This month, in

HER LONE STAR PROTECTOR

by Peggy Moreland,

meet Robert Cole—private investigator and drop-dead-gorgeous bachelor. Rob was on a mission to solve a murder, but instead he found himself falling for Rebecca Todman—his lovely young suspect!

SILHOUETTE DESIRE

IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of the state’s most exclusive club—set out to uncover the traitor in their midst…and find true love.

And don’t miss

TALL, DARK…AND FRAMED?

by Cathleen Galitz, the third installment of the Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Last Bachelor series, available next month in Silhouette Desire!

Dear Reader,

Celebrate the rites of spring with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Reader favorite Anne Marie Winston’s Billionaire Bachelors: Stone, our March MAN OF THE MONTH, is a classic marriage-of-convenience story, in which an overpowering attraction threatens a platonic arrangement. And don’t miss the third title in Desire’s glamorous in-line continuity DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, The Sheikh Takes a Bride by Caroline Cross, as sparks fly between a sexy-as-sin sheikh and a feisty princess.

In Wild About a Texan by Jan Hudson, the heroine falls for a playboy millionaire with a dark secret. Her Lone Star Protector by Peggy Moreland continues the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR series, as an unlikely love blossoms between a florist and a jaded private eye.

A night of passion produces major complications for a doctor and the social worker now carrying his child in Dr. Destiny, the final title in Kristi Gold’s miniseries MARRYING AN M.D. And an ex-marine who discovers he’s heir to a royal throne must choose between his kingdom and the woman he loves in Kathryn Jensen’s The Secret Prince.

Kick back, relax and treat yourself to all six of these sexy new Desire romances!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Her Lone Star Protector
Peggy Moreland

This book is dedicated to W. J. and Carmen Ann Fisher. Thanks for all the free advice on goat raising, cattle breeding, fence building, brush clearing, snake dodging, poison ivy cures and heavy-equipment driving lessons. We’re in your debt…just don’t ask us to pay up!

PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and a finalist for the prestigious RITA Award, Peggy has appeared on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. When not writing, she enjoys spending time at the farm riding her quarter horse, Lo-Jump. She, her husband and three children make their home in Round Rock, Texas. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 2453, Round Rock, TX 78680-2453, or e-mail her care of eHarlequin.com.

“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, March—There’s a murderer loose in Royal, Texas! Sources report that the death of Eric Chambers was no accident—someone wanted Wescott Oil’s vice president of accounting out of the way for good. But who? The police don’t have any leads at the moment. Luckily, Royal’s own sexy sleuth, Robert Cole, is on the case!

Our sources have been trying to talk to Rebecca Todman, the attractive florist who discovered the murder—but it seems Rob has beaten us to the punch! He’s been spending an awful lot of time with Rebecca…and are smoldering glances and searing kisses part of his new interrogation procedures? If so, we predict Robert will have suspects lining up at his door for questioning….

First theft and now murder—things have gone from bad to worse at Wescott Oil. Our reporters tried to get hold of Sebastian Wescott, but the CEO has refused to comment on the proceedings. Could Sebastian be hiding something? While nobody seems to know for certain, rumors are flying, and his friends at the Texas Cattleman’s Club seem worried….

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

One

Rebecca glanced down at the clipboard she’d propped on the console of her minivan and worried her lip as she did some quick math. Ten, fifteen minutes tops at Eric Chambers’s house to water and tend his plants, another fifteen at the Olsens’ to do the same. Ten or less at the Mortons’ to deliver the new potted palm Mrs. Morton had purchased for her sunroom. Factor in driving time of about twenty minutes and she should make it to her shop, In Bloom, in time to open for business by 9:00 a.m.

But barely, she reflected with a frown as she pulled to a stop in front of Eric’s house. Her frown deepened to one of puzzlement when she noticed Eric’s car parked on the drive. Strictly regimented about every aspect of his life, Eric always left for work precisely at 7:30, which allowed her to tend his plants undisturbed, an arrangement they’d made from the get-go that had suited them both.

Wondering if perhaps he was ill, she gathered the tote filled with her supplies and headed for the back door. Though he had given her a key to his home when he’d hired her to care for his plants, she opted to knock, rather than let herself in as she normally did. She didn’t want to catch him unawares…or worse, in his underwear. She choked a laugh as she waited, imagining the expression on the face of the very prim and proper Eric Chambers if she were to catch him dressed in only his B.V.D.’s.

Her smile faded when her knock produced no response. With a harried glance at her wristwatch, she rapped her knuckles on the door again, louder this time, then pressed her ear to the wood, listening, but she didn’t hear a sound from inside. Convinced that Eric was indeed ill and possibly too sick to get out of bed, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it turned in her hand.

She hesitated a moment, unsure whether she should just barge in. With another glance at her watch, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. Though the kitchen was immaculate as always and flooded with cheerful morning sunshine that streamed through the breakfast-room windows, goose flesh popped up on her arms. The house was quiet. Almost too quiet.

“Eric?” she called uneasily. She tiptoed toward the doorway that led to the hallway and his bedroom beyond. “Eric?” she called again, raising her voice.

When she didn’t hear a reply, she waited uncertainly, wondering if she should go to his bedroom and check on him or just tend his plants and leave.

“He’s your neighbor,” she scolded herself under her breath, “and he lives alone. The least you can do is see if he needs anything, especially since he’s been so kind to send customers your way.”

Silently berating herself for her selfish ingratitude, she marched toward the bedroom door. She paused at the open doorway, sent up a silent prayer that he was decently covered, then peeked inside. The room was empty, the bed neatly made. A suit coat was draped with meticulous care over a valet stand near the closet. Certain that she would have found Eric in bed, delirious from a raging fever, she glanced toward the partially open bathroom door.

