"Hey!" Fierro bellowed. "Gomez? You coming up or what?"

"Get a search team out here!" Will rasped.

"What're you talkin—"

Will looked at the piece of broken tooth in his hand. "There's another victim!"

CHAPTER THREE

FAITH SAT IN THE HOSPITAL CAFETERIA, THINKING SHE FELT THE same way she'd felt the night of her junior prom: unwanted, fat and pregnant. She looked at the wiry Rockdale County detective sitting across from her at the table. With his long nose and greasy hair hanging down over his ears, Max Galloway had the surly yet perplexed look of a Weimaraner. What's more, he was a poor sport. Every sentence he uttered to Faith alluded to the GBI taking away his case, beginning with his opening salvo when Faith asked to sit in on the interview with two of the witnesses: "I bet that bitch you work for is already primping her hair for the TV cameras."

Faith had held her tongue, though she couldn't imagine Amanda Wagner primping anything. Sharpening her claws, maybe, but her hair was a structure that defied primping.

"So," Galloway said to the two male witnesses. "You guys were just driving around, didn't see nothing, and then there's the Buick and the girl on the road?"

Faith struggled not to roll her eyes. She had worked homicide in the Atlanta Police Department for eight years before she had partnered with Will Trent. She knew what it was like to be the detective on the other side of that table, to have some arrogant jerk from the GBI waltz in and tell you he could run your case better than you could. She understood the anger and the frustration of being treated like an ignorant hick who couldn't detect your way out of a paper bag, but now that Faith herself was GBI, all she could think about was the pleasure she would feel when she snatched this case right out from under from this particularly galling ignorant hick.

As for the paper bag, Max Galloway might as well have had one over his head. He had been interviewing Rick Sigler and Jake Berman, the two men who had come upon the car accident on Route 316, for at least half an hour and still hadn't noticed that both men were gay as handbags.

Galloway addressed Rick, the emergency medical technician who had helped the woman on the scene. "You said your wife's a nurse?"

Rick stared at his hands. He had a rose-gold wedding band around his finger and the most beautiful, delicate hands Faith had ever seen on a man. "She works nights at Crawford Long."

Faith wondered how the woman would feel knowing that her husband was out getting his knob polished while she was pulling the late shift.

Galloway asked, "What movie did y'all go see?"

He'd asked the two men this same question at least three times, only to be given the same answer. Faith was all for trying to trip up a suspect, but you had to have more intelligence than a russet potato to pull off that kind of thing—sadly, this was exactly the type of acumen that Max Galloway did not possess. From where Faith was sitting, it seemed like the two witnesses had just had the misfortune of finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only positive aspect of their involvement was that the medic had been able to take care of the victim until the ambulance arrived.

Rick asked Faith, "Do you think she's going to be okay?"

Faith assumed the woman was still in surgery. "I don't know," she admitted. "You did everything you could to help her, though. You have to know that."

"I've been at a million car accidents." Rick looked back at his hands. "I've never seen anything like that before. It was . . . it was just awful."

In her normal life, Faith wasn't a touchy-feely person, but as a cop, she knew when a softer approach was needed. She felt the urge to lean across the table and put her hands over Rick's, to comfort him and draw him out, but she wasn't sure how Galloway would react and she didn't want to make herself any more of an enemy than she already was.

Galloway said, "Did y'all meet at the theater or did you take one car?"

Jake, the other man, shifted in his chair. He'd been very quiet from the beginning, only speaking when he was asked a direct question. He kept glancing at his watch. "I need to go," he said. "I have to get up for work in less than five hours."

Faith glanced at the clock on the wall. She hadn't realized it was coming up on one in the morning, probably because the insulin shot had given her a strange sort of second wind. Will had left two hours ago after giving her a quick rundown of what had happened, dashing off to the crime scene before she could offer to join him. He was persistent, and Faith knew that he would find a way to get this case. She just wished she knew what was taking him so long.

Galloway pushed a pad and piece of paper toward the men. "Give me all your phone numbers."

The color drained from Rick's face. "Only call my cell. Please. Don't call me at work." He glanced nervously at Faith, then back at Galloway. "They don't like me to get personal calls at work. I'm out in the bus all day. All right?"

"Sure." Max sat back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, staring at Faith. "You hear that, vulture?"

Faith gave the man a tight smile. She could take outright hate, but this passive-aggressive crap was getting on her last nerve.

She took out two business cards and handed one to each man. "Please call me if you think of anything else. Even something that doesn't seem important."

Rick nodded, tucking the card into his back pocket. Jake held on to his, and she imagined he was going to toss it into the first trashcan he came across. Faith's impression was that the men didn't know each other very well. They had been vague about details pertaining to their friendship, but each had presented a movie-ticket stub when asked. They had probably met in the theater, then decided to go somewhere more private.

A cell phone began to play the "Battle Hymn of the Republic." Faith corrected her initial assumption, thinking it was more than likely the University of Georgia fight song, as Galloway flipped open his phone, saying, "Yeah?"

Jake started to stand, and Galloway nodded to him, as if permission to leave had been asked and granted.

"Thank you," Faith told the two men. "Please, call me if you think of anything else."

Jake was already halfway to the door, but Rick lingered. "I'm sorry I wasn't much help. There was a lot going on, and—" Tears welled into his eyes. He was obviously still haunted by what had happened.

Faith put her hand on his arm, keeping her voice low. "I really don't care about what you guys were doing out there." Rick colored. "It's none of my business. All I care about is finding out who hurt this woman."

He looked away. Immediately, Faith knew that she had pushed him in exactly the wrong direction.

Rick gave a tight nod, still not meeting her eye. "I'm sorry I can't be more help."

Faith watched him leave, wanting to kick herself. Behind her, she heard Galloway mutter several curses. She turned as he pushed back from the table so hard that his chair clattered to the floor. "Your partner is a fucking lunatic. One hundred fucking percent."

Faith agreed—Will was never one to do things halfway—but she never badmouthed her partner unless it was to his face. "Is that just an observation, or are you trying to tell me something?"