  Silence stretched between them.

  “Lieutenant Hopkins said Audra Walker’s daughter, Dallas, was backpacking across Europe,” Mac said. “Her social media site says she’s in Italy … but that’s not true … is it, Dallas?”

  “What gave me away?”

  “First it was your fondness for colorful Texan sayings,” Mac said with a chuckle. “I even recognized a few of them from when I worked with your mother. At first, I dismissed it. Then I noticed that you had her eyes—the lightest brown.”

  “Pap used to say they were the color of the finest cognac,” she recalled with a hint of melancholy.

  “He was right,” Mac said. “But that’s not all. You’ve inherited her mannerisms—the way you cock your head and arch that eyebrow—not to mention her biting wit and wicked sense of humor.”

  “You were right, Mac,” she said. “She never would’ve walked away from Phil and me. I knew from the very first day that somethin’ was up. Someone killed her, and that idiot Hopkins insisted she left voluntarily.”

  “What about the lead detective before him?” Mac asked. “You were on the phone with him when we came into Yvonne’s office this morning.”

  “Caleb Roberts,” she said. “He believed me when I said that somethin’ happened to her. But after he retired, Hopkins took over. He said a friend of Mom’s—she was really more of an acquaintance than a friend—got a postcard from Mom sayin’ she had met a man who she knew we would disapprove of and had decided to take off with him. This friend gave the postcard to the police, and their expert said the handwritin’ was Mom’s, so they closed the case. Our expert said it wasn’t—that the handwritin’ was a forgery.”

  “Now that your mother’s body was found in Yvonne’s office,” Mac said, “I wonder what that expert has to say.”

  “No one would tell Dallas Walker anythin’,” she said. “But Ali Hudson, investigative journalist, is another thing.”

  “The media does background checks,” Mac said. “How did they not know—”

  “Ali Hudson was my roommate in college,” Dallas explained. “She studied journalism. I studied criminology. When Hopkins closed the case on Mom’s disappearance, I decided it was time to go undercover. Ali got married, and they started havin’ babies right away. Since she was changin’ diapers instead of investigatin’, I offered to buy her identification to land a job with ZNC. I bought her social security number, driver’s license—everythin’ in her name. While I’ve been here in New York, she’s been on the Internet as me, postin’ stuff on my sites, checkin’ my bank accounts, and makin’ it look like Dallas Walker is backpackin’ through Europe. She’s even been texting folks as me.”

  “Even if you are Audra and Buddy Walker’s daughter,” Mac said, “don’t you see that going undercover in New York City is taking a big chance? What if someone, like your mother’s killer, recognized you as Buddy Walker’s daughter?”

  “I’m a Walker,” she said. “Not a Kardashian or a Hilton. My face is not all over the Internet, and I don’t tweet every time I take a trip to the outhouse.” She sat up in her seat. “Look, Mac, I understand where you’re comin’ from. I admit I come from a long line of proud Texas ranchers who’d think nothin’ ’bout chargin’ into hell with a bucket of ice water, but we got smarts, too. Our folks made sure Phil and I never forgot what stock we came from or who we really were.”

  “Your mother considered herself a renegade cowgirl who liked to chase down bad guys,” Mac recalled with a fond grin.

  Draining the last of her beer, Dallas moved forward to sit on the edge of the sofa. “And now I’m chasin’ down the bad guys who killed her.”

  “Was it just a coincidence that you ended up working for Yvonne Harding, the last reporter to interview your mother before she disappeared?”

  She shook her head. “I called in a few favors from friends of Mom’s to get me up close and personal with Yvonne. I was very lucky. Once she saw my talent for diggin’ up the facts behind a story, which allowed her the freedom to be the celebrity, she gave me free rein, which allowed me to use her name and contacts to dig into Mom’s disappearance.”

  “Is it possible that your investigation got Yvonne killed?” Knowing then that she was the daughter of Audra Walker, Mac recognized the intense concentration in her eyes. “You said it couldn’t have been Rubenstein. What makes you so certain it wasn’t him?”

  “Rubenstein had no reason to want Yvonne dead,” Dallas murmured in a low voice.

  “They said at the studio that Yvonne outed his wife—”

  “Who he wanted dead,” Dallas countered. “Listen, I spent less than an hour workin’ on the Rubenstein murder before learnin’ ’bout her devoted husband’s mistress, who he’s been wantin’ to marry for well over a year. When Ruth gave up her guitar for a harp, it was his lucky day.” She went over to the minibar.

  “Guitar?” Mac muttered. “Harp? Was she—”

  “Ruth Rubenstein traded in her guitar for a harp,” Dallas said, “to play while singin’ with the angels.”

  “Ah,” Mac said with a nod of his head. “Now I understand.”

  After yanking open the door, she took out another beer and a bottle of scotch. “Plus, Carl Rubenstein had every intention of suin’ Yvonne and ZNC for wrongful death, knowin’ ZNC would settle in order to avoid the bad publicity. Why would Rubenstein screw all that up by whackin’ Yvonne, who he had threatened in order to publicize his case?” She tossed the bottle of scotch to Mac from across the room.