He had car trouble, she told herself, and turned back for the hall. Probably caught a ride with someone from his office. Promising herself that she would call Wescott Oil and check on him the minute she arrived at her shop, she filled her watering can at the kitchen sink and hurried through the house, watering the potted plants and checking for signs of disease as she nipped off the occasional dead bloom and withering leaf. When she had completed her duties, she returned to the kitchen and rinsed out her watering can, anxious to be on her way.

But he could have had a heart attack, her conscience scolded as she tucked the watering can back into its slot in her tote. Or a stroke! You can’t leave without first making certain he isn’t home. You’d never forgive yourself, if you find out later that he was lying on the bathroom floor, praying someone would find him.

Rebecca groaned, wishing her conscience—as well as her overactive imagination—would, just this once, take a holiday. She was running late enough, as it was. She headed for the back door.

But you can’t leave! Not until you make sure he isn’t here!

She stopped at her conscience’s frantic urging, her hand on the knob. But I’ve been in every room of his house, she argued silently. He’s not home!

You didn’t look in the bathroom, the stubborn little voice reminded her.

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at the hallway and the bedroom beyond. Knowing her conscience was right, that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Eric was indeed lying unconscious on the bathroom floor, she dropped her tote onto the counter and trudged down the hall. She passed through his bedroom, the deeply piled carpet muffling her steps, and nudged open the partially closed bathroom door. “Eric?” she called as she stepped inside.

Rebecca stumbled back, her eyes widening in horror, her hand flying to her mouth to smother the scream that clawed its way up her throat. Eric was slumped on the closed toilet seat, dressed in crisply pleated black slacks and a starched white shirt, his hands, bound by a black belt, lying slack between his knees. A dark silk tie with a burgundy paisley print was tied nooselike around his neck and secured to the towel rack above the commode. His eyes were open, staring, his mouth slack, his skin a deathly chalk-white, his features distorted by an unnatural swelling.

Numbed by the sight, Rebecca stared, knowing without moving any closer that Eric was dead. She knew what death looked like. She had seen it firsthand on her husband’s face, even applauded it, knowing that with his death, she was at last free of him. She gulped, staring, as memories flashed through her mind, blurring Eric’s features, until it was her husband’s face she stared at. Blood had spurted from the gash on his forehead when the impact of the automobile crash had thrust him forward, his chest hitting the steering wheel and his head slamming against the windshield. The gurgling sounds of his last breaths screamed through her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the anger that had twisted her husband’s handsome features prior to the crash, the fear for her own life that had gripped her when he’d forced her into the car with him.

The scream that had risen to her throat when she’d first entered Eric’s bathroom burned higher and higher, pushing against her tightly pressed fingers. Wheeling, she ran blindly for the kitchen. She yanked the phone from its base and frantically punched in 9-1-1. One ring buzzed in her ear before her knees gave way beneath her and she sank weakly to the floor, her fingers trembling as she clutched the phone to her ear.

“This is the 9-1-1 operator. May I help you?”

“Yes,” Rebecca sobbed, the single word scraping like a razor over her raw throat. She pressed her hand over her mouth to hold the emotion back. “He—he’s dead,” she managed to choke out.

“Who’s dead?”

“Er-Eric.” She gulped and turned her head to stare at the hallway, picturing again Eric’s face. His unseeing eyes. “Eric Chambers,” she murmured, the image slowly changing, the face becoming that of her husband’s, the unseeing eyes the eyes of the man who had made her years as his wife a holy hell. She banded her fingers around her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to remember…and knowing she would never forget.

Mornings were usually quiet at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. But on this particular morning, there was a different quality to the silence. A heaviness. A somberness. Yet the air seemed to hold an electrical charge, as well. A sense of expectancy crackled through the club. One of impatience. A need for action.

A murder had been committed in Royal, the victim an employee of a member of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, and what affected one club member affected them all.

Though usually empty at that time of day, the club’s cigar lounge was almost filled to capacity, with members having dragged the heavy leather chairs into huddled groups of four and eight. The members’ conversations were low, hushed, as they reviewed the facts of the case and speculated on the identity of the murderer.

In a far corner of the room Sebastian Wescott sat with a group of his closest and most trusted friends. William Bradford, CFO and partner in Wescott Oil Enterprises. Keith Owens, owner of a computer software firm. Dorian Brady, Sebastian’s half brother and an employee of Wescott Oil. CIA agent Jason Windover. And Rob Cole, private investigator.

Though all the men were included in the conversation, it was Rob and Jason whose expertise Sebastian sought in finding Eric Chambers’s murderer.

Sebastian glanced at Jason. “I know that your participation in this case will have to remain unofficial, due to your status as a CIA agent, but I’d appreciate any assistance or advice you have to offer.”

Jason tightened his lips and nodded. “You know I’ll do everything I can.”

Seb turned to Rob Cole. “The police, of course, are conducting their own investigation, but I want you on the case. I’ve already informed the police that they are to coordinate their efforts with yours.”

Rob nodded, his mind moving automatically into investigative mode. “Brief me on what you know about the murder.”

Seb dragged a weary hand down his face, but didn’t come close to smoothing away the deep lines of tension that creased it. “Not much.”

“Who found the body?”

“Rebecca Todman. New in town. A neighbor of Eric’s. She owns a floral shop and, according to her, was hired by him to tend his plants.”

Rob frowned as he studied Seb. “You don’t believe her story?”

Seb shot to his feet, tossing up a hand. “Hell, I don’t know who or what to believe!” He paced away a few steps, then stopped and rammed his hands into his pockets. He heaved a breath, then glanced back at Rob. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I haven’t had more than three straight hours of sleep in the past week, and when I arrived back at the office this morning, I had this dumped on me. The only thing I know for sure is that Eric is dead. And I want his murderer found.”

“Okay,” Rob agreed, aware of the responsibility Seb assumed for all his employees. “Let’s start at the beginning and review the facts.”

