Under His Protection. Amy Fetzer J.
folded the soil, and although there were tears in her eyes, her expression said she wasn’t crying. She looked on that road between pissed off and pleased.
Nash wasn’t sure he should interrupt. “Lisa?”
She hesitated, then kept folding dirt in the large galvanized tub.
“What is it, Detective?” Lisa recognized his voice instantly, almost felt his presence before he spoke. It was irritating as hell that he could still do that to her.
He moved to her side. She glanced at him.
The impact of those green eyes left him momentarily hurting for air. “Peter was poisoned.”
Her head whipped to the side, her eyes wide. “Good Lord, how?”
“That we don’t know yet. Did he have heart trouble?”
She snorted and went back to mixing. “No. He was never sick. He’s…he was a guru about eating healthy foods, taking vitamins. Working out. It was really annoying that the man wouldn’t relax and just have fun. Be a slug, lie like a potato.” She bit her lip, knowing she’d said more than she should have. “I don’t think I should talk to you without a lawyer present.”
“You haven’t been charged.”
“And that makes a difference?”
“Cooperating will go in your favor. Do you want to impede an investigation?”
“I’ve told you all I can recall.”
“Except what you and Peter discussed, exactly.”
“He wanted me back… It doesn’t matter,” she said tiredly. “He was alive when I left him.” She moved to the sink and washed her hands. “I get it. You don’t have motive.”
“You were his wife—”
“Ex, or soon to be, at the time,” she stressed.
“—and you stood to gain. On the day of his death you were still legally married.”
“Splitting hairs, Nash. I didn’t ask for anything of his when I left him, and I hadn’t been his wife in any sense, including the biblical, for three years.”
Nash’s brows shot up. Where had she been all this time? “Not according to the legal system.”
“Fine. Have it your way. You always do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She turned, resting her rear against the sink edge and drying her hands. For a second she debated opening up this can of worms, then decided he could take a piece of the truth. “Four years ago you wanted me to wait around till you were ready for more than a few dates a month.”
Nash said nothing, bracing for the attack.
“You wanted me to be yours, but you weren’t willing to ever claim me. Even your brothers thought I was just a friend.”
The bitterness in her voice smacked him across the face. They’d shared a bed, shared each other, dammit. “So you went elsewhere?”
“I was still here before I met Peter and a couple of months after that.” She hooked the towel on a peg near the sink. “It doesn’t matter that it didn’t work out. At least I did something about it. Fish or cut bait, you know.”
“You’d have wanted to force me into something I didn’t want, then?”
She made a face. “No. Which is why I ended it.” So he wouldn’t feel he had to do the right thing because of their baby, she thought. “But that’s not the point. Face it, Nash. You weren’t ready for me.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
She made a sound between a laugh and disgust. “You had plenty of chances. You just didn’t want me the way I wanted you.” Forever.
There was hurt in her voice, a hint of it, barely disguised. She pushed past him, but didn’t make it far.
He caught her arm, the move putting her nearly against him. “My God, Lisa, did you think I didn’t care about you?” His gaze raked her face as he searched for something to grasp and knew he shouldn’t even be trying.
“Caring was all I got from you.” And a baby I never got to hold, she thought.
Nash struggled with his heart. He wanted to say things, things she needed to hear and he wanted to tell. But he couldn’t. Not when just looking at her pushed the heat simmering between them up a notch. Even in the apron and grubby T-shirt and steaming mad, she turned him inside out. He’d always felt incredible heat and electricity with her, more than anyone else. He’d never trusted it. And there was more here, this time. Yet the expression on her face said he didn’t have a chance. And the fact that he was prying into her life and considered her a prime suspect wasn’t helping his position. Did he want something with her? Was he willing to resurrect the past? No. Attraction was only about hormones, he thought, and forced himself to shut off the thoughts and turn up his cop brain.
He let her go. After a moment he asked, “What herbs and flowers do you use to make the teas?”
Back to detecting, she thought, rubbing the warmth from her arm. “For the bath I use lavender, rosemary, lemon balm…eucalyptus, if I have it. For drinking…mint, lemon mint, chamomile and catnip. A couple of other herbs if they’re growing well.” Her frown deepened. “Why?”
“I’m not at liberty to say right now.” Because he wasn’t certain how the digitalis got into Winfield’s system.
“Fine. Didn’t I tell you to talk to my lawyer next time you wanted to ask me anything?”
Nash pushed his fingers through his hair. “What are you hiding?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then talk to me.”
“Considering we have a past, I don’t think that’s wise.”
He knew she was right. It was almost a matter of pride to be objective with her stomping on his every effort. “I’m not trying to send you to jail over four-year-old jilted feelings, for pity’s sake.”
“Jilted, Nash? You have to be engaged to be jilted.”
With that she marched up the steps and into the house.
NASH SPENT the rest of the day trying not to brood and went through Winfield’s briefcase again. For a broker, there wasn’t much there. It was as if he’d put together this briefcase for just this trip. The PalmPilot gave Winfield’s schedule in New York, yet the appointments stopped the day he flew into nearby Charleston. There was a notation of a number. Nash called it. He got the Baylor Inn. Okay, nothing new there. What about the blank real-estate contracts in the victim’s briefcase?
He backtracked and called the man’s lawyer. After a ten-minute conversation in which Nash explained that his client was dead and privacy would only hinder finding out who killed him, the lawyer told him that Winfield had gone to Indigo to take up with old acquaintances and perhaps purchase property. No, the attorney said, he didn’t know what property Winfield was interested in. The record of Winfield’s calls from the hotel produced only one—to Lisa.
Nash spent the remainder of the afternoon calling Realtors and came up empty. Winfield hadn’t contacted any of the Indigo Realtors, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t searching outside the area. Maybe Winfield had been looking at real estate in Charleston, and was just using Indigo as a base because Lisa was here. Nash would have to widen his search and wondered what unsuspecting rookie he could sic on the job. Maybe Winfield spoke directly with the property owners?
Nash stared at the pile of evidence he still had.
Blank sale contracts. A PalmPilot that held nothing past the day he’d arrived and a laptop with a password even his best tech experts couldn’t get around. Then there was the picture of Lisa.
Talk