  Catching the bottle, Mac said, “And mess up his chances for a million-dollar windfall.”

  “He was set up.” Taking a gulp of her beer, Dallas sat down across from him.

  Mac stood up. “By someone who contacted Rubenstein to invite him down to ZNC for a phony interview with Yvonne and then called down to security to put his name on the list of people allowed up to the studio. Our killer also had access, after hours, to the floors that were being renovated two years ago, when your mother was lured up there, murdered, and hidden inside the walls.”

  “Someone connected with that building,” Dallas said in a low voice.

  “Any names pop into your mind?”

  “Do you think the same coward who murdered Mom killed Yvonne?”

  “Yvonne was shot in the back the same day Audra Walker’s body was discovered. You’ve been using Yvonne’s name to dig into Audra Walker’s case.”

  “And the lead detective in Mom’s disappearance was killed today,” Dallas said. “I went to meet Sergeant Roberts at his place this evening. He was gonna give me his case folder on Mom and his notebook with his personal notes on the case. But someone had shot him deader than a doornail before I got there.”

  Mac lowered himself back into his seat. “It all has to be connected.”

  “Then,” she continued, “after I talked to you on the phone in front of the News Corp and started comin’ this way, I noticed a guy break from the crowd to follow me. As soon as I hit an alley, he attacked me.”

  Mac jumped to his feet. “Attacked you? Why
didn’t you tell us when we got here?”

  “I’m tellin’ ya now.”

  “This is why your mother would not have wanted you to be here,” Mac said. “David is a chief of police. I was a homicide detective. We walk in, and you’re sitting there, eating a cheeseburger as calm as you please, and now I find out that that was shortly after you’d been attacked.”

  “He didn’t hurt me,” she said with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “He ended up gettin’ the raw end of the deal. I left him bleedin’ in the alley. I thought he was just a common, everyday, gutter snipe lookin’ to mug me or rape me, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “In light of Yvonne’s and the lead detective’s murders, I think maybe whoever killed your mother was tying up loose ends. Since you’re Yvonne’s assistant, he or she didn’t want to take a chance on you knowing too much. Who knew you were meeting with Sergeant Roberts tonight?”

  “No one was around when I set up the meet,” she said. “I did talk to him this mornin’, before y’all found Mom’s body. Ryan Ritter was there when the call came in, but he left as soon as I answered the phone. I’m sure he didn’t hear our conversation. You, David, and Pam Wiehl were there while I was talkin’ to him. I know Pam told Jim. After the fact that Mom’s body had been found hit the news, Roberts called and I told him who I really was. That was when he suggested we move up the meetin’. He promised to give me everythin’ he had. But by the time I got there, he was already dead.”“Did Preston Blakeley know about your investigation?” Mac asked. “He was there this evening and was very interested in the Lieutenant Hopkins’ interview with Pam Wiehl.”

  “He set that interview up,” she said. “Lieutenant Wayne Hopkins has designs on havin’ his own show and Preston Blakeley seems to be more ’an willin’ to make it happen.”

  “There’s our list of suspects,” Mac said. “Preston Blakeley and the Wiehls. They all had access to the murder scene, know about you talking to Roberts, and had the means to set up Carl Rubenstein.”

  “Now all we have to do is identify which fox got into the henhouse and killed my mom,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  As sleep was giving way to consciousness, Dallas Walker could feel someone watching her. She became aware of the gentle touch of Gnarly’s fur while brushing her fingers across his shoulders.

  The pleasant feel of his soft fur was overtaken by the noise of the city outside. After five months of living in Manhattan, Dallas still was not accustomed to the continuous bombardment of the sounds and smells of the metropolis. She so longed to wake up to the sweet scent of the magnolias and wisteria that grew outside her bedroom window and the lovely melody of the birds dancing in the trees.

  Smelling coffee, she rolled over onto her back. Becoming aware of a blanket draped across her, she pulled it up to her shoulders and turned her head.

  As her vision cleared, she saw him studying her from the sofa across from her. Her heartbeat quickened when her eyes met his, which still held a hint of sadness from his loss.

  “Good morning.” Sleep made her sultry voice more raspy than usual.

  She gazed longingly at the coffee mug he brought to his lips. Shoving away the question that sprung to her mind—“What would it feel like to touch those lips with mine?”—she sat up. That was so inappropriate, Dallas. He’s getting married in a few days.

  He startled her out of her fantasy by saying, “Want some coffee?”

  Afraid her voice might give away her thoughts, she wordlessly nodded her head.

  He went over to the suite’s breakfast bar, where he poured a mug for her. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Both. Make ’em double.” Shivering against the autumn morning’s chill, she pulled the blanket up and wrapped it around her shoulders. She sat up and tucked her feet under her.

  Interpreting the opening on the sofa as an invitation, Gnarly curled up next to her and lay his head down in her lap. She greeted him by stroking his head.

