Dying to Please Read online

  “You think I killed the Judge,” she said, “but you don't have any evidence, so you think if you get close to me, I might let something incriminating slip.”

  “Good try.” He looked up at her, his hard cop's gaze very blue, very direct. “Look, my ex-wife would tell you in a heartbeat that I'm an asshole, and, hell, she may be right. I'll tell you, up front, that I haven't been fit company since the divorce. It was vicious, and getting over something like that takes awhile. I haven't wanted to get involved with anyone, other than—”

  He stopped, and she said, “For sex,” filling in the blank.

  “I wasn't going to be that blunt, but, yeah.”

  So he was divorced, and the process had been nasty. Healing from a split like that was like healing from any other trauma; it took time, and it wasn't easy. That made him a bad risk right now, not that she was in the market for a relationship, either. “How long has it been?”

  “Two years since I caught her cheating on me, a year since the divorce was final.”

  “Ouch. Very nasty.” What kind of idiot would cheat on a man like him? Not that she had any way of judging, but if her feminine instincts had been cats, they'd all have been purring right now in response to the testosterone she could practically smell on him.

  “Yeah, it was. But it's over, maybe more over than I realized. I'm attracted to you, I tried to ignore it, and it didn't work. By the way, I've already seen your bank statement and investment portfolio; you don't need Judge Roberts's money.”

  “So I'm not a suspect now?”

  “Let's just say as far as I'm concerned, you're in the clear.”

  That called for another bite or two of hamburger, chased by a french fry. “Some people might think you're after me because of the money. The timing is a tad suspicious.”

  “A tad,” he agreed. “You make almost three times as much money as I do, and Mountain Brook cops are well paid. But I'd say you usually make more than anyone you date, so you're used to it.”

  “My dates don't usually see my bank statement first,” she said dryly.

  “Look, money's nice, but I'm not hurting. My ego isn't hurt by a woman making more than I do, either.”

  “I know, you told me; it's enormous.”

  There it was again, that flush of color on his cheekbones. Fascinated, she watched it fade as he devoted himself to his second hamburger. Despite the circumstances, she was really beginning to enjoy herself.

  He wiped his mouth. “Okay, you've accused me of trying to get close to you so I can get enough evidence to convict you of murder—a little undercover work, I guess—and of wanting your money. Anything else?”

  “I'll let you know if anything comes to mind.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, on my side of the table is a lot of attraction. How about your side?”

  He definitely had the finesse of a tank. On the other hand, that blunt honesty was somehow reassuring. A woman would always know where she stood with this man, for good or ill.

  The big question was, what did she want to do about it?

  His honesty forced her to be at least as straightforward as he was. “My side looks pretty much like your side. That doesn't mean getting involved would be a good idea.”

  A very male smile of satisfaction curved his mouth. “Getting involved is what it's all about. Millions of people work hard to get involved, actively search for it. Think of all the hours of hard labor put in in singles' bars.”

  “I've never been to a singles' bar. That should tell you something.”

  “That you've never needed to. I figure any time you don't have a man, it's because you don't want one.”

  She didn't say anything, staring down at the table. She saw that she'd eaten half of the burger, and all of the fries. His method of distracting her had certainly worked. On the other hand, she definitely felt better with some food in her stomach, even fast food. She could almost feel her energy level rising.

  “We can take this as slow as you want,” he said. “This isn't a good time for you, and I have a couple of speed bumps in my way, too. I just wanted you to know I'm interested.” He shrugged. “You don't have to get through this alone, unless that's the way you want it.”

  Oh, damn. She'd been doing so well, pushing her grief to the background for a little while. Just like that her eyes began swimming, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears.

  “Ah, hell, I didn't mean to— Let's get out of here.” He began gathering paper and napkins, dumping the trash into a bin and placing the tray on top. Blindly she followed him out of the restaurant, and as they walked to his truck, he put his arm around her.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, thrusting a handkerchief into her hands.

  She wiped her eyes, leaning into the strength and warmth of his body. His arm felt good around her. She wanted to put her head on his shoulder and weep; instead she took a deep breath. “He was a sweet man. I'll cry a lot for him before this is over.”

  He unlocked the door and she climbed inside, reaching for the seat belt. He stopped her, his hand over hers, and he leaned inside.

  She made no move to evade the kiss. She didn't want to evade it. She wanted to know how he kissed, how he tasted. His mouth was warm, the contact light, almost gentle, as if his intent was more to comfort than arouse.

  That lasted about two seconds. Then he slanted his head, his lips parted, and he deepened the kiss until his tongue was in her mouth and her arms were around his neck. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and her entire body clenched, and she knew her purring instincts hadn't been wrong. Good Lord, the man could kiss.

  He lifted his head, running his tongue along his lower lip as if savoring the taste of her. “That was good.” His tone was so low it almost rumbled.

  “Yes, it was.” Her own tone was a tad . . . breathy. Where had that come from? She had never sounded breathy before in her life.

  “Do you want to do it again?”

  “We'd better not.”

  “Okay,” he said, and kissed her again.

  This man was dangerous. If she wasn't careful, she'd be involved in a full-fledged affair with him before she knew it—maybe even before morning. Now was definitely not the time, and she had to get herself under control while she still could. After giving her the cold shoulder, now he was moving at light speed in the opposite direction, and she was a little shell-shocked.

  It took some effort, but she pulled her mouth away, gasping for air. “Red light, Detective. Stop.”

  He was breathing hard, too, but he stepped back. “Permanently?” The word was raw with disbelief.

  “No!” Her answer was embarrassingly forceful. “Just . . . for now.” She took a deep breath. “There are more important things to talk about.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, I think the Judge knew the killer.”

  His face went blank. He closed her door and went around to the driver's side, getting behind the wheel and starting the truck. A light drizzle had started again, and he turned on the windshield wipers.

  “I know he did,” he said. “But what makes you think so?”

  CHAPTER 12

  MAYBE HE WASN'T SO CONVINCED OF HER INNOCENCE, after all. The thought cooled her down, gave her a bit of much needed mental distance from him. “I know the Judge. . . . knew him,” she corrected herself. “He never, never left the doors unlocked. I checked the house every night before going to bed and not once did he leave any door unsecured. It was automatic for him; when he came inside, he locked the door behind him. I guess he got in the habit after he got the first death threat, when Mrs. Roberts was still alive. But last night”—God, was it only last night, it felt like a week—“the front door was unlocked.”

  “Could be coincidence.”

  “That he'd leave the door unlocked on the one night a killer came looking for him?” She threw Cahill a derisive glance. “I don't think so. I think this person came to the door, and the Judge knew him and let him in. When I found him, the J