Touch & Go Read Free Page A

it on her daughter’s chair. She wrote: Love you. Be home soon…
    Then she took a deep breath and walked out the door.
    TESSA HADN’T BEEN ONE OF THOSE KIDS who grew up dreaming of being a cop. Her father was the neighborhood mechanic, a blue-collar guy much more interested in his daily Jack Daniel’s than his only daughter. Her mother had existed as a shadowy figure who rarely left the back bedroom. She’d died young, leaving Tessa to mourn the idea of her more than the actual person.
    Left to her own devices, Tessa had made the kinds of decisions that had left her alone, pregnant and destitute. And just like that, she’d grown up. Failing herself had never seemed such a big deal, but there was no way she was going to fail her child. First order of business, identify a career path suitable for a single mom equipped with little more than a GED. That had led her to the police academy, where she’d spent six long months learning to shoot, fight and strategize. She’d surprised herself by proving to have a knack for all three.
    Even more so, she’d loved it. The job, the uniform, the camaraderie. Four years, she’d patrolled the highways of Massachusetts, collaring drunks, defusing fights and handling domestic disputes. Fourwhole years, she’d had a purpose and felt as if she was genuinely making a difference. She’d been happy.
    She trusted in her training now, as she turned into downtown Boston, searching for a parking space while simultaneously beginning her analysis of the crime scene. The Denbes lived in Back Bay, one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Boston, as would befit the head of a hundred-million-dollar company. The area featured elegant rows of stately townhomes, nestled close enough together that someone should have heard something, but expensive enough that the walls were no doubt filled with some insulation specially designed to give the rich the feeling of being on their own deserted island even amid the sea of downtown urban living.
    No ME vehicle and no mobile command center, she noted, which made sense, given the call had come in as a simple B and E. On the other hand, she counted over six patrol cars, plus several unmarked detectives’ vehicles. Lot of manpower for a break-in. Not to mention the presence of multiple detectives… Clearly the police were moving along from their initial assessment of the situation.
    Tessa pulled around Marlborough Street to the back alley where lucky Back Bay residents had reserved parking, and even luckier ones, private garages. She found an empty space and grabbed it. Totally illegal, of course, but given that she now spotted additional detectives’ vehicles, she wasn’t the first investigator to take advantage. She grabbed her placard identifying her vehicle as Special Investigations and stuck it on the dash of her Lexus. She’d probably get ticketed out of spite, but it was what it was.
    Tessa climbed out of her car, wrapped herself in her long chocolate-brown wool coat, then found herself hesitating again.
    Her first instinct was to shed her Glock. Stick it in the glove compartment. Wearing it into this scene, in front of Boston detectives, would only invite comment.
    But then that pissed her off. Cop 101: Never let them see you sweat.
    Chin up, shoulders back, Tessa slipped her legally registered firearm into her holster, and got to it.
    Sun was up now, casting the row of redbricked and cream-painted town houses in a golden glow. Once back on Marlborough Street, she followed the redbrick sidewalk down to the Denbes’ residence, admiring all the front stoops still harboring dried cornstalks and various harvest decorations in honor of Thanksgiving. Most of the townhomes boasted small curbside gardens defined by ornate black wrought-iron fencing. This time of year, the plantings were reduced to miniature boxwoods, larger leafy green shrubs and, in some cases, dead mums. At least the temperature today wasn’t so bad, the sun promising some heat. But day by