Lady Killer

until her nipples hurt. It was scary and at the same time exciting, and she didn’t know how long it might have lasted or how it might have ended, because Daniel came dashing back into the kitchen, with his backpack slung over his shoulder, and just like that the spell was broken.

“Mom, you have to take me to school, because I missed the bus,” said Daniel, stating the obvious.

Tony shoved back his chair and stood up. “I left in kind of a hurry this morning. I’m going to need to go pick up some stuff at the motel, so I can drop him at school, if you want.”

“Cool,” said Daniel. Then, remembering, he added, “Mom? Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, and Tony added his assurances that he’d be right back.

Brooke stood on the back porch steps, hugging herself, and watched her son get into a car with a man she’d known all of a few days. And again, she asked herself, Why do I trust this man?

And then, Do I trust this man?

Something was bothering her, an uneasiness that hadn’t been there before. What is it? Something’s not right. But I can’t think what it is!

She gave Hilda’s head an absentminded pat and went back into the kitchen. And it was while she was clearing away the last of breakfast from the table, and replaying that strangely intense conversation with Tony in her mind, that it came to her.

He didn’t ask.

All her life, whenever anyone learned she was adopted, and that she had a twin sister, they always, always asked questions, showed curiosity. At the very least, interest.

Tony was a naturally curious person, in addition to being a journalist. He asked questions about everything. Was curious about everything. Interested in everything.

But he hadn’t asked a single question when she’d told him she was adopted. That she had a twin. He hadn’t shown any sign of curiosity or interest in knowing more about it.

How odd, she thought. It’s almost as if he already knew.

Chapter 7

Walking into the motel room he’d been sharing with Holt for the past several days, Tony experienced what he thought of as a reverse epiphany-not a burst of light and knowledge, but an enveloping shroud of shadowy self-doubt.

What was he thinking? Just because his belly was full of the best blueberry pancakes he’d ever eaten in his life, his ego pumped up with the hero worship of a fatherless boy, and his libido in a state of itchy alert brought on by the unexpected embrace of the most beautiful woman he’d met in a long, long time, that was no excuse for completely losing his functioning mind.

“What are we doing?” he said to Holt, who was bent over his laptop, peering intently at the screen. “Why are we trusting this woman? Okay, I know we decided to proceed on the assumption she did not kill her ex. But what if we’re wrong and all the evidence that says she did is right?”

Holt glanced up at him and said mildly, “Afraid you’re losing your perspective?”

Tony snorted. “Like I ever had any. I told you at the beginning, she’s my best friend’s long-lost baby sister, I want her to be innocent. Then there’s the fact that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. And I’m a photographer, man-I mean, I’ve seen some beautiful woman, you know?”

Holt’s smile was sardonic. “Come on.”

“That’s right, I forgot. You’ve never seen her.” He picked up the camera he’d been doing most of his shooting with and popped out the flash card. From the front pocket of his accessory case, he took a card reader, inserted the card and handed the whole thing to Holt. “Here-that thing’s got a USB port, right? Plug this in. Maybe you’ll see what I’m dealing with.”

Holt took the card reader with a shrug and plugged it into his laptop, and a few moments later both men watched in silence-a silence that bordered on reverence-as a slide show of images flashed across the computer screen. Presently, Holt cleared his throat and said, “Okay. Just because she’s…”

“Gorgeous…”

“Okay, that works-gorgeous, yeah. That doesn’t make her an evil person.”

“What? I never said that.”

“Then why,” Holt said blandly, “are you holding it against her?”

“What? I’m not. That’s just…”

Holt ejected the card and reader and handed it back to him. “Look, you’ve been out there every day for the past…what? Three days? Spending time with the lady. You haven’t had these doubts about her before, so…what’s up? What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” said Tony, with all the conviction of a kid standing in front of a broken window with a slingshot in his pocket.

Holt gave him a narrow look, then grinned. “Ah-I see. Getting a little too close for comfort, are we? Looking for a reason to bail out while you still can?”

“No! What are you talking about? Nothing of the kind, man. She’s my buddy’s baby sister, she’s in a jam, and I’m trying to help her out-that’s all. End of story.” He paused, then added, with an uncomfortable shrug, “Anything else would be creepy.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Holt was on his feet, shrugging into a leather jacket. “Having been a commitment-phobe all my life, believe me, I know one when I see one. Anyway-beside the point. It’s not just a matter of taking Brooke Grant on faith. We know there’s something off about those deputies, Doyle in particular. If this were a court of law and we were the jury, we’d have all kinds of grounds for reasonable doubt. You ask me, I think the kid’s got reason to be worried, and I think it’s a good idea you plan on staying out there with them for the time being.”

“You know something I don’t?” Tony asked, going still inside.

Holt nodded, looking grim as he pocketed his wallet and tucked his weapon into its holster in the small of his back. “Finally got hold of Sam. She contacted a friend in DEA. Seems they, in cooperation with ICE, have been looking at our local sheriff’s department for a while now.” He reached for the doorknob, then turned. “I’m heading into Austin now to talk with the agents. I don’t know what, if anything, this has to do with the murder of Duncan Grant, but you watch your back, understand?” He went out, muttering under his breath.

“You betcha,” Tony said to the closing door. He wasn’t absolutely certain, but what it sounded like the detective had said there at the last was, “Just what I need…get my clients’ best friend killed…”

He hauled in a breath to quiet his accelerating pulse and began to pack.

Driving back to Brooke’s, he tried to direct his thoughts toward the ramifications of a whole sheriff’s department engaged in corruption and illegal activities of various kinds, and what that might mean as far as Brooke’s and Daniel’s-and his own-personal safety was concerned. But, like a badly trained horse, his mind kept wanting to go somewhere else.

Commitment-phobe? Me?

Ridiculous, he told himself. This woman is my best friend’s baby sister, and she’s in trouble. Taking advantage of her would be unforgivable.

And his mind whispered in Brooke’s voice, It would have explained…why someone like you isn’t married.

Look, he told himself, I have perfectly good reasons for avoiding permanence in relationships, number one being a job that takes me to the far corners of the earth most of the time.

And his mind replied, You grew up mostly without a dad for the same reason, didn’t you?

Yes, he told himself, through mentally clenched teeth, but that doesn’t make me a commitment-phobe. I intend to settle down someday…at the right time…with the right person. I will.

Lost in the dismal swamp of his thoughts, he almost missed the turnoff to Brooke’s driveway. Did miss it, in fact, and had to back up a few yards to make the turn. As he was doing that, he noticed a man working with a horse in the pasture across the road. The man was wearing jeans and a blue work shirt and a straw cowboy hat,