Seb sat back down, more in control now, but a far cry from calm. “According to the police reports, the Todman woman found Eric this morning around eight o’clock when she went to water his plants. He’d been strangled with his own necktie.”

Rob leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Any sign of a break-in?”

“No.”

“Robbery?”

“Not that the police have been able to determine.”

“Any known enemies?”

“None that I’m aware of.”

“How about women? Any disgruntled girlfriends in his past? A jealous husband maybe looking to get even?”

Seb lifted a brow. “Eric?” At Rob’s nod, he snorted. “Hardly. I don’t think Eric’s ever had a girlfriend. Lived with his mother until she died a couple of years ago. The only woman in Eric’s life is—was,” he clarified, frowning, “a cat. Sadie. Treated her like she was human. Rushed home from work at lunch every day, just to check on her.” He shook his head. “No. Eric didn’t have any jealous husbands gunning for him, and he didn’t have any girlfriends, either. Just old Sadie.”

“What about this Todman woman?” Rob pressed. “Do you think she and Eric could have been involved?”

Seb lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. Though I doubt it. Eric was…well, he was a bit on the strange side. A loner who kept to himself. Very protective of his personal life. No,” he said, his frown deepening as he considered. “More like secretive. Forget it,” he said, waving away Rob’s suggestion of a possible relationship. “There was nothing between them. He was a lot older than her. And he was fussy, if you get what I mean. About the way he dressed. The way he kept his house and car. Lived his whole life on a time schedule, never deviating a minute or two one way or the other. Hell, a woman would have messed up his life too much for him to ever want one around. The guy was a confirmed bachelor.”

“Sounds like about 90 percent of the members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club.”

Seb cut Rob a curious glance, then leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Yeah, it does. Though that number’s dwindling fast. I’m beginning to wonder how we’re going to decide how to fund the profits from the Texas Cattleman’s Ball.”

Jason leaned forward, interjecting himself into the conversation. “I thought the terms of the bet were that the last bachelor standing prior to the Ball got to choose which charity would receive the money?”

“True,” Seb conceded. “But since Will here is married now and out of the running, that only leaves four of us. Just makes me wonder how many more will fall before time for the Ball.”

Rob rose, preparing to leave. “You can quit your worrying, because there’ll be at least one.” At Seb’s questioning look, he tapped a finger against his chest. “Me.”

After leaving Seb, Rob dropped by the police department and read the report the investigating officers had filed, requested a copy for his own files, then drove to the florist shop to question its owner, Rebecca Todman. He parked his sports car across the street from the shop, unfolded his long legs from the cramped interior and climbed out, slamming the door behind him. With his gaze on the shop, mentally assessing the place, he pressed a thumb against the security device attached to his key ring, activating the car alarm, then slipped the keys into his pocket and strode across the street.

A bell chimed musically above his head as he stepped inside. The heavy floral scent of fresh-cut flowers immediately sent his sensory nerves into overload. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed once to clear his sinuses before beginning a slow inspection of the shop and its occupants.

He pegged the owner immediately. A slim woman, about five foot six, short, dark blond hair, wearing a bright yellow bib-style apron with In Bloom embroidered in a colorful garland of flowers across its front. Though serviceable, the apron didn’t stand a prayer of hiding the feminine curves beneath it. Small, firm breasts, slender waist, delicately shaped rear, long, shapely legs. On another occasion, Rob might have taken the time to weave a few erotic fantasies of having those legs wrapped around his waist.

But not today. And not about this woman. Until he proved otherwise, Rebecca Todman was a suspect.

And Rob never complicated a case by becoming physically involved with a woman he’d been hired to investigate.

From his vantage point in the center of the shop, he had a good view of her standing in front of a glass-fronted refrigerator. She was sorting through a tall bucket full of long-stemmed roses while another woman—obviously a picky customer—watched, alternately nodding her approval or shaking her head at the stems selected. Though he pretended to browse, he kept a careful eye on the two, hoping to get a feel for the owner’s current emotional state before approaching her.

Though she appeared calm to the eye, keeping a patient smile in place for her customer, Rob easily detected the level of nerves beneath. She was scared…or, at the very least, shaken. Her face was pale with high points of color on each cheek, and her hands trembled slightly, causing the petals on the roses to quiver.

She glanced his way and inclined her head slightly, inviting him to browse. He nodded and pretended to do so while she arranged the roses in a vase, attached a ribbon and card, then walked her customer to the door.

When the bell chimed, signaling the customer’s departure, she headed his way, her smile still in place, though he could see the strain beneath it.

“Welcome to In Bloom. May I help you find something?” she asked politely.

He set down the potted plant he had been examining and glanced her way. “Maybe.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open, exposing his private-investigator license. “Rob Cole,” he said by way of introduction, while watching her face for a reaction. “I’ve been hired by Wescott Oil to investigate the death of Eric Chambers.”

He watched her face drain of what color still remained there. She took a step back, bringing her hands together at her waist to wring. “I’ve already told the police all I know.”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I read the report. But I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind answering a few more questions.”

She turned and moved behind the counter. “Like what?” she asked uneasily as she picked up a daisy to add to a fishbowl arrangement she’d obviously been working on earlier. He noticed that the tremble in her fingers was stronger now, the pallor of her skin a ghostlier white.

“Just a few questions about your association with Eric Chambers. Were you friends?”

Her chin quivered, but she quickly pressed her lips together to still it. “I’d like to think we were. We were neighbors, plus he was a client.”

Though Seb had mentioned the business association, Rob wanted to hear Rebecca’s explanation. “Client? He was a customer in your store?”

She chose a cluster of pink snapdragons to add to the arrangement. “That, too, but he also contracted with me to take care of his houseplants. Eric liked having live plants in his home, but didn’t have the time or talent to tend them.”

A huge white cat jumped up onto the table where Rebecca worked, startling Rob. It arched, rubbing its back along her arm, and meowed pitifully. Rebecca’s chin quivered again.

