Page 19 of The Diamond in the Rough

There was a smudge on one of the curtains at about hip height. “What about that?” I asked Raj.

He walked over to it, studying it. “Hard to say,” he replied. “But it looks like a smear, not spatter. Like something that was bloody brushed up against the curtain.”

“Would the killer have had blood on his sleeve?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

I swallowed, then walked over to the curtain. Raj stepped back again, but only one step. I could still feel him standing there.

I reached out and gently brushed my fingers over the fabric, notonthe stain, but just above it. Where, if the killer had been wearing gloves, a little bit of skin might have been revealed if his sleeves had come up during the murder.

The stupid bitchhad clawed him, torn his shirt, raised welts on his skin. At least there’d been no blood. Given how badly everything else had gone, at least there was that.

It was supposed to have been a clean kill. She was supposed to have been unconscious, unable to fight back. But either Garraway had lied to him about the stupid necklace, or she’d not worn it enough. Garraway had said she’d be out after he triggered the spell, but when he’d let himself in, although she’d been on the floor, she’d been awake, crawling toward the couch and her purse.

Stubborn bitch.

It had made noise—killing her. And that meant that he needed to grab the money and get the hell out of here.

I gasped,swayed, then steadied as warm, strong hands gripped my arms by the elbows. I looked up, confused, and nearly lost all sense of space or thought in twin pools of golden brown with black centers.

Maybe it was the aftereffects of the vision—or of having two in rapid succession—but it felt like I forgot everything as I stared into Raj’s eyes.

“Rayn, focus,” he said softly, his low voice soothing and soft. “Deep breaths.”

“You okay, kid?” Hart’s voice came from behind me, and I blinked quickly, refocusing away from Raj’s hypnotic gaze and toward Hart’s amethyst one.

I nodded. “Y-yeah.” I took a deep breath. “The name of the guy who enchanted the necklace, I think, is Garraway.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Hart said, his face lighting up.

“You’re sure?” There was an edge of excitement to Raj’s voice.

I told them both what I’d felt.

“Seems pretty likely,” Hart said, speaking to Raj.

The darker-skinned man nodded, his hands on his hips, having let go of my arms. “Agreed, although it’s not a guarantee.”

Hart rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Tony. What the fuck else could that mean?”

“Maybe he’s the one who gave it to her, but he wasn’t the one who put the spell on it,” Raj replied. “Or maybe he’s just a go-between, someone who relayed information, but wasn’t involved in the casting.”

Hart looked skeptical. “You really think either of those things is at all likely?”

“It doesn’t matter if I think they’re likely or not,” came the response. “It’s whether or not they’re possible. We can’t act without definitive evidence.”

Hart made a face.

“You’re a Fed now, Keebler. We have standards.”

“Obviously not, if you’re in charge of anything,” Hart quipped.

Raj flipped him off again.

I wobbled a little, and one of those big hands took my elbow. “You need to sit down,” Raj said gently. “At least for a few minutes.”

I swallowed, focusing on the hand on my elbow, the warmth of it through my sleeve. “I—I don’t want to sit in here,” I whispered.