She firmly put Jayne out of her mind.

Ava took a deep breath and surveyed the inside of Mason’s home. It was a bachelor pad, but a clean and neat one. The house was a small ranch-style home with a partially enclosed front porch. The grass in the front yard was neatly trimmed, and the landscaping spoke of someone who sought low maintenance, not flash. Inside, his living room had a couch, an easy chair, and a huge flat-screen TV. His kitchen didn’t have a single knickknack on the counter. Just a block of knives and a toaster.

She and Wells stood back as Mason tossed the newspaper on the kitchen table, opened a few drawers, and shook his head. “I don’t think anyone has been in here.” He strode down the hall to the back of the house, peeking in rooms. He vanished into a bedroom at the end of the hall, and she heard him open a closet. Wells moved through the kitchen and checked the back door to a deck. It didn’t budge. Mason reappeared. “I don’t see anything missing or disturbed. All the windows are still locked. If he came in, I can’t see it.” His brown eyes looked stressed as he mashed his lips into a tight line.

No one liked the thought of someone in their home.

Mason’s gaze went to the newspaper, and he shook it out of the thin plastic bag. He bypassed the front page and went to the Metro section, where the top story was the ransom attempt. Ava stepped closer and read about their wannabe ransomer. The teen’s mug shot accompanied the story. She scanned the article, finding it mostly accurate.

“Sounds like I missed quite the party last night,” Mason stated.

“You didn’t miss anything,” replied Ava.

Mason sucked in his breath, and Ava spotted the smaller headline a split second after he had.

OSP Detective on Leave in Prostitute Murder Case

“Damn it,” Mason whispered. The paper quivered in his hands.

“Oh no,” Ava said. She placed a hand on his upper arm in sympathy.

“What’s going on?” Wells asked.

She and Mason didn’t answer. They were both speed-reading the article. He flipped the pages to see the end of the story, and Ava mentally exhaled. The reporter hadn’t stated Mason’s name in the paper.

“‘We believe there was some inappropriate behavior,’” Mason read dryly. “Nothing like seeing your boss talk smack about you in the press.”

Ava winced. That had to hurt. “They don’t say your name. And the reporter does say the quote was given with the understanding that it was anonymous. Anyone could have said that. Or the reporter could have made it up.”

“Want to place bets that my name is in the paper tomorrow? This is going to drive the reporters to dig a little deeper. Nothing cranks up the public interest more than a report that a cop has crossed the line. And this was a big fat line.”

“But you didn’t do anything. No matter what they say now, they’ll have to publish the truth eventually,” Ava pointed out.

“Yeah, they’ll bury it on page twelve. An innocent cop doesn’t sell papers. Speculating that a cop murdered a prostitute puts dollar signs in their eyes. I’m surprised they didn’t put it on the front page.” He closed the paper and tossed it back on the table. Wells picked it up and scanned the article. He looked hard at Mason.

“What’s going on?” His gaze took in Ava. “You didn’t mention that he was on leave this morning. You just said he had a CI murdered. Does Duncan know?”

“He does,” said Ava. She gestured at Mason. “He obviously isn’t a killer. Someone has tried to make it look like he killed this poor woman. She was his informant.”

Wells looked at the paper again. “This happened Thursday evening?”

Ava could almost see the wheels spinning in Wells’s brain as he made the same conclusions that she’d pointed out to Mason minutes ago.

“No,” stated Mason, shaking his head. “It’s not all tied together. That little girl has nothing to do with a murdered prostitute. Don’t let this distract you.”

“Mason, you’re not considering—,” Ava began.

“Look. My dog, who isn’t my dog, has wandered off. That shouldn’t merit the attention of the FBI.”

Was he trying to convince them or himself?

“Christ. What am I saying?” Mason muttered. He stepped away from Ava and leaned over the kitchen sink, staring down the drain. The color had left his face.

It was finally sinking in.

Ava felt for the man. Not only were his coworkers speculating about what had happened with the prostitute, now the public was, too. She had a friend in LA who’d fallen under public scrutiny when his spouse had gone to a reporter with a story about how her FBI agent husband would beat her. The truth had finally come out, but not until he’d been crucified in the newspapers. He’d divorced his lying wife and been granted an immediate transfer to Texas.

He’d never been the same. The utter stress from the public exposure had been like nothing he’d ever experienced. He’d told Ava he’d rather go through months of academy training all over again than spend a single hour being tried in the public eye.

“We won’t jump to conclusions. But even you see now that we have to consider this might be related to Henley and your CI,” said Wells. “Will you be available to say a few words at a press conference? We’re going to hold one near the candlelight vigil tonight. Most of the news stations will already be there.”

A glance told Ava that Wells was struggling to hide his sympathy for Mason. It was easy to picture herself in Mason’s shoes. People with their jobs were held to a higher standard, and once the papers offered a whiff of scandal, any truth was often buried under speculation. It easily could have been any one of the investigators.