“Hey, Sadie,” she murmured, and set aside the flowers she was arranging to draw the cat into her arms. She nuzzled her cheek against the cat’s fur. “Are you missing Eric, sweetheart?”

Rob immediately tensed. “Eric? That’s Chambers’s cat?”

She nodded, then set the animal down, giving its sleek head one last, sympathetic stroke. “He was very attached to her, and her to him. I couldn’t very well leave her in the house alone, not with Eric…well, not without anyone there at the house to feed and look after her any longer.”

“Eric didn’t have family?”

She shrugged her shoulders and went back to arranging the flowers. “None that I know of.”

“So you just took the cat?”

She snapped up her head, the lift of her chin defensive. “I didn’t steal her,” she said evenly, “if that’s what you’re thinking. The police know that I have her. I’m just taking care of her until they can locate Eric’s next of kin.”

Rob offered her what he hoped came across as an apologetic smile—though it mattered little to him, whether he had insulted her or not. He wanted information and would get it, no matter whose feelings he stepped on along the way. “I didn’t mean to imply that you had stolen the cat. But I am curious about Eric’s family.”

The tension eased a bit from her shoulders and she turned the fishbowl around to place flowers on the opposite side. “As I said, I’m not aware of any family. He was an only child and lived with his mother until her death a couple of years ago. But that was long before I moved here,” she added as she slipped a sunflower among the other blooms.

“Any girlfriends that you know of?”

Her gaze went to the cat, who sat on the edge of her worktable, cleaning her paws, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. “No. Just Sadie.”

“Male friends?”

She cut her gaze to his, her blue eyes flat with resentment. “If you are asking me if Eric was gay, I don’t know. We never discussed his sexual preferences.”

So, he’d made her angry, Rob thought. Good. People usually revealed more in anger than when they were in control. “What did you discuss, then?”

She snatched at a length of yellow ribbon hanging from a row of colorful spools at her right, cut a strip, then slipped it around the lip of the fishbowl. Though he could tell she resented his prying, she didn’t allow her anger to affect her work. The bow she tied was soft, flowing and free of the tension obvious in her shoulders and hands.

“The weather. Plans for a cutting garden in his backyard he wanted me to design. General things. Nothing personal,” she added, slanting him a look before turning the fishbowl to inspect the finished arrangement.

Rob followed her gaze. Thick wedges of orange and lemon slices filled the base of the clear glass bowl and helped hold the flower stems in place, as well as adding a unique decorative touch to the arrangement. He nodded his head toward her creation. “Clever idea.”

She pressed her lips together, stubbornly refusing to accept his comment as a compliment. “It isn’t mine. I saw a similar arrangement done with limes and expanded on it.”

“Still a clever idea.”

She picked up the arrangement and turned her back on him to place it in the glass-fronted refrigerator behind her. “Do you have any other questions, Mr. Cole? As you can see, I’m rather busy.”

He lifted a brow at her curt, dismissive tone, a sharp contrast to her earlier politeness. “Just one. Are those flowers for sale?”

The question caught her off guard, which is what he’d intended, and she glanced back over her shoulder to peer at him. “You mean this?” she asked, indicating the arrangement she’d just placed in the refrigerator. At his nod, she stammered, “Well, y-yes. It is.”

He pulled out his wallet and tossed a credit card on the counter. “I’ll take it.”

Rebecca strained to peer out the window, watching as he pulled away from the curb. When she could no longer see him, she sank weakly down onto her stool.

A private investigator? she asked herself.

He looked the type…although she wasn’t completely sure what a private investigator was supposed to look like. But he certainly appeared tough enough for the job, if that was a requirement. Broad shouldered. Slim hipped. A face that looked as if it had been carved from stone. She shivered, remembering.

He hadn’t cracked a smile the entire time he’d been in her shop. Not that she had smiled, either. But she hadn’t particularly felt like smiling. Not after the chilling morning she’d just experienced. Finding Eric’s murdered body. Having questions hurled at her by a detective from the police department faster than she could even think. Then to have to relive it all for another investigator, this one hired by Wescott Oil, Eric’s employer.

Sighing, she pushed to her feet and began to straighten her worktable, not wanting to think about the incident any longer. With a neatness born from habit, she put away her scissors and snips, straightened the rolls of ribbon, then brushed the bits of soil and fallen petals from the table and onto her open palm. As she stooped to dump the trash into the container below the table, she caught a glimpse of a black sports car through the front glass window, driving by her shop.

She straightened slowly, recognizing the car as Rob Cole’s. What was he doing? she wondered, then felt a jolt when her gaze met his. She stared, unable to look away. Blue, she thought, and slicked her suddenly dry lips. His eyes were blue. The same deep shade as the morning glories that climbed her back fence. Though he wore sunglasses now that prevented her from seeing the color, she remembered.

How could she ever forget?

Late that same night, Rob sat before his desk in his home office, the room dark but for the glow of his computer screen. After several hours of painstaking research through government records stored on the Internet he’d pieced together the life of Rebecca Todman prior to her move to Royal, Texas. Twenty-seven-year-old female. Widowed. Former address Dallas, Texas. Housewife. No priors. Not so much as a traffic ticket to blot her record. The woman was squeaky clean.

With a groan, he let his head fall back and scrubbed his hands over his face. So why did he have the feeling that Rebecca Todman was hiding something?

“Because my gut tells me she is,” he muttered under his breath.

Knowing that his gut was seldom wrong, he dropped his hands to the keyboard and quickly typed information into a search engine. He tapped his fingers against the mouse while he waited for the results to appear. Spotting a listing from the archives of a Dallas newspaper, he clicked the link, then narrowed his eyes as he studied the article and accompanying photo that came into view.

