Marie Ferrarella - Racing Against Time

Brent was adamant as he shook his head. “She’d been with me since Rachel was a year old. Look, Callie, it’s my job to read people. Delia Culhane didn’t have a mean or mercenary bone in her body. She was entirely selfless.”

Callie blew out a breath as she took in his information. Whether or not he was right still had to be determined, but for the moment she could pretend to believe him.

“All right, for the time being let’s pretend that she was pure as the driven snow. Still, I need to look through her things, just as a formality.” He wasn’t fooled, she thought. “Would you mind showing me her room?”

With conscious effort he strove to take the edge off his temper. He knew she was just doing her job. “No, I wouldn’t mind, but you’re going entirely in the wrong direction.” He looked at her. “Just as you will with your next tack.”

God, but he was tall, she thought. And decidedly masculine. Even more than he’d been that night they danced. He seemed to draw the very air out of the room. “My next tack?”

This time he allowed himself the slightest hint of a smile. Because the very thought was hopelessly ludicrous. “Where you rule me out as a suspect.”

He was going to make it easy for her. She was grateful for that. “Personally I don’t see you as a suspect.”

He wondered if she was patronizing him, then decided that she wasn’t. Still he wanted his question answered. “And you’re basing this on what? On our dancing together once?”

She hadn’t expected him to oppose her on this, much less bring up that incident. She was equally surprised that he even remembered dancing with her. But she remembered.

Funny how some things just stuck in your mind. She’d thought back to that evening, that dance, more than once. She couldn’t even say why, because she had never allowed her thoughts free rein when it came to that memory. He’d been married and she wasn’t the type to be with a married man in any way that wasn’t completely public.

“On your reputation,” she replied tersely. “And on the fact that you know my father. Dad’s a damn good judge of character.” She smiled at him. “And he always liked you.”

He went at it like the lawyer he’d once been. “Hearsay.”

“All right, then, on my gut instinct.”

Again Brent overruled her. “Not admissible in court.”

She looked at him. “You want me to question you like a suspect?”

He knew this had to be done and he wanted it over with as fast as possible. “I want you to rule me out as a suspect. Officially.”

“All right, then.” She took a deep breath and began asking him questions as they walked to the rear of the main floor and his late housekeeper’s room.

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