  David held out the mug to her, and her fingers brushed against his when she reached for the cup. That time, instead of pulling his hand away, he allowed her fingertips to touch his knuckles. Slowly, he dragged his gaze to meet hers before allowing her to take the mug.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. After taking a sip, she added, “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are,” he said while retaking his seat. After picking up his mug, he asked her, “Why’d you spend the night?”

  “I fell asleep, and I guess Mac didn’t wake me up to send me home,” she said. “Besides, I don’t feel very safe at my place—”

  “I wouldn’t either,” David said. “An off-duty cop was killed just a couple of blocks from here last night.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Some guy tried to attack me while I was walkin’ here from the News Corps building.”

  David sat up. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I punched him in the throat. He obviously didn’t see that comin’.”

  “Punched him in the throat?” David repeated. “With what?”

  She paused. “What does it matter?”

  “This police officer was found in the alley only a few blocks from here, and he had a stab wound in the neck. He bled out in the alley, and you just told me that you punched your attacker in the throat.”

  “Why would a police officer try to strangle me?” she asked.

  “Good question.”

  “Don’t ask me! Ask him!”

  “Can’t! He’s dead!”

  “What’s going on?” Lured in by the raised voices, Mac threw open the door leading into his room. Having forgotten that Dallas had spent the night, he was dressed only in his boxer shorts. Upon seeing her look up at him, he rushed back into the bedroom for his pants.

  Amused, Dallas called out to him. “Come on, Mac! I’m sure you don’t have anythin’ I haven’t seen before!”

  David leaped off the sofa and followed Mac into the bedroom. “Did Ali tell you that she killed a cop last night?”

  “Dallas,” Mac corrected him.

  “What?”

  “Her name is Dallas.” After zipping up his pants, Mac grabbed a shirt and returned to the sitting room.

  “I thought her name was Ali.”

  “That was her alias,” Mac explained.

  “Oh, alias.” David turned his attention back to her. “So you’re using an assumed name—a fake identity—and you’re killing cops? Give me a reason not to turn you into the police.”

  “It was self-defense, and he was still alive when I escaped.” She dug through her jacket pocket to extract her keys and held the ninja spike out to David. “This is what I used. The spikes are only a little over an inch long. While they’re sharp, they aren’t long enough to be lethal. He was bleedin’, but if he had gotten to a doctor, I’m sure he would have survived.”

  David wrapped his hand around the ninja spikes to test out her assessment.

  “Dallas told me about it last night,” Mac told him. “She was attacked after Yvonne was killed.”

  Slowly, David asked, “Are you thinking—”

  “Just seems like an awfully big coincidence for her to be attacked the same evening Yvonne was killed,“ Mac said. “And the same day that Audra Walker’s body was found in the News Corps Building. That’s why I let her stay last night.”

  “Everyone at ZNC knew I investigated Yvonne’s cases for her. Anythin’ she knew, I knew.”

  David handed the keys back to her. “I thought Carl Rubenstein killed Yvonne because he blamed her for his wife’s murder.”

  “You have a lot of catchin’ up to do, darlin’.”

  Mac picked up the dog leash from the coatrack. “Dallas, you fill David in while I take Gnarly for a walk.”

  “I already walked him,” David said. “We went for a run first thing this morning.”

  “No.
” Mac stared at him.

  “Yes,” David said. “That’s how I found out about the police officer getting killed. The doormen were talking about it.”

  “What did Gnarly do?” Mac asked.

  “He sniffed the doorman, who gave him a biscuit.” Seeing that Mac wanted more information, David elaborated. “Then we went over to Central Park.”

  “Did Gnarly do anything else?”

  David frowned. “What else would he do? Dog stuff. That’s what he did.”

  “You know it’s illegal to leave it,” Dallas said.

  “I put it in a baggy and tossed it,” David said.

  “Where?” Mac blurted out before he could stop himself. Seeing their puzzled expressions, he cleared his throat. “I need coffee.”

  When he heard the knock on the door, Mac bypassed the coffee maker to peer through the peephole. It wasn’t even seven thirty, and Ed Willingham was already sweating.

  “I hope you have coffee,” Ed said when Mac threw open the door.

  “Help yourself.” Mac gestured to the coffee maker. When he saw Ed drain what was left in the carafe, he called down to room service to order a fresh pot.

  While preparing his coffee, Ed directed his attention to David, who was seated across from the brunette eying the city out the window. “Mac tells me you didn’t get Yvonne Harding to sign the divorce papers.”

  Jerking, Dallas turned her attention back to David. “Divorce? You two were married?”

  “Four years.” Then Ed turned to David. “Who’s this?”

  “Dallas,” David said.

  “As in Texas?”

  “After Dallas, Texas,” she said with a grin. “It’s where I was conceived. My brother’s name is Phil. He was named after—”

  “Philadelphia,” Mac finished with a grin. “Her parents had a sense of humor.”

  “You’re Audra and Buddy Walker’s daughter, Dallas.” He patted his chest. “I’m Ed Willingham. I defended your mother twenty years ago when she went to jail.” With a wide grin, he hurried over to shake her hand.

  “I barely remember that,” she said. “I was just a little girl. But I heard all about it.”