Rebecca Todman? he asked himself, frowning at the woman pictured at a local charity event. Her hair was longer in the picture than her current style and her manner of dress much more sophisticated, not to mention more expensive, than the serviceable khaki slacks, pastel blouse and apron that he’d seen her wearing at her shop. So why the drastic change in appearance? he asked himself. A disguise? A mood swing?

No matter what the reason, he told himself, the change in appearance only intensified his gut feeling that the woman was hiding something. And his gut was rarely wrong.

And, at the moment, empty.

Remembering that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, he pushed back his chair. In the kitchen he dug around in the refrigerator until he found a box of take-out fried chicken. He lifted the lid and sniffed, trying to remember when he’d put it there. With a shrug, he tossed the box onto the breakfast bar and dragged up a stool. He plucked out a thigh and took a bite, narrowing his eyes as he chewed, thinking over his interview with Rebecca Todman and his first impressions of the woman.

Scared…or, at the very least, rattled, he amended. Guilty? He shook his head, then took another bite. For some reason that assessment didn’t quite fit, in spite of her drastic change in appearance prior to moving to Royal. She didn’t look like a murderer. She looked more like… What? he asked himself, frowning as he tried to profile her. A librarian? A Sunday school teacher? She had an innocence about her, a polite and gentle manner of speaking and moving that would qualify her for both.

Physically she didn’t look capable of doing another person in. Overpowering Eric Chambers and strangling him with his own necktie had required a strength he doubted she possessed.

Or did she? he reflected further, thinking of the kind of muscle work a shop like hers would require. Some of those potted plants he’d seen were large, and for the most part she worked alone, a fact he’d already verified. Which meant she would have to be stronger than she appeared, in order to lift them. But strong enough to overpower a grown man?

Grabbing a chicken leg from the box, he strode back to his office and flipped on the overhead light. He crossed to his desk and pushed through the papers littering it, until he found the item he wanted. Tossing the half-eaten chicken leg into the trash can, he held up the picture of Eric Chambers, taken from the employee files at Wescott Oil. Five foot seven or five foot eight at the most, Rob figured, examining the photo closely. Approximately 140 pounds. A small man. And, from what Rob could tell, one who hadn’t spent any time at the gym. If caught off guard, it was possible that Rebecca could have overpowered Chambers.

He puffed his cheeks and dropped onto his chair again, tossing the picture aside. So why was he having such a hard time believing Rebecca Todman murdered Eric?

Thinking better with paper and pen in hand, he plucked a pad from his desk and reared back in his chair. With his bare feet propped beside his monitor, he began to jot down questions. When he’d finished, he returned to the first item he’d listed and studied it.

Motive? He tapped the end of the pen against his lips as he mentally listed the possibilities, focusing on the two behind most murders committed: money and revenge. Was Rebecca Todman in desperate need of money? Desperate enough to kill to acquire it? He made a quick note to check into her finances, then began to jot down reasons she might want revenge. Romance gone sour? Business deal gone bad? Feud between neighbors?

He tossed down the pen in disgust, his instincts telling him none of the reasons jibed. But maybe there wasn’t a reason. Maybe Rebecca Todman was simply a psychopathic killer, a man hater, who had considered Chambers an easy mark and killed the guy just to get her jollies. He rolled his eyes and picked up his pen again, going back to the first item he’d listed under revenge: romance gone sour.

Rob picked up the picture of Chambers, took one look and tossed it aside with a snort. No way. The guy had no physically redeeming qualities and, if what Rob had heard was right, was a loner and probably a mama’s boy.

Rebecca on the other hand, he reflected, scooping up a picture taken of her unawares at the crime scene, was young and attractive, and had a kind and generous heart, a trait exemplified by her willingness to take in Chambers’s orphaned cat. He arched a brow, studying the photo, noting the soft roundness of her breasts outlined behind the light cotton pastel blouse and the feminine curve of hip beneath the khaki slacks…and found himself wishing for a bed and a couple of hours of hot, sweaty sex with the woman.

Swearing, he dropped the picture to the desk and rose from his chair, dragging a hand over his hair as he headed for the door. You’re tired, he told himself. Or horny. Maybe both. Otherwise you wouldn’t be having sexual fantasies about a woman you suspect is guilty of murder.

But one thing was for sure. Horny or not, he’d be talking to Rebecca Todman again. Until he’d proved to himself otherwise, she was still his prime—and only—suspect.

Two

Rob snatched his cell phone from its holder on his sports car’s console. “Rob Cole.”

“I’ve done some checking and here’s what I’ve got.”

He whipped the car to the shoulder of the road, wanting to give his full attention to the call. Earlier that morning he’d phoned Chuck Endicott, a private investigator from Dallas with whom he shared information from time to time, and requested that Chuck track down what he could on Rebecca Todman. “Shoot,” he said, picking up a pen to jot down notes.

“In a nutshell, her in-laws hate her. Think she was responsible for their son’s death. They tried to make a case of it, but the police couldn’t find enough evidence to even fill out a warrant for her arrest.”

“Did you check it out?” Rob asked, frowning.

“Yeah. The guy bought it in a car wreck. He was driving. Lost control of the car and broadsided a bridge embankment. Driver’s side. The wife walked away with only minor scrapes and bruises.”

“Any signs of foul play?”

“The car was totaled, but the in-laws demanded an inspection, accusing the daughter-in-law of tampering with the brakes or steering. Results came back negative.”

Rob’s frown deepened. Two deaths in which Rebecca Todman was either directly or indirectly involved. Coincidence? “What’s your take on this?”

“Me? I’d say the in-laws are screwballs, with a grudge to grind. Kinda reminds me of my old lady’s folks.”

Rob snorted a laugh. “I’ll be sure and share the comparison with Leah.”

“Man! Don’t go telling my old lady anything. I stay in the doghouse enough, as it is.”

“Deserved, I’m sure,” Rob replied dryly. He glanced at his watch. “Listen, Chuck. I gotta go. Thanks for the help, buddy. I owe you one.”

