“Timing’s not bad. Come on in. I just put a pot of coffee on.”
In the courtroom she was in her element. She was in control. But standing here right now, she felt gawky and silly. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have come.”
He stepped aside. He was barefooted. “Come in.”
If he’d hesitated an instant, she’d have run. But his voice was clear and firm, and it drew her inside the apartment. She entered, moving past him, drinking in the scent of his soap.
The apartment was loft style, open with no walls. He’d fashioned rooms by grouping a couch and television in one corner and a large four-poster bed in another. The bed caught her off guard. Somehow she expected sleek and modern from him, not traditional antiques.
The kitchen was galley style and ran along the edge of the south wall. There was a large table with six chairs by the kitchen that looked like it doubled as work and eating space. Right now it was covered with files and boxes.
As he’d said, a coffeepot perked. She could smell something cooking in the oven.
“Great space,” she said.
He closed the door behind her and put his gun in the holster hanging on a peg by the door. “Did you have a patrolman escort you here?”
She let her purse slide from her shoulder onto the table. “Yes. Even carried mace.”
“Good.” He moved into the kitchen and pulled a couple of black oversized mugs from the cabinet. “Keep using one until this is over. That’s what we’re here for, Angie.”
That was the second time he’d used her first name. Not Carlson. Not Queen of the Dammed. Just Angie. And it sounded nice when he said it.
“I know.” She flexed her fingers, wishing she had pockets or something to do with her hands. “How goes the case?”
“Slow. No sign of Dixon. His credit cards and bank show no activity, so we’re hoping he’s not gone far yet.” He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry about earlier today. I was frustrated and took it out on you.”
“I get that. It’s okay.” A weighty stillness settled between them. She cleared her throat. “Have you learned any more about Dixon’s connection to Fay?”
“No. We just know he was in this area at that time. He worked for Gregg’s Shipping, which did a lot of work for the Talbot. He’d been accepted to medical school, but had deferred entrance to make money. Then suddenly after Fay’s death, he contacted the school and told them he could attend. He left and didn’t return to the metro area for a decade.”
“Do you think Darius paid him off?”
“It’s possible. But we might not ever know what happened between the three.”
“Do you have any theories?”
“Sure. Plenty.” He turned and lifted the full pot from the burner and filled each cup. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.”
He grimaced as he handed her the cup. “I’ve got to have milk. Stuff is too harsh for me.”
She sipped, knowing the brew would keep her up half the night. “What can I say? I’m bitter.”
He laughed as he pulled an organic milk bottle from the refrigerator. “Not so bitter.”
“What about Darius and the museum? What did Darius want with the Talbot?”
“I don’t know for sure, but the museum had so many boxes coming into the country, and they had a stellar reputation. It would have made sense for Darius to capitalize on that in some way. Dixon might have even figured it out.”
She cupped her hands around the warm cup, not sure if he’d just tossed a compliment her way or not. “So what are your theories about Dixon, Darius, and Fay?”
“It’s one of the oldest in the books. She’s dating Dixon, a younger man, to make her older rich lover jealous. One of the two men got angry and killed her. My guess is that it was Darius that killed her. He never seemed like the kind of guy who liked to share. Dixon found out and got paid off to keep quiet.”
“Dixon must have been involved in disposing of her body.”
Kier nodded. “Likely.”
She traced the rim of her cup. “But he had alibis for the nights that Sierra and Lulu vanished.”
“Which just supports my belief that he has a partner.”
“Two of them out there.”
He stared at her over the rim of his cup. “All the more reason for you to be very, very careful.”
“I might not even know this other partner.”
“Or you just might.”
She held her cup close, trying to ward off the sudden chill. “Oh, great.”
He studied her. “I’ve got a frozen pizza in the oven. Hungry?”
She set down her cup. “I’ve barged in here, drank your coffee, and complained. You don’t have to feed me.”
“I want to feed you.”
“Why?”
“You look like you could use a good meal.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad.”
He opened the oven and pulled out a pizza that smelled great and looked pretty good. “My parents own a restaurant. I grew up working in their place and feeding people. All second nature.”
“Did that come out of a box?”
“No. My mother would weep if she knew I ate anything out of a box. She makes the pizzas and ships them up to me. I put them in the freezer.”
“That’s nice.” The tomato and basil smells made her mouth water.
“I’m spoiled. And I appreciate that.”
“Your family is in Richmond?”
“Yeah.”
“You seem close. Why the move up here?”
“The job in Alexandria opened, and I wanted to move to homicide.” He sliced into the pizza with a chef’s knife.
“You get home much?”
“Not as much as I’d like.”
He plated her pizza and his own and carried both plates to the table. “Push aside the papers.”
She sat down and cleared a spot for them both. He set a stack of paper napkins between them. She felt oddly relaxed as they sat and ate in silence.
Her stomach rumbled as she raised a slice to her mouth. She’d not realized how hungry she’d become. She bit into the slice and savored the fresh cheese, tomato, and basil flavors. “This tastes wonderful.”
He nodded, pleased. “I’ll pass it on to Mom.”
She wiped the edge of her mouth with a napkin. “Ask her if she’s willing to start a mail-order business. I’ll be her first paying customer.”
He laughed. “I’ll mention it to her.” Carefully he wiped his hands with a napkin. ?
??Did you read Donovan’s article in the paper today?”
“I go out of my way not to read his stuff. As you might have noticed in the courthouse, we are not on the best of terms.”
He balled up his napkin in his fist. “You’ve been the focus of his articles this week.”
“So I’ve heard. He’s still pissed because I sued him last year and was able to prevent some of his book from being published.”
“I’d heard something about that.”
“He’s just looking for his pound of flesh.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Honestly, it gives me a little pleasure to know I’ve gotten under his skin.”
He dropped his gaze. “You still have feelings for him?”
Laughter burst free. “You mean like romantic?” He didn’t answer but raised his gaze to hers. The intensity made her skin tingle.
“Donovan has a talent for spotting the lonely. He charms them, and he uses them. I played right into his hands.” She picked at the edge of the crust. “Where he is concerned, I feel foolish and angry but never romantic.”
“Good. To the ‘never romantic’ part.” He was staring at her as if he wanted to touch her.
She felt as if an invisible force reached out and stole her breath. Her gaze dipped to the V of his shirt and the dark hair curling out. Thoughts of touching him overwhelmed her before she caught herself.
She rose. “I’ve imposed enough.”
He stood, but he appeared to be in no rush to show her the door. “It would be a big stretch, wouldn’t it?”
“What?”
“Us. Sleeping together. Not something I’d have pictured a year ago.”
Nervous laughter bubbled. She wanted to pretend like she didn’t know what he was saying. “I guess you were about the last guy I’d ever have gotten into bed with.”
He arched a brow and took a half step toward her. “The last guy?”
She moistened her lips. “Just about.”
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. A riot of sensations burned through her body.
“How about now?” he said softly. “Am I still almost last on the list?”
Emotion tightened her throat. For a moment she wasn’t sure her voice would work. “You’ve jumped ahead in the line.”