Close Neighbors. Dawn Stewardson

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      Everything she’d said had referred to her—how the police might charge her, how her life could be affected. She hadn’t uttered a single word about the possibility that they suspected Chase, as well.

      And he’d said nothing to that effect, either. Rachel’s the one at risk, he’d said. Not me.

      So, regardless of how much time those detectives spent questioning him yesterday, and despite knowing he’d gone after his sister, they’d left both Nicholsons with the same message: Rachel was a suspect; Chase wasn’t.

      Anne considered that, wondering whether some neighbor had seen him arriving home from the park.

      Since people had heard the gunshot, the cops would have an accurate fix on the time. And, quite possibly, they’d ruled out Chase because he’d been back before Graham was killed.

      Whatever the reason, though, it seemed obvious they didn’t suspect him.

      She was glad of that, but she couldn’t stop wishing they didn’t suspect his sister, either. Or, more accurately, she wished there wasn’t so much evidence pointing toward Rachel’s guilt. Because the way things stood, she might well end up being charged. And now that they’d spent some time together, Anne had a gut feeling Rachel was innocent.

      Of course, her instincts about people weren’t always right. And what if she was wrong this time? Lord, she didn’t even want to think about that. By saying she’d try to help before she knew the facts, she’d gotten herself into something worse than she’d expected and in far deeper than she wanted to be.

      But while common sense was telling her it was time to back off, what sort of relationship would she have with her new neighbors if she said, “Well, this is as far as I go. See you around”? Not a good one, that was for sure.

      Glancing at Chase, she silently admitted there was another reason she didn’t want to back off.

      She rarely met a man who interested her. Yet the very first moment she’d seen this man she’d felt a tug of attraction. And getting to know him a little had told her he might be someone she could really come to like.

      Actually, to be deep-down honest, she already really liked him. So she hardly wanted to say she’d decided that trying to help his sister was a bad idea.

      But what would happen if her “helping” turned up even more evidence of Rachel’s guilt?

      The answer was obvious. Rachel would be in jail. And how would Chase feel about someone who’d had a hand in putting her behind bars?

      Ordering herself not to go there, Anne forced her mind off the personal aspect of this and back to the broader picture.

      “Let me ask you something,” she said to Chase. “If you aren’t going to report your extortionist to the police, what do you intend to do about him?”

      CHASE SAT STARING at his daughter, willing her to pick this instant to climb out of the pool and come over to the patio. If he could just manage that minor bit of mental telepathy he wouldn’t have to answer Anne’s question—which he definitely didn’t want to do.

      He had no idea how he was going to deal with the extortionist. Hell, he hadn’t even given much thought to what his alternatives were. And if he had to admit that to Anne she’d figure he was an utter moron.

      But ever since he’d turned on the news yesterday morning, there’d been so much to worry about that he’d simply penciled the extortion threat in toward the bottom of his list.

      After all, the guy had said he’d get back to him in “a couple of days.” And with this being Friday, a couple of days probably meant Monday. Whereas those detectives breathing down Rachel’s neck seemed like a much more immediate threat.

      “Can I assume you aren’t going to give him the two hundred thousand?” Anne said.

      Damn. His attempt at telepathy had failed. Neither Julie nor Becky had even glanced in his direction.

      Resigning himself to his fate, he looked across the table. “I don’t have two hundred thousand dollars. I don’t have anything close to that.”

      “Could you come up with it? If you wanted to?”

      As she was speaking, a thought struck him. Even if he could, surely no bank would hand him that much money in cash. And cash was what his caller wanted.

      After he’d said as much to Anne, she slowly shook her head. “I’m not certain what that tells us. It might mean he doesn’t know much about how banks work, so he doesn’t realize it could be a stumbling block. On the other hand, he might be sophisticated enough to know there’d be ways of arranging it.”

      “You really think there would?”

      She nodded. “The bank wouldn’t be happy about it. And they’d probably want you to be accompanied by an armed guard, or sign some sort of release. Still, if it was your money, and you insisted on cash…You haven’t answered my question, though. Could you come up with that much?”

      When he eyed her uncertainly, she said, “I’m not trying to pry into your personal finances, but could you?”

      “Well…probably. I’ve got a good relationship with the manager at my trust company. But you’re not suggesting I pay this jerk, are you?” He couldn’t imagine that was what she had in mind, yet he didn’t know what else she’d be getting at.

      “No, of course not. If you did he’d be on your back forever. It’s just that…”

      Looking lost in thought, she absently pushed her hair back off her cheek. And as crazy as it seemed, given that they were in the midst of this conversation, he suddenly found himself thinking she was an incredibly sexy woman.

      Not that he hadn’t realized it before. Even though his mind had been pretty much occupied with other things from the moment they’d met, he’d certainly noticed she was a terrific-looking woman.

      But just a moment ago, something about the fluid motion of her hand, about the way her dark hair danced with auburn highlights as it moved in the sunshine, had gone straight to his groin. And started him imagining her brushing his hair away from his face. As a prelude to a kiss.

      He swallowed hard, unable to force his gaze from the lushness of her lips. Then he saw that she was watching him watch her and he felt hot all over.

      Scrambling for something—anything—to say, he settled on, “You know what I think Rachel’s biggest fear is? That those detectives are so convinced she killed Graham they won’t be trying to learn who the real killer is.”

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