Rob carefully timed his arrival at Rebecca’s shop. He wanted to catch her alone, and he figured the best way to do that was to show up as she was closing for the day. At three minutes until five, he stepped inside the shop and glanced around, but didn’t see any sign of her. “Ms. Todman?” he called, thinking she might be in the storage room behind the counter. When she didn’t reply, he rounded the counter and peeked through the partially open door. Though the overhead light was on, the room was empty.

Frowning, he turned and took a second look around. The only other door was a glass one that connected to an adjoining greenhouse. Rob headed that way. He found the temperature inside the greenhouse to be warmer than that in the shop and a hundred times more humid. Perspiration immediately beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

“Ms. Todman?” he called again. He didn’t hear a response, but that didn’t surprise him. Fans installed along the walls and on the ceiling made enough racket to drown out any other sounds. He started down an aisle framed by long wooden tables covered with pots of flowers and greenery of every size, shape and description. He finally caught sight of her at the far end of the greenhouse. She was standing with her back to him before a table scooping potting soil from a large bucket and depositing it into compartmented trays.

When he was close enough, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Todman?”

With a startled cry she dropped the shovel and ducked away, throwing an arm over her head, as if to ward off a blow.

A hole opened in Rob’s stomach, spilling in a sickening acid as he stared at her, unable to move. He was familiar with that reaction, that instinctive response for self-protection. But he hadn’t intended to frighten her when he’d approached her, nor did he have any intention of hurting her. Hell, he’d barely even touched her! He’d wanted only to get her attention, to warn her of his presence, so that he wouldn’t frighten her.

But obviously he’d failed, judging by her cowering response. Not wanting to frighten her more than he already had, he hunkered down to peer up at her. “Ms. Todman,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just dropped by to ask you a couple more questions.”

Slowly she lowered her arm until her gaze met his. She quickly turned away…but not before he caught a glimpse of the raw fear in her eyes.

She combed shaky fingers through her cropped hair. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unable to look at him. “You caught me off guard. I thought… I thought I was alone.”

He rose as she picked up her shovel, and noted that her hand was shaking. “I yelled, but I guess you didn’t hear me over the sound of the fans.”

She nodded, but kept her head down, her gaze on her work.

He moved to stand beside her and scowled when her hand bobbled, spilling potting soil across the table. Obviously, being alone in the shop with him made her uncomfortable, a condition that would, he suspected, affect her willingness and accuracy in answering the questions he had for her. He glanced at his watch. “It’s closing time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How about if we go down the street to the Royal Diner and talk? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do,” he added, “after scaring a couple of years off your life.”

“I’ve already told you everything I know.”

He bit down on his frustration. “I thought you said you were Eric’s friend. Don’t you want to see his murderer put behind bars?”

“Of course I do,” she replied impatiently as she swept the spilled soil onto her palm and dumped it back into the bucket. “It’s just that I don’t know what else I can possibly tell you.”

“You might be surprised. Talking with me could trigger something in your mind. Something that seemed unimportant to you at the time, but might possibly be important to the case.”

She wavered uncertainly, her forehead pleating in indecision. Then her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right,” she said as she slid the shovel into the rack attached to the side of the table. “Just give me a minute to lock up.” Turning away from him, she wiped her hands across the seat of her slacks, managing to avoid his gaze and keep a safe distance as she made her way back down the aisle to the front of her shop.

Rob stared after her, watching her hands move across that delectably shaped tush. A murderer? he asked himself as he started after her. If she was, she was one hell of an actress.

And he was definitely horny, he decided with a frown. Otherwise, why would he find it so difficult to tear his gaze from her rear end?

Rob sat opposite Rebecca in a booth, watching as she nervously shredded a napkin she’d plucked from the dispenser at the end of the table. Not once during the walk to the diner had she made eye contact with him. And though he’d tried making idle conversation, he’d finally given up, frustrated by her monosyllabic replies.

Determined to resolve the question of her innocence, he braced his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “I know you’re probably anxious to get home, so let’s get this over with. Was the morning you found Eric the first time you’d been to his house?”

Her fingers closed around the shredded napkin, balling it within her fist. “No. I’ve been caring for his plants for a couple of months.”

“The morning you found him, was the house locked when you arrived?”

“No.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Yes. Normally he would already have left for work by the time I arrived.”

“Did you know, prior to entering the house, that Eric was at home?”

“I thought he might be. His car was still in the driveway.”

“Yet you entered anyway.”

“I knocked first. When he didn’t answer, I tried the door and found it unlocked.”

“Since you’re in his house on a regular basis, I assume that you would notice if anything was out of place.”

“Yes, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.” Her eyes rounded as if she’d just remembered something. She laid her hand on the table and leaned forward, her expression hopeful. “It did seem unnaturally quiet, though.”

His investigative instincts sharpened. “How so?”

“The radio. Usually it’s playing. Eric always listens to the weather and traffic reports while he eats his breakfast, then leaves it on to keep Sadie company while he’s away. Is that important?”

“If the coroner hadn’t already established an approximate time of death, it might be.” He lifted his hands. “As it is, it’s just another detail to add to the file.”

She drew her hand from the table, looking downcast. “Oh.”

“The report stated that you found him in the bathroom.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, as if haunted by the scene. Was it an act? he wondered.

“Yes. He…he was on the toilet seat. A necktie was wrapped around his neck.” She lifted her hands as if to demonstrate, then, with a shudder, dropped them to her lap.

“Did you attempt to resuscitate or touch the body in any way?”

She shook her head. “No. I knew he was dead. His face was white and his—” She gulped, tried again. “His…his features were distorted. Swollen. His eyes open and staring.”

A choked sound had Rob glancing to his left, where their waitress stood, a coffeepot in hand. Laura Edwards, he remembered from other visits to the diner. Her stricken look surprised him, but he attributed her reaction to her having overheard Rebecca’s rather graphic description of Eric’s body.

