D.b. Hayes, Detective. Dani Sinclair
one is that good looking, and I’m not such a wimp that I cave to my body’s hormones. I put on an indignant face and started to get up. The stupid chair seized the moment of inattention and rolled backward. My head met the wall with an audible thunk.
I lunged forward out of the miserable piece of junk to avoid falling flat on my back along with the chair. Somehow I managed to land on my feet and, with great restraint, kept my hand from rubbing the sore spot on the back of my head. Thank God he didn’t laugh.
“Aunt Lacy, call the police.”
He turned to give Aunt Lacy a cold look. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said with a quiet firmness that sort of scared even me.
“Fine,” I said with false bravado. “I’ll call them.”
His hand covered mine as I reached for the old black rotary-dial phone on my desk. Sexual chemistry was all well and good, but this was the sort of man I’d feel a whole lot safer adoring from afar. With that warm, firm hand swallowing mine, I felt the surge of attraction clear to my toes. A tingle worked its way up my arm from the point of contact and short-circuited my brain.
“You followed us last night,” he stated.
The closet-size office shrank away until there was nothing but him and me. My stomach did one of those quick roller-coaster dips, and somehow I found my voice even as I pulled my hand out from under his.
“That’s quite an ego you carry around,” I managed. “But as a pickup line, it’s original.”
I wouldn’t have thought his eyes could harden any further. I would have been wrong. Adrenaline was sending me all sorts of mixed messages. Chief among them was the urge to run.
He rocked back on his heels to study me. I was suddenly all too conscious that my hair was in its usual disarray and both my navy linen slacks and my light blue blouse could have used the help of an iron this morning.
Not that I own an iron or would have been inclined to use it if I had one, but this man made me abruptly, stunningly aware that I was a woman facing the most fascinating man I’d ever seen.
“You told Russo where she was,” he added without inflection.
I wanted to deny that charge, but of course I couldn’t—any more than I could admit that I was both drawn to and intimidated by this gorgeous male.
“Go away.”
“How does it feel to know you conspired to murder someone?”
That sent a punch of a whole new sort to my insides.
“Whoa! What do you mean murder? Who’s been murdered?” My intestines did a quick roll while my heart rhythm went staccato.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Maybe the bump on my head had scrambled my hearing. I shook my head and focused on his lips.
“Okay, I think we need to back up here,” I told him. “Who are you?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “You don’t even know that?”
Now that really stung. “I didn’t bother to run your plate,” I admitted. “And that really is some ego you’ve got.”
He might be great eye candy, but I’d about had it with him and his gibes. He shook his head.
“Russo must have loved your report if you left my name out. Unless… Of course. You took her, didn’t you? Convinced her to go back with you as soon as I left.”
He’d pushed all the right buttons. Now I was angry, as well.
“Get out!”
He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned in toward me. “Not going to happen Ms. Hayes. You’re going to tell me exactly what you said to Elaine.”
I came around the desk to get in his face. Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into consideration the difference in our height. He straightened up. At six feet, he towered over my five-foot-one-inch frame, giving him the advantage. Unfortunately I was angry enough now not to care. I jabbed a finger in his chest, taking him by surprise.
“You don’t come waltzing into my office throwing your weight around. I’m not afraid of you,” I lied. “You want to have sex with a married woman, you take the consequences, buster.”
“Sex? You think we were…” He swore.
“Right back at you.”
I was quaking inside, but I’d die before admitting it. Though I’m licensed to carry a gun, I never do. Guns scare me—but not nearly as much as he did.
He looked down at my hand, and I realized my finger was still pressed against his crisp white linen shirt. Aware of the scratches, I dropped my hand and fought an urge to take a quick step back. Instead I opened my mouth and more words came tumbling out.
“Why would I think the two of you were getting it on?” I asked to cover the flush I could feel stealing up my neck. “Oh, wait. Could it be because you drove the very married Elaine Russo across the state line to some sleazy motel? So sorry. I’m sure it was for an innocent, if illegal, poker game.”
His eyes went flat. There was something very scary about the banked anger I read in his expression. I found myself taking that step back after all until my posterior came up against the edge of the desk.
In an instant all that scary anger disappeared. He regarded me with something that looked suspiciously like grudging respect mingled with humor.
“My cousin will not be happy to hear you think his motel is sleazy.”
My knees felt disturbingly wobbly.
“Your cousin?”
“Vinnie and his wife just sank their life’s savings into building that ‘sleazy’ motel.”
Oh, boy.
“You’re not the least bit afraid of me, are you?”
If he only knew. I swallowed, grateful for the acting classes I’d taken in high school, and tried for a sneer.
“I didn’t know fear was a requirement.”
More of his tension eased. He tipped his head to regard me. It was all I could do to keep my hand from straying to my hair in a vain attempt to control the loose curls. If only I’d gotten up when the alarm clock went off so I could have worn it up, like I usually do when I’m working. It makes me look older.
He definitely seemed amused now, and I didn’t like that reaction any better than his anger. Having a gorgeous man regard me with humor is not my idea of a compliment.
“We’ve strayed from the point,” I told him in annoyance. “I’d like you to leave.”
“Yeah. I got that. Did you talk to Elaine and convince her to leave or did Russo send someone after her?”
“I’m a private investigator, pal. People pay me for information.”
He reached in his hip pocket and produced a leather wallet. Taking some bills from inside, he laid them on the desk and stared at me with a questioning lift of his brows.
That fanned the flames of more anger. “You arrogant—”
“Not enough?” He started to take out another twenty.
I was so furious, I was starting to shake.
“You don’t have enough money. Get out of here. I’ll see you in divorce court. I’ll be the one pointing a finger at you and telling the judge you’re the man who was having the affair with Elaine Russo.”
“Then you’ll be lying,” he said calmly. “Elaine isn’t my lover, she’s my client.”
That pricked my anger and filled me with confusion.
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