Shiver. Cynthia Cooke

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t understand,” she hedged.

      “Please answer the question.”

      “Three years.”

      He looked around, disbelieving. “In this house?”

      “Yes.”

      “Don’t believe in too many possessions, do you, Miss Morgan?”

      “May I have my locket?”

      “I’m afraid not.” He propped himself against the wall and crossed his arms against his chest.

      “And why’s that?”

      Was that a quiver in her voice? “Evidence.”

      Her gaze shifted down and her small white fingers fluttered like a butterfly as she played with the top button on her dress. “When, then, may I have it?”

      “Don’t you want to know why it’s being held?”

      A shadow passed in front of her eyes. She mouthed something, then dropped her hands to the counter between them.

      He stepped closer to her, determined to discover what had her so fidgety. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

      “No. I don’t,” she blurted.

      “Now I find that mighty strange.” He took another step toward her, placed both hands on either side of hers and leaned in close. Close enough to see the creamy white skin of her throat flutter as she swallowed. “Why wouldn’t you want to know what happened to an obviously cherished possession?”

      She took a step back, refusing to meet his eyes.

      “Most people would,” he continued. “Why not you?”

      She didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor between her toes and wrung those small white fingers. Fingers that could have slit Michelle’s throat? He was finding that difficult to believe, but she was afraid of something.

      “Is there some point to all this, Detective MacIntyre?”

      Her lower lip quivered, and he felt an urge to reach out his thumb and still it. “What do you do, Miss Morgan?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “For work?”

      “I write.”

      “A writer, huh? What do you write?”

      “Would you like some coffee? Iced tea?” she asked.

      “Tea would be great.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, kicking one boot over the other, and watched as she passed, sorely tempted to blow on the fine hairs that had slipped their bondage to feather against the back of her neck. He forced back the thought and considered how hard he should push for the answers to the questions she was so obviously evading.

      She opened the fridge, removed a large pitcher of tea and filled two glasses. She placed a glass in front of him, along with a bowl of sugarcoated pecans.

      “Thank you, ma’am. That’s mighty hospitable of you.”

      Without looking at him, she picked up a pecan and bit into it. A dab of sugar creased the corner of her sweet little mouth. The tip of her tongue peeked out and licked the sugar away. The movement warmed the chill in his blood. He ignored it and gulped down his tea. Her large luminous eyes watched him, looking vulnerable one moment and calculating the next. This was a woman with a secret. One way or another, he was going to discover what that secret was.

      DEVRA TOOK a deep breath to steady herself. She turned her back on the rude detective to return the tea to the fridge. She needed to stay calm, to give nothing away. Her hair tickled the back of her neck, sending an uncomfortable heat racing through her. He was staring at her again, with a look so intense she was sure he could see right through her.

      She closed her eyes. Breathe—in and out, in and out. She tried to ignore the intense gleam in his eyes and the hard lines sculpturing his jaw. They made her anxious. They made him look as if he could become unhinged at any moment.

      “So, what type of stuff do you write?” he asked, pinning her with another of his dark, primitive stares.

      “All types,” she muttered, and dropped her gaze to wide shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist where tight jeans molded thick thighs. With dark blond hair and eyes as brown and rich as a cup of espresso at Emeril’s, the combined effect definitely made the man a risk. She’d have to be extra careful around this one. He could do too much to her senses without even trying.

      “Published?”

      “Enough to make a living.” She watched under lowered lashes as he popped a few more pralines and drank down his tea in large gulps. He exuded an overabundance of confidence and moved with the grace of a panther. A dangerous mix, and she had a good idea he could be equally ferocious.

      A trickle of moisture ran between her shoulder blades. She glanced at the clock. “Look, I’ve got to go soon. Are we about done?”

      His gaze, cool and assessing, studied her. “A young woman—twenty-five, blond, beautiful, married and happy—her whole life in front of her, was found dead in the Quarter with this around her neck.” He held up the plastic baggie containing Devra’s locket.

      But she couldn’t look at the necklace; she was too focused on the man’s eyes, the deep brown of them melting in pain. He’d known this woman well. “I’m sorry,” she offered, though she understood it wasn’t enough.

      It never was.

      His eyes narrowed and his pretense of charm and suaveness disappeared, replaced by something uglier, something desperate and frustrated. “I want to know how this necklace wound up around her neck.” He slammed his glass onto the counter. She jumped, refusing to meet his eyes. There was nothing she could offer that would help him or that woman.

      “When was the last time you saw your necklace?” He was close—too close—stealing her energy, her breath, her feeble hold on her senses.

      She stared at the locket through the plastic, focusing on the small rose etched on its face, on anything but him. “Last Saturday, at the Children’s Hospital.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yes. I mean…I think I am.”

      “Can you think of any reason why your necklace would have been found on a murder victim?”

      Because I’m next? “No,” she whispered. She looked up at him, her gaze colliding with his. Big mistake. His doubt, his anger, riding so close to the surface, frightened her. “I don’t know. Maybe she found it,” she offered in a voice barely above a whisper.

      “No one has ever seen her with it before. Plus, it has a picture in it of a couple I’ve never seen. I know her. She wouldn’t wear a locket with someone else’s picture in it.”

      Devra nodded slowly. Of course she wouldn’t.

      “Who СКАЧАТЬ