She shoved the pot toward them. “C-coffee?”

Rob turned over the cups on the table. “Sure. Thanks.”

After filling their cups, she darted away.

Puzzled by her strange behavior, Rob mentally filed it away for later consideration, then turned back to Rebecca. “So you knew he was dead,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation. “What did you do then?”

“I called 9-1-1.”

“From the bedroom?”

“No. The kitchen.”

“Then what?”

“I went outside and waited for the police.”

“Did you reenter the house at any point?”

She shook her head. “No. I…couldn’t.”

“What about your supplies? Surely you must have had something with you, some kind of equipment or tools, if you’d originally entered the house to tend his plants.”

“Yes. I had my tote bag that I carry my supplies in. One of the policemen brought it out to me. The one who questioned me.”

“What about the cat? Sadie, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sadie. I don’t remember seeing her when I first entered the house. She must have been hiding somewhere. Under the sofa, perhaps. She does that sometimes. But when they brought Eric…the body out,” she amended, wincing, “she slipped out the door. I caught her and held her to keep her from jumping into the ambulance with him.”

He could see the tears building, the strain in her features, and wondered if this was all part of the act. In hopes of throwing her off balance, to trick her into slipping up, he changed the line of questioning. “You said you were fairly new in town.”

She wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, as if needing the warmth to chase the chill from her body. “Yes. I moved here about six months ago.”

“And immediately went into business for yourself.”

“Yes.”

He heard the pride in the single-worded response. “Had you ever owned a business before?”

She shook her head. “No. But I’d always dreamed of owning my own floral shop.”

“So why move to Royal to open a business? Seems it would’ve made more sense to go into business in a town where you were known.”

She fidgeted and he knew immediately that the question had made her uncomfortable.

“I was recently widowed,” she explained slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I wanted a fresh start. Someplace new, without…without any memories.”

“I would think being surrounded by memories would be a comfort. Unless they were unpleasant ones,” he added, watching her.

She stared at him, her face paling, her blue eyes filling with an anguish that had his gut clenching.

Tearing her gaze from his, she groped blindly for her purse. “I’ve told you all I know about Eric,” she said as she slid from the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Cole, I really need to go.”

Rob frowned as he listened to the officer’s response to his query about the autopsy on Eric Chambers. “No prints?” he asked, frowning.

“None,” the officer confirmed. “Whoever strangled him was careful. Probably wore surgical gloves of some type.”

“Anything show up in his stomach? Any indication that he might have been drugged?”

“Only his dinner. Otherwise, he was clean.”

Frustrated by the lack of any new leads on the case, Rob bit back a curse. “I appreciate the information. Let me know if y’all come up with anything new.”

“I will. You do the same.”

Rob hung up the phone and sank back in his chair, pushing his fingers through his hair.

No leads. No evidence. No suspects.

Other than Rebecca Todman.

Sighing, he sat up and reached for the mail he’d dropped on his desk. As he did, his gaze struck the fishbowl full of flowers that he’d bought at her shop. Frowning, he pushed aside the stack of mail and drew the bowl toward him. He stuck his nose in the flowers and inhaled deeply of the sweet floral scent, the lingering tartness of the citric fruits that filled the bowl’s base.

His frown deepening, he leaned back and studied the arrangement. Classy. Fragrant. Feminine, yet not fussy. Fragile, yet with a hint of toughness.

Much like the woman who had designed it, he thought, unable to stop the stab of guilt that came along with the assessment.

Two days later and he still felt bad about his last interview with Rebecca Todman. He had questioned a lot of witnesses and suspects in his life, some more ruthlessly than others, but none had left him feeling more like a heel than had his last interview with her.

And well it should have, he concluded miserably. He’d tried his damnedest to catch her in a lie, to pry into her private life and prove that she was somehow responsible for Eric Chambers’s murder. But nothing had panned out. Not motive. Not means. The only thing he could definitely nail her with was opportunity, which he could easily nail half the population of Royal with, as well.

Rebecca Todman hadn’t killed Eric Chambers, he told himself. His search into her financial records had dissolved any lingering doubts about that. She had nothing to gain financially by murdering him. Though not a wealthy woman, she’d inherited enough money from her husband to make the down payment on her house in Royal and to set up her business, which appeared to be at least beginning to pay its own way.

No, Rebecca Todman wasn’t the murderer, he thought ruefully, remembering the strained and haunted look on her face as he’d forced her to relive discovering Eric’s body.

But there was still something about her that ate at him. Some elusive something that kept him awake at night. But what? he asked himself, his frustration returning. Was it nothing more than physical attraction? A typical male response to the sight of a good-looking woman?

He leaned back in his chair and pulled at his chin as he gave that theory some thought. If so, he mused, then maybe it was time to get to know Rebecca Todman on another level. A level other than that of suspect.

A more intimate level.

With her knees and hands buried in the freshly turned soil of her cutting bed, Rebecca let the warmth of the late-afternoon sunshine and the heavenly scent of the flowers surrounding her work their special magic on her overwrought nerves. Calm. That’s what she needed and what she sought each time she stepped out into her backyard oasis.

Though she loved her floral shop and felt a keen sense of pride each time she thought of the business she was building, it was only in her garden where she found true peace from the ugliness and brutality of her past. No old memories were allowed beyond the arch of the wisteria-draped garden gate. None were permitted to dig their way under the honeysuckle-covered picket fence, or pop up from the fertile soil like unwanted weeds. Only beautiful thoughts were allowed to bloom here, hopes and dreams that Rebecca had kept secreted away throughout the years of her marriage, protecting them from the destructive and cruel hand of her husband, Earl. Dreams of loving a man and being loved in return. Dreams of having children of her own someday.

