The Passion Of Sam Broussard. Maggie Price

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СКАЧАТЬ been impossible. His grandmother often declared that he experienced the hazy sense of familiarity because it was in his blood.

      There’d been a time in his past that Sam had discounted his grandmother’s herb bags, crystals and the spirit bottles she hung in trees, and just accepted her as the lovable eccentric who’d raised him after his parents died in a car wreck. That was before Tanya came along. Sam knew for the rest of his life he would feel a raw ache over the casual way he’d ignored his grandmother’s portending of doom.

      He tightened his grip on his coffee mug and shifted his dark thoughts to the woman sitting beside him. How the hell could she be in his blood when she’d gotten married two weeks ago? He had never poached on another man’s woman and he wasn’t about to start now. Still, he couldn’t help imagining himself slowly sliding each pin from Liz’s thick braid until that fiery mane tumbled down her back.

      The thought put a knot in his chest. Tanya had had red hair, too, but not the same shade as Liz Scott’s. He’d plunged his fingers through Tanya’s hair uncountable times. Then, over the years, their marriage had gone to hell. He’d wound up hurt and angry and hadn’t even wanted to touch her.

      Then he’d as good as gotten her killed.

      Since then, he’d worked relentlessly. His job was all he had, all he’d wanted. All he would ever allow himself to want.

      At that instant, Liz lifted her gaze and looked him right in the eyes. Damn if he didn’t feel a jolt go straight through him. He hadn’t seen big, smoldering green eyes like that since—

      Since he didn’t know when.

      “J. D. Temple hit the jackpot when he broke into York’s home,” Liz said. “In addition to the Colt, the loot stolen included a large coin collection, high-dollar jewelry, loose diamonds and numerous serving pieces of solid silver.”

      Sam squinted past her shoulder at the poor-quality microfilm copy of the burglary report. “York’s law practice must have done pretty well back then.”

      “That, and he’s an author. He’s written several books on the English legal system, and is considered an expert on medieval law. He still lives in the same house he did thirty years ago, which is in the snooty part of town.”

      Her dry use of the term had Sam’s mouth curving, even while his senses ran wild with her alluring scent. She smelled good, like the flowers that bloomed in his grandmother’s garden at night.

      He didn’t want to notice Liz’s scent any more than he wanted to notice the slender arch of her throat. Or any of the other attributes he found impossible to ignore. Because he couldn’t help himself, he drew an appreciative breath and felt the knockout punch of desire. Don’t go there, he cautioned himself and forced his thoughts back to the three-decades-old burglary.

      “Did any of Temple’s other victims live in the snooty part of town?”

      “The majority of the one hundred burglaries he confessed to were within five miles of the judge’s house.”

      “So, Temple was a discerning thief.” Sam sipped his coffee. “In the property we recovered at the bust in Shreveport, there were a lot of pieces of silver—coffee services, trays, vases. Also jewelry and coins. The judge’s Colt wound up there. I wonder if there were other items from the burglaries Temple copped to.”

      “Highly possible. I’ll be sure and ask him what fences he dealt with when I interview him at the state pen tomorrow.”

      Sam raised a brow. “Don’t tell me he’s still in slam for those thirty-year-old burglaries?”

      “No, his lawyer worked a deal that got him ten years for those. Temple kept a low profile after his release until he broke into a house owned by a rich widow. After assaulting her, he charged out the back door where the woman’s chauffeur tackled him and called the cops. That bought Temple a ticket back to the pen.”

      Sam watched while Liz aligned her notes, tapping the edges neatly together before returning them to a folder with WINDSOR printed on the tab in bold, precise letters. He wondered how all that controlled organization transferred into her personal life. And if her new husband found it as intriguing as he did.

      “Sounds like you spent a lot of time while you were on leave digging through the background on this case.”

      With what looked like careful deliberation, she slid the folder into her tote. “Like I said, I’m dedicated.”

      “And your husband must be a real understanding guy for you to take work on your honeymoon. He a cop, too?”

      “No.” Her gaze stayed on his for a split second, then flicked away. “Look, I…When we got to Vegas we didn’t…I just couldn’t go through with it.”

      She looked back at him, and for the first time Sam realized she was wiped out. The fatigue was hard to spot, but it was there—in the sight drooping of her eyelids, the faint shadows under them.

      Without conscious thought, he softened his voice. “You didn’t get married?”

      “No.”

      Sam felt his gut clench. The thought that she was no longer forbidden fruit was entirely too appealing. “Maybe you’ll be able to piece things back together.”

      “No.” The almost whispered word rang with finality.

      He was aware that everything inside him was now at attention. “If you had doubts, calling off the wedding was the smart thing to do.”

      A line formed between her brows. “You an expert on marriage, Broussard?”

      He hesitated, thrown off balance that he’d nearly told her he was a widower. He never talked about Tanya. Couldn’t even think about her without seeing her lying in a pool of blood, and feeling the slicing guilt because he’d as good as put her there.

      He set his jaw. Maybe he’d almost dropped his guard with Liz because of the fatigue and vulnerability he’d just seen in her face.

      He didn’t know. All he knew was he was going to have to keep a tight rein on his emotions.

      “Broussard?”

      Realizing Liz was waiting to find out if he considered himself an expert on marriage, he shrugged. “A common-sense observation, is all.”

      Just then, the cell phone she’d placed on the table trilled. Thirty seconds later, she ended the call, then dropped her phone into her tote and met Sam’s gaze. “That was Judge York’s secretary. He’ll see us in his chambers now.”

      “Great.” Sam could have sworn he felt Liz’s gaze like a touch. So much for the tight rein on his emotions, he thought and rose.

      For Liz, it was a relief to get out of the coffee shop. The entire time there, she struggled to stay focused on York’s burglary report. More than once she’d lost her train of thought and found herself watching Broussard’s hands. Noting how solid, strong and long-fingered they seemed.

      And ringless.

      What the heck was going on? she wondered as she and Broussard stepped onto an elevator where two maintenance men were debating the reasons why the heating system СКАЧАТЬ