Wedlocked?!. Pamela Toth
days, he’d been torn between worry over his mother and endless speculation about Annie. How much had she changed? Was she as confident as she appeared? Was she still passionate about her work? Had she ever given him a thought in the last six years? Did she hate him? Thanks to his future step-father, Cole might have to work with Annie, but he’d be damned if he’d let her know he still found her attractive.
Finally she sat down, crossed one leg over the other and fished a manila folder from her bag. “Did you know that Ryan’s wife was having an affair before she died?”
Interest surged through Cole. He knew his mother hadn’t murdered Sophia, which meant that someone else had—someone angry enough to press a pillow to her face until she stopped breathing. A spurned lover? An obsessed reject? From what Ryan had already told Cole, his estranged wife had certainly been capable of a secret involvement with someone else while she did her best to squeeze a bigger settlement from her husband.
“I heard rumors,” Cole admitted. “Have you found out who the lucky man was?”
To his disappointment, Annie shook her head. “Not yet, but I will.”
“What have you been doing all this time?” he demanded, frustrated.
She gave him a level stare. “Working. How about you? Established a foolproof defense yet?”
Her sarcastic tone made him realize that the two of them sniping at each other wasn’t going to help his mother’s case. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m worried.” He glanced at the thick file he’d been reading before she came in. “I’ve been going over the police report from the crime scene,” he added. “The only physical evidence that ties Mom to the scene was the ruby bracelet they found next to the body. It was a gift from Ryan. Someone else had to have deliberately planted it in Sophia’s hotel room. Mom was never there.”
“Are you sure of that?” Annie asked.
Cole fought down his protective urges. “She says she wasn’t. That’s good enough for me.”
“But not necessarily good enough to convince a jury,” Annie pointed out. “Why would anyone want to frame her?”
“To divert attention, I suppose,” he replied. “Because Mom was at the hotel that night and she knew Sophia. Anyone could have seen her there.”
Annie twirled a lock of her hair, and he noticed that she wore a ring shaped like a butterfly. Her nails were short, neat and free of polish. “What about the bracelet?” she asked. “Did the police talk to anyone who thought they remembered her wearing it that night?”
Cole thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. Good point.”
Annie made a note. “I’ll check it out. Why was Lily at the hotel that night?”
He sat back and steepled his hands, the leather of his chair creaking in protest like an old saddle. “She attended a charity banquet at the hotel and, unfortunately for her, she decided to stay the night.”
Annie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “What’s her alibi for the time when Sophia was killed?” she asked.
“She was in her own room,” Cole admitted with a sigh. “Alone.”
“No room service? No phone calls?” Annie probed with a wave of her hand.
He shook his head regretfully. “She was resting.”
Annie appeared to be studying the scenic print behind his head. He tried to stay focused on the discussion and not notice how full her lips were, puckered as if for a kiss. Did she have a boyfriend?
“I think our best bet would be to find out who Sophia was involved with,” she said as he tried hard to concentrate. “I’m not usually a fan of putting the victim on trial, but it wouldn’t hurt to alter a jury’s image of her as the wronged wife.”
Cole couldn’t fault Annie’s reasoning. From the beginning, publicity surrounding the case had played up its sensational aspects. Anything connected to the wealthy Fortune family was big news in Texas. “Good idea. Where do we start?”
Annie leaned back and studied him pointedly. The movement thrust out her breasts. Memories had his fingers curling in reaction behind the desk. “We?” she echoed.
“She’s my mother,” he replied a little more forcefully than necessary. “I’m not just some attorney trying to better his win–loss record.”
“Precisely. You’re biased.”
“And you’re not?” he countered.
“I haven’t formed an opinion of her guilt or innocence yet, if that’s what you mean,” she said loftily.
Cole ignored the quick surge of temper. “Why did you take this case?” he asked instead.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Ryan Fortune has been very supportive,” she said finally. “I owe him.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Is that the only reason?”
She shifted in her chair and uncrossed her legs. “What are you implying?”
“You can’t ignore the fact that you and I have a history,” Cole said with great reluctance. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but maybe it would be better to clear the air now, before they got deeper into the investigation.
Annie was surprised he would mention their unfortunate past. “Ancient history.” She bristled at the idea that he might think she’d let anything personal influence the way she handled a case. “It certainly has no bearing on this investigation.” She didn’t like the way he was studying her, but she refused to allow him to put her on the defensive. Instead she leaned down to stuff the folder back into her bag, then got to her feet.
“I’ll keep you posted.” Before she could reach the door, Cole had circled his desk and blocked her path. She could smell his cologne. Thank heaven he’d changed brands and the new scent, something clean and sharp, wasn’t another painful reminder of the past they’d shared.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, easing his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks and propping his shoulder against the door. “Can we start over?” He was so close she could see the faint stubble of his beard, could feel his breath on her cheek.
“No problem.” Annie refused to retreat. Instead she looked into his eyes, at the twin reflections of herself in the blackness of his pupils, as awareness—stronger than a sigh but fainter than a whisper—shimmered between them.
Cole was the first to step away, leaving her to wonder if he felt it too. He gave his silk tie, the exact same blue as his irises, an unnecessary tug, but his expression remained unchanged.
Annie realized she’d die if he suspected she still found him attractive. She felt like a dog that had been kicked and kept crawling back to its master no matter how many times it was hurt.
“Let’s start by pooling our information,” Cole suggested briskly, sliding the folder around so it was facing the chair she’d just vacated. “Here’s the police report.”
Curious, Annie sat back down and did her best to concentrate on the form in front of her. “How odd,” she murmured when she’d scanned the report of the crime scene.
Cole perched on the corner of the desk. “What do you mean?”
“As usual, there was a lot of physical evidence to sift through—fingerprints, hair, fibers.” She glanced over the report. “I know this forensics team,” she said, tapping the paper for emphasis. “If there had been anything else in that hotel room to link your mother to the victim, no matter how minuscule, they should have found it.” She looked again. “They have several unidentified fingerprints, but none of Lily’s.” Perhaps Lily was telling the truth.
“Of course they don’t have her prints. She wasn’t there,” Cole insisted. “Maybe something will match up to the real killer.”