Heather Graham Pozzessere - If Looks Could Kill

Madison stood. “Don’t try to profile all of us, Kyle,” she told him quietly.

“For God’s sake, Madison, I’m not trying to be offensive. You’re a model. Out with photographers, other models, men. You’re more susceptible.”

“Right. Any handsome, charming man comes my way and I’ll just say, ‘Why the hell not?’ and drive away with him.”

“There you go again, acting defensive. You’re divorced! You’re in a dating mode!”

“Excuse me, then. I’m just going to go get dressed and put on some makeup. After all, my dad’s having a party. I need to show up in a dating mode,” she told him tartly, then smiled sweetly and spun around.

“Madison!” he called after her.

She didn’t stop.

“Madison!”

She turned. “What?”

He walked to her, setting his hands firmly on her shoulders. “For the love of God, Madison, I don’t want anything to happen to you. And…”

“And?”

He hesitated, still studying her. “And I’m glad that Jimmy Gates has left you alone, and that you’re not part of this case.” He paused, frowning. “He has left you alone—right?”

“You’re mistaken if you think that Jimmy forces me into helping him.”

“So he still calls on you for your hocus-pocus,” he said bitterly.

Madison stared at him, feeling the resentment building in her heart once again. “He doesn’t always call on me.”

“You call him?” he demanded incredulously.

“When I feel I need to, yes, I do! I didn’t ask for whatever it is that I have. I hate it. I really, truly hate it. It’s terrible to have to hurt for other people. But it’s worse to feel that you can do something and not do it. It’s worse to think that you could help ease someone’s suffering and ignore it.”

He winced. “Madison, listen, I just have a bad feeling on this one. My turn to have a bad feeling, a really bad feeling. You need to keep your distance.”

He hesitated for a minute. She was painfully aware of the heat emanating from his fingers as he clenched her shoulders. She liked Kyle’s hands. They were big. He had long fingers. He had his father’s hands. Artist’s hands. Capable of a light touch, and yet very powerful.

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