Capturing Cleo. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ victim’s ex-wife.”

      “Cleo is not a suspect,” Luther said. “My involvement in this case might be considered unusual—” and it was getting more unusual by the minute “—but we haven’t broken any law.” Yet.

      Luther glanced around the room. No one was paying what might be called an inordinate amount of attention to their conversation. Not even Russell, who was proving to be damn good at undercover work. But if the secret admirer were here, he’d be incensed to see another man with his arm around Cleo, wouldn’t he?

      Luther shifted his arm and settled his hand at the back of Cleo’s neck, beneath a wealth of curling black hair and against her warm skin. She flinched just a little, but not so that anyone would notice her reaction. He felt it, but no one would see.

      “I’m taking you home,” he said, sounding possessive and commanding.

      “But…” Cleo began.

      “No buts. You can’t go back into your office until the crime scene techs are finished, and they won’t even get started until morning.” Luther glanced at Edgar. “There’s crime scene tape across the door to her office. No one goes in.” Russell would see to that, up until closing time, and Luther himself would be here in the morning when the crime scene techs arrived. “The door’s locked,” he added, “and I have the key.”

      “Why?” Thea asked brightly. “What happened in there?”

      Cleo opened her mouth to answer, but Luther was quicker. “We can’t discuss that. Sorry.”

      Again, Cleo looked up at him. Her eyes were so wide, her skin so flawless, her mouth so tempting. He could very easily kiss her, here and now. It would cement this ridiculous charade, and besides…he would never get another chance. God, what a great oral fixation she’d be.

      “All right,” she said, oddly subservient. “You can take me home.”

      He smiled, but didn’t give in to the urge to kiss her.

      “Lunch tomorrow,” Thea said, as Edgar handed Cleo her purse from under the bar. “We’re at the Marriott. Call me in the morning.”

      “Sure,” Cleo said lifelessly. “Lunch.” Edgar handed her coat over the bar. They’d cleared everything she might need out of the office when he’d taped it off, and Cleo had locked the door and handed him the key.

      Before Cleo could grab her coat, Luther took it and draped the black wool over her shoulders. He even allowed his hands to linger on her shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind. If he didn’t know better, he might even think she liked the way he rested his hands there, just for a moment. He might even think that gentle touch calmed her. The trembling she hid from everyone else seemed to subside.

      He led Cleo toward the door. Thea and Palmer followed, slipping on their own coats as they went. “Don’t forget lunch,” Thea said breathlessly.

      “We won’t forget,” Luther answered, including himself in the invitation.

      Chapter 5

      Cleo unlocked her door and stepped inside to be greeted by a prancing Rambo, who was more enthusiastic than usual tonight.

      “Hi, sweetheart,” Cleo said lowly, leaning down to gently scratch the top of the dog’s golden head.

      Behind her, Malone closed the door soundly. Rambo, the traitor, loped to Malone and lifted those big brown eyes to beg silently for adoration. The detective obediently scratched behind Rambo’s ears.

      “Okay,” Malone said as he followed Cleo into the living room, Rambo at his heels. “You have some explaining to do.”

      “I told you in the car—”

      “You have nothing to say. I know. Indulge me.”

      Cleo slipped off her coat and headed for the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

      Malone hesitated. “I know you don’t have coffee.”

      “Orange juice, water and flat diet soda.”

      “I’ll pass.”

      Cleo stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of juice before walking to the living room to join Malone. Like it or not, she would have to explain a thing or two.

      Malone stood over the roses her secret admirer had sent. “Where’s the card?”

      “There was no card this time,” Cleo said as she dropped into her favorite chair.

      “Is there usually?”

      “At first,” she said, as Malone crossed the room and sat on the couch, facing her. “They were usually just simple notes. ‘Great set last night. I love that red dress.’ Stuff like that. Lately they’ve been delivered without a card. Since it was red roses like before, and came from the same florist, I just assumed they were from the same guy.”

      “What florist?”

      “I can’t remember the name, but it’s the one in the mall.”

      Malone nodded his head, apparently satisfied. “I’ll get someone on that right away. Always red roses, you say?”

      Cleo nodded. “One dozen, delivered to the club. Usually on a Saturday. Friday night is when we have our biggest crowd, so it was impossible for me to come up with a face in the crowd that might fit the notes and the flowers.”

      Malone leaned forward. “Tell me about Palmer.”

      Cleo felt her cheeks go cold. “He’s my sister’s husband. What’s to tell?”

      “Come on, Cleo. Give me a little credit.”

      Rambo padded over to Malone and rested her chin on his knee. He didn’t seem to mind, but began to absently pat the dog’s head.

      “She’ll shed all over your suit.”

      “It’ll brush off,” Malone said tersely. “Palmer.”

      Might as well tell all. She had a feeling hiding anything from Luther Malone was hard work. And she didn’t have the heart for it at the moment.

      “Thea is everything my mother ever wanted in a daughter. Tall, slender, refined. I think she was born with the desire to join the Junior League. She’s an interior decorator, and is very choosy about the jobs she takes. Hers is a suitable profession. Mine is not.”

      “Palmer,” Malone said, urging her to move forward.

      “I’m getting there.” She took a sip of juice, and Malone visibly relaxed. Rambo, sufficiently scratched, laid down at the detective’s feet and rested her chin on his shoe. “All my life, I had to deal with the sad fact that I’m not enough like Thea to make my mother happy. I’m short, I am most definitely not thin, and if you made me join the Junior League, I’d probably turn into a serial killer or something.” She didn’t mention the fact that her mother had been horrified when she’d gotten breasts at an early age. Her mother’s people were not voluptuous.

      Malone СКАЧАТЬ