“Are you okay?” he asked, very close to her ear.
Too confused to speak, she merely nodded. Rather than taking her word for it, he ran his fingertips up the side of her neck and along the line of her jaw, checking for injuries. Finding none, he smiled, rubbing his thumb across her cheekbone.
“Tomorrow,” he promised, following Greg out the door.
She stared after them, raising a hand to her mouth and tracing the outline of her lips. Why had he done that? If the kiss had been for Greg’s benefit, to convince him they were involved, it needed only look real, not feel real.
Sidney shook her head, chiding herself for getting weak-kneed over an empty gesture. It hadn’t meant anything to him. He probably tongue-kissed grandmothers.
But why had he charged down her door and posed as her boyfriend in the first place?
Ignoring the tingling warmth spreading over her skin, she changed shirts and curled up on the couch with Marley. “Men,” she muttered. “Who needs them?”
Marley mewed her agreement.
“What do you know?” Sidney grumbled, feeling contrary. “You’re spayed.”
Marc drove Greg’s silver Porsche instead of his own Audi under the pretext of generosity. Once inside, he scanned the floors for dog hair, the windows for recent repairs and the gray leather interior for damage.
Any male acquaintance of Sidney’s was a suspect of his. Especially one who couldn’t control himself around women.
He’d slammed out of the hotel room as soon as he’d heard distress in Sidney’s voice. At the sight of her anxious face and torn clothing, he felt an incredible fury rise up inside him, so powerful he wasn’t sure he could hold it in check. True, he was sensitive where abused women were concerned, but he’d never been sent over the edge by a hanging tank top strap.
Even now, his muscles were tense and his pulse pounding. He clenched his hands around the steering wheel, still tempted to drive his fists into Greg’s liquor-slackened mouth.
“Listen, I’m really sorry about Sidney,” Greg said. “I didn’t know she was with someone.”
“If she were single, you’d have a right to force yourself on her?”
“No.” Greg frowned. “I wouldn’t do that. My wife and I are going through a hard time, and Sidney was… comforting me. I guess I got the wrong idea.”
Marc grunted his agreement.
“I’m really pissed off at Samantha, so maybe I took it out on Sidney. But I would never hurt her. She’s like a little sister to me.”
“A little sister you want to screw?”
Greg’s expression grew belligerent, but he remained silent.
“Your wife,” Marc mused, remembering the photo he’d seen in Sidney’s drawer, “is blond and slim. Do you ever pick up women that look like her? Take out your frustrations on them, instead?”
His brow crumpled. “What kind of cop are you?”
“Homicide.”
“Oh. Oh, no. You don’t think that I-”
“Let me tell you what I think, pal,” he interrupted. “I think you’re a drunk asshole who just attacked my girlfriend, your wife’s sister, in her own home, with your kids sleeping upstairs.”
He paled. “No, it wasn’t like that. I only tried to kiss her.”
“She felt compelled to defend herself physically from a kiss?”
He clamped his mouth shut, mutinous and petulant.
“Where were you Sunday night, between midnight and 4:00 a.m.?”
“Asleep in bed.”
“At home, with your wife?”
He wet his lips. “No.”
“We can discuss this at the station, if you’d rather.”
“I have a girlfriend, okay? My wife and I haven’t been getting along.”
“What’s her name?”
“Elisabeth. She’s my secretary.”
Marc glanced across the cab at him. “How trite,” he murmured.
He turned on Carlsbad Village Drive, following the sports car’s handy navigational system while Greg dozed. After they arrived at Greg’s posh estate, he roused and invited Marc in for a drink. Either Greg had completely forgotten what he’d done to Sidney just an hour before, or he was trying to smooth things over with liquid bribery.
Marc had a few minutes before patrol picked him up, so he accepted Greg’s offer. Getting a look inside his house and extending the interview couldn’t hurt.
“Cheers,” Greg said, handing Marc a glass of Tennessee’s finest.
He took a sip, not surprised to find the liquor smooth and of excellent quality. Greg couldn’t buy class, or taste, but he’d apparently spent a lot of money trying. The interior of the house was spacious, modern and stark, with gray marble flooring, cubist art pieces and chic, sharp-edged furniture. From his position at the granite-topped wet bar, Marc couldn’t see a hint of warmth. Or a single family photo.
“How long have you and Sidney been going out?” Greg asked.
“A few weeks.”
“Has she given up the goods?”
Marc felt a flash of renewed anger. “No.”
“Don’t hold your breath for it,” Greg predicted slyly, sounding pleased. “Her legs are tied together at the knees.”
“Because she won’t have you?”
“She won’t have anyone. Doesn’t date. Doesn’t like to be touched.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
Greg shrugged. “I always figured she was a dyke, and too uptight to admit it.”
Marc smiled at his arrogance. “How long have you been in love with her?”
Greg downed his drink in one quick, angry gulp. “Get out,” he spat. The violent overreaction was almost as good as an admission.
Marc drained his glass also. Standing, he met Greg’s dark, glittering eyes, only inches from his own. “I’m going to let you off real easy this time,” he said, “but if you ever touch Sidney again, you won’t be holding on to your balls, whimpering like a baby.” He shoved the empty tumbler at his chest. “You’ll be choking on them.”
He left Greg’s house still wanting to put his fist through something. His concern for Sidney’s safety hadn’t been unfounded, but rushing to her defense could have tipped her off about the surveillance. He was treating her more like a witness than a suspect.
Maybe he was losing his objectivity, but he just couldn’t see any artifice in her. Reluctantly he entertained the idea that her visions had some credence, and that she might be able to help him with the case.
When he got back to the hotel, Lacy was asleep. So was Sidney, judging from the sound of her soft, rhythmic breathing as he slipped on the headphones. He was supposed to let Lacy take second shift, but he didn’t. Staring at Sidney’s dark, curtain-shrouded windows, he stayed awake, listening to her breathe, finding that sound somehow more comforting than sleep.
Like a nightmare, the knocking wouldn’t stop. Groaning, she rolled to a sitting position on the living room floor, every muscle in her body screaming in violent protest.
Samantha was sleeping peacefully on the couch, curled up in a bundle of rumpled sheets with Marley snuggled alongside her, purring.
“Traitor,” she muttered, crawling to her feet.
Marc Cruz was at her doorstep. Again.
“What?”
“It’s 5:45,” he said. “I gave you an extra few minutes.”
“How generous. Go away.”
On the couch, Samantha moaned and stretched. Sidney closed her eyes, willing her sister silent, willing Marc gone, willing herself back asleep.
