Kate Stevenson - Witness… And Wife?

Luke met her curious gaze and decided to get it over with. “She’s here.”

“Where? Outside?”

“No, here.”

Her mug poised halfway to her lips, Cassie glanced toward the living room, then back at Luke.

“No.” He shook his head. Shifting one ankle to rest on the opposite knee, he dropped his bombshell. “She’s a he. Me. I’m your surveillance.”

Disbelief clouded Cassie’s expression. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Luke shook his head.

“Chief Bradley assigned you?”

“Yep. At least, when I’m not needed on the investigation.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I say no?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But I don’t want you,” she snapped, slamming down her mug for emphasis. Brown liquid sloshed onto the oak surface of the table.

“Too bad, baby. You’ve got me.”

She glared.

Luke feigned stony indifference. This was one battle she wasn’t going to win, no matter how hard she fought, because he was doing this for her own good.

Cassie was the first to look away, down at the puddle on the table. Her mouth tight, she grabbed a rag from the counter and dabbed at the mess, as though the spill was her biggest concern.

Luke knew she was using the time to regroup.

He waited while she tossed the rag into the sink. Waited while she stood with her back to him, staring out the kitchen window. And waited while she returned to her chair and studied her mug in silence.

He recognized the strategy as one of his own. Forcing the suspect to wait, stretching minutes till they seemed like hours, raising the anxiety level. She wasn’t half-bad at it. Even though he was aware of what she was doing, his nerves felt like strings on a fiddle, anticipating the bow stroke.

“There’s no way I can change your mind?”

“Nope.”

She gritted her teeth, releasing an exasperated breath of air. “So I’m supposed to sit around all day, staring at the walls.”

“No,” he replied, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grin. “Just when I’m not here. When I am, you can stare at me.”

The look she threw him was murderous. “This may be funny to you, Luke Slater, but I’m dead serious. I can’t stop living my life because of some nebulous threat. I have a job, a social life….”

Something twisted inside him. He’d spent the last two years censoring his thoughts about who she might be seeing, who now shared her bed. Too much of a realist to believe she’d remained alone and celibate, he still wasn’t prepared to hear details. “Don’t worry,” he told her grimly. “I don’t plan to play chaperon to you and your current boyfriend.”

Indignation crossed Cassie’s face. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, he cut her off. “As for your job, have you considered the possibility that Wainright’s death might have something to do with what he wanted to see you about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. There could be dozens of motives for his death. Revenge, for instance. Or robbery—maybe he interrupted someone in the process of burglarizing his office.”

“We checked that angle with his secretary. Nothing was taken. No files were missing. No jewelry. He still had two hundred dollars in his wallet.”

“Maybe my arrival scared the robber off.”

He knew from her haunted expression that she was grasping at straws. Cassie didn’t want to believe Wainright’s death had anything to do with her, but even she wasn’t naive enough to believe a burglar would choose the Justice Center as a good place to pick up loot. He locked gazes with her and let his silence refute her reasoning.

Biting her lip, she looked away, but not before he caught the shimmer of tears in her emerald eyes. As she gazed unseeing out the window, Luke fought back an overwhelming desire to erase the stricken look from her face. He longed to trace the curve of her cheek and feel the velvet of her lips turn into his palm, seeking the comfort he could offer.

He didn’t dare. For her own good, she had to face facts, had to accept reality, no matter how harsh.

Cassie took a deep breath, then slowly released it. Her expression, when she caught his gaze, was calm.

Too late, a cold shiver of premonition shot through him. He stiffened, primed to speak, to defuse the quiet determination he read in her eyes.

“I’m going to finish my articles.”

“Damn it, Cassie.” The chair legs screeched on the linoleum as he leaped up. Startled, Duffy scrambled to his feet, shooting Luke an injured look. Cassie laid a soothing hand on the dog’s head to assure him he wasn’t the cause of the outburst, but he continued to eye Luke warily.

Luke paced across the kitchen. “Why can’t you listen for once? This isn’t a game. It’s real life. Make the wrong move and you lose more than your two hundred dollars for not passing Go.”

“I don’t play games with my life.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered without looking at her.

Choking back another retort, Cassie watched him pick up the coffee carafe and refill his cup. “For your information, Thomas Wainright was a family friend. And in my book you don’t just sit quietly by and let someone get away with murdering a friend.”

“So you’re on a crusade.”

“No. Yes.” She floundered, stung by his obvious disdain. “This is more than a crusade. It’s…” She ducked her head, fighting resentment at his unwillingness to hear what she said.

The stutter of a lawnmower drifted from a nearby yard, accenting her discomfort.

Why did it always seem as if the two of them were speaking different languages? No matter how hard she tried to explain, he would never understand. “You can’t stop me,” she repeated, keeping her tone reasonable.

“Anything for a story, huh?”

“For this one, yes. Judge Wainright didn’t often give interviews, but he talked to me because he thought what I was doing was necessary. Important. I owe him.”

“Owe him?” Luke resettled in the seat across from her, conveying cynicism with a quirk of the lips. “Or owe yourself?”

Cassie clamped her teeth together to prevent angry words from spilling out. Why did he always attribute the worst possible motives to her? Did he really think she wanted to end up just another statistic on the police files?

She took a sip from her mug, hoping the jolt of caffeine might kick-start her brain and supply her with the way to win his cooperation. Instead, the acrid taste of cooled coffee coated her tongue and brought a grimace to her face. She shot a glance across the table. Luke’s dark eyes glittered beneath lowered brows. Arms folded across his chest, he was obviously primed for a fight. Abruptly she changed tactics. “I suppose you’re right. I am thinking of myself.”

He showed no surprise at the admission, but a subtle softening of the lines that bracketed his mouth prompted her to plunge ahead. “If my…digging…set things in motion, then I’ve as good as murdered Judge Wainright myself. The only way I can think of to make up for it is to not let his death be meaningless. I have to figure out what he wanted to tell me and finish the articles.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Wainright made his own choices. You didn’t force him. And if his death was due to information he had, you’re risking your life trying to ferret it out.”

His cavalier disregard of her emotions, to say nothing of the ease with which he shrugged off her reasoning, blew Cassie’s composure. “Risk? With you playing bodyguard?” she scoffed. “The only risk I’ll be taking is tripping over you.”

Luke’s gaze swept over the front of her T-shirt in blatant appraisal, and despite an obvious effort to maintain a serious expression, his lips twitched with amusement. “Well,” he drawled, in a passable imitation of a Texas accent, “just make sure you’re facing me when you fall.”