Since she couldn’t refute that, Romana let silence reign until the song played out.
When it did, James gave his shirt cuffs a habitual tug and squared his shoulders. “Time to brave the lioness. Remember, off the record. Now enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“I guess that means no more dances,” she said to his back. “Fitz would call me a fool.”
“For what?” a man’s cool voice inquired.
She accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server before swinging around. “Why, hello there, stranger. The last time I saw you, you were limping off to a change room. Bruises healed?”
Dylan regarded her without a trace of amusement. “Your cop partner’s got a female cobra coiled around him. You think I have bruises, wait until Shera Barret goes in for the kill.”
Romana smiled, unperturbed. “Cobras don’t coil around their prey. Boa constrictors do, but then they’re not venomous.”
Dylan drank deeply from his glass of beer. “Did they give lessons on snake anatomy after I left the Academy?”
“No, that came from Mrs. Farrell, my high school science teacher.” She took a provocative step toward him. “Speaking of science teachers, have you heard any more from your brother-in-law?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are we at odds for some reason? As I recall, it was your friend Knight who had me in a choke-hold at the gym, not vice versa.”
“Critch cut Jacob’s brake line, then came after us at a Christmas tree farm with poison darts. He also took Fitz.” She wavered a little. “Maybe.”
Dylan’s forehead furrowed. “Warren took Fitz? Why?”
Romana’s laugh contained no humor. “Well, gee, Dylan, let me think. Possibly to get to me?”
He waved a hand in front of her face. “Hey, not Warren here, okay? Fitz has no part in this. It doesn’t make sense that he’d take her.”
“Meaning you really haven’t had any contact with him?”
“Pretty sure I’ve been saying that all along.”
“Then help me. Tell me who you think might have wanted Belinda dead. Besides Jacob.”
“There is no ‘besides Jacob.’”
“She wanted him to get her a restraining order. That was what their lunch entailed.”
“So he says.” He drank again, then scoffed. “A restraining order against who?”
“Excellent question. Been asked a thousand times with no answer so far. Was she frightened of anyone that you know of?”
“Men didn’t frighten Belinda.”
“Did women? One particular woman?”
“Fitz tended to annoy her. And I don’t think she was crazy about female cops who resemble Ava Gardner.”
Romana started to speak, but stopped. “Belinda thought I looked like Ava Gardner?”
“She wouldn’t have given Connor a second glance otherwise.”
Determined to remain unruffled, Romana sipped her champagne. “Didn’t see that one coming. Good shot, Dylan. A bit low, but nothing I didn’t already know.” Her eyes fastened on his. “Did Shera Barret frighten Belinda?”
He blinked, clearly mystified. “Did they even know each other?”
“For a man who loved his sister, you don’t know much about her.”
“I know there wasn’t a man in her life she cared about,” he countered. “Except me and, later, Warren. Belinda did what she had to do to get the things she wanted. I understood that, and her. You see a female viper. I see a desperate little girl.”
“And a boy who wanted to protect her.”
“Belinda wasn’t perfect, okay, she was simply like the rest of us. Screwed up and searching for something or someone who could make her happy.”
“Apparently Warren didn’t quite do that.”
“He did in as much as anyone could.” Dylan finished his beer. “Believe what you want to, Belinda wasn’t the evil woman people make her out to be.”
“I never thought of her as evil, but I wouldn’t use the word
“What phone call?”
“The one Belinda placed after her lunch with Jacob. The one Patrick overheard.”
“Sorry, no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And if you did, would you tell me?”
“Might. Might not.”
Exasperation won out. “Honest to God, Dylan, you have such a pissy attitude. Innocent until proven guilty- remem-ber that one?”
“I must have washed out before the Academy instructors got to it.”
“Why can’t you admit that you and Critch just might be wrong?”
“Because Belinda’s dead, and Knight, the only man we know of who argued with her before she died, isn’t.” He ground his teeth, struggled for control. “Okay, look, I’m worked up. I’m sorry. I don’t condone Warren’s actions. We’re not Third World here. Slashing brake lines, shooting poison darts…” He broke off. “What was in the darts?”
“Curare.”
“Anyway, I agree Warren’s going too far. He’s not thinking, Romana. He’s functioning on pure hatred.”
“Yes, we kind of figured that.” Watching him choke his empty glass while he searched for a server brought a head-shake. “Bar’s over there.” She paused, frowned at his suddenly shocked expression. “What is it?” Twisting her head, she saw Jacob talking to his captain and O’Keefe dancing with the red-haired dispatcher. “What are you…”
She spied him on her second scan of the crowd, a man wearing the black pants and a white jacket of a server. He had a full gray mustache and his equally gray hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail. Glasses partially hid his eyes, but his face said it all. If Dylan was startled, the server was positively stricken.
Except he wasn’t a server, and both Dylan and Romana knew it.
“Oh, man…” Dylan breathed, not moving. “He’s lost it.”
Romana’s lungs burned, the crowd noise vanished, and time seemed to freeze-as she stared across the floor and straight into the eyes of Warren Critch.
“YOU’RE SURE IT WAS HIM?” O’Keefe endeavored to hold Romana back. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”
“If I’m wrong, so was Dylan.” Romana slapped at his restraining hands. “Let go, Mick. He’s not after me. He took off as soon as he realized I’d seen him.”
O’Keefe trailed her through the increasingly curious crowd. “Which direction did he take?”
“Kitchen.” She spotted Jacob near the door and made his back her goal. Until she crashed into a man so frail she had to grab both of his arms to keep him from pitching onto the floor.
“Dr. Gorman, I’m so sorry.” Long, clawlike fingers closed on her dress. He gave an owlish series of blinks before finally locating her face. “Did someone die?” He patted the pockets of his dinner jacket.
“No.” Jacob vanished through the door, and, resigned, Romana stilled the old man’s thin hands. “Everyone’s fine. O’Keefe?” she said through her teeth.
“Following. Gray hair and mustache, right?” “Unless he ditches them.” “Dylan?” “With Jacob. Go.” Dr. Gorman’s mouth opened and closed like a codfish. “All this fuss and bother, and no one’s dead? Officer Grey, isn’t it?” “Yes it is. I’m flattered you remember me.” And more than a little surprised.
“I remember your rapscallion husband well enough.” His lips compressed to a disapproving line. “Made a mockery of my department. Caught him signing my name to an incoming shipment of supplies once. Another time, he falsified a report that said a live man was dead. And signed my name-again. Or was that Belinda?”
Romana’s gaze slid from the kitchen door to his wrinkled face. “Belinda signed your name on a report?”
He drew back as if slapped. “Did I say that? Oh, no, she wouldn’t do that, not in her condition.”
“Condition?” The skin on Romana’s neck prickled. “What condition was that, Dr. Gorman?”