She had planted those dreams right along with the climbing roses that now bloomed on the trellises at the rear of her property, nurtured them as carefully as she had the thick clusters of Shasta daisies that grew at the base of the birdbath that speared from the center of the cutting bed. And someday, just as the plants she tended had bloomed to life, she prayed so would her hopes and dreams for a normal life. A gentle and caring man to love, respect and protect her. Children to fill her home and her heart with their laughter and love.

But before she could have those things, Rebecca reminded herself, she had to first heal. Not physically. The bruises and marks Earl had left on her flesh had long since faded. It was the emotional scars that remained, leaving her crippled and incapable of even considering a relationship with another man.

She shook her head sadly, remembering her earlier foolishness in thinking that, with the move to Royal, she’d left behind all the ugliness of her past, healed herself completely from the lingering effects of Earl’s abuse. She could remember in vivid detail the exact moment the revelation had occurred that had proved to her otherwise. At the time, she’d been at the New Hope Charity for battered women. Her purpose in making the visit had been an unselfish one. She’d wanted only to help other women who suffered similarly, offer them her support and encouragement.

Though she’d been a little nervous upon entering the shelter that first time, she’d approached the front desk, where she’d introduced herself to Andrea O’Rourke, a volunteer. They’d hit it off immediately and were chatting like old friends within minutes. Rebecca was filling out the forms Andrea had given her, required before becoming a volunteer, when the front door of the center had opened. Both had glanced up from the paperwork to find a female police officer ushering a sobbing woman inside.

One look at the woman’s busted lip, the swelling that all but closed her left eye, her torn and blood-splattered clothing, and the trembling had started. Violent shudders had dragged the pen from Rebecca’s fingers and drained the strength from her legs. She’d fainted dead away.

Oh, she’d been so smug, she thought now, upon reflection. So sure that she’d completely and successfully overcome all the effects of Earl’s abuse. But she’d had pointed out to her, in a most vivid and humiliating way, that the physical scars might have faded, but the emotional ones were still very much with her.

But she would overcome them, too, she promised herself.

In the meantime, she would dream.

Sinking back on her heels, she let her gaze drift over the swaying, fragrant blooms that filled her garden, a brilliant testament to all the dreams she’d planted in this space. A man to love and cherish her. The children they would have, created from and nurtured by the mutual love and respect they had for each other.

She sighed as the scene blurred, the image of the man with whom she’d fall in love slowly building in her mind. He’d have to be strong, she told herself, and tipped back her head, closing her eyes while the picture of him grew, took shape. But never cruel. And handsome, she added, a soft smile curving her lips as the image began to sharpen and fill with detail. Tall, with thick, wavy hair. Deep blue eyes. Well-honed features. Broad shoulders. She could see him so clearly. So distinctly. So—

Her heart stumbled a beat and she flipped open her eyes, realizing that the face she’d envisioned was none other than the face of Rob Cole. Shaken, she struggled to her feet. Rob Cole? she asked herself then pressed her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks and shook her head. No. Not him. The man terrified her. Infuriated her.

And had, from the moment he’d first appeared at her shop, haunted her sleep and filled her dreams.

Irritated that she had so little control over her own thoughts, she firmed her lips in a long-lost act of defiance she struggled to recover each day. And what woman wouldn’t be fascinated by him? she asked herself with a sniff. He had the rugged good looks of an outdoorsman and a muscular body that suggested that whatever activities lured him there required a certain level of strength and fitness.

But it wasn’t his good looks or hard body that she found herself thinking about, she admitted reluctantly. It was his stone-faced expression, his gruff nature that had her daydreaming of wrapping her arms around him and teasing a smile from him.

Though he’d never shown her anything but the all-business, investigative side of his personality, she was sure there was another side to him, as well. A tender and fun-loving side. It just needed nurturing, she told herself. Love would draw out those qualities he kept locked inside.

“And if you think you’re the woman for the job,” she muttered under her breath, “you’ve got another think coming. Rob Cole is about as interested in developing a relationship with you as Sadie is.”

Sadie, she remembered guiltily, and glanced around, looking for her charge.

“Sadie,” she called as she gathered her garden tools and prepared to go inside. “Come on. It’s time for our dinner.” She made her way through the cutting bed, careful to step on the stones she’d laid out and not on any of her plants. “Sadie,” she called again as she strode for the house.

When she reached the patio, she stooped to store her tools beneath the redwood potting table, then turned. Her shoulders drooped, when she saw that the cat hadn’t appeared. Suspecting that Sadie had climbed the picket fence and gone home to Eric’s house, just down the block, she crossed to the side gate and lifted the latch.

As she walked down the sidewalk, dread tightened her stomach with each step that brought her closer to Eric’s house. She hadn’t been to his home since the morning she’d found his body. She didn’t even dare so much as glance in its direction as she drove past each day on her way to and from her shop. Couldn’t. Not and keep the haunting images at bay.

Confronted with the strip of crime-scene tape still stretched across the drive, she curled her hands into determined fists, then made herself duck beneath it and hurried for the backyard.

“Sadie?” she called uneasily. She tiptoed around to the patio, where she knew Sadie liked to sun. Spotting the cat curled up on the back stoop, waiting, Rebecca was sure, for Eric to come home and let her inside, she crossed to her. “Oh, Sadie,” she murmured sadly, as she stooped to scoop the cat up into her arms. “Poor baby,” she said sympathetically as she retraced her steps. “You miss Eric, don’t you, precious?”

“What are you doing here?”

Her heart leapt to her throat and she looked up to find Robert Cole standing in the middle of the drive, blocking her way.

“I…I came to get Sadie. She slipped away while I was—” She clamped her lips together, furious with herself for offering an explanation when she could just as easily ask the same thing of him. “What are you doing here?” she returned.

He slid his hands into his jean pockets and lifted a shoulder. “Looking for you.” He tipped his head in the direction of her house, where his sports car was parked at the curb. “When I drove up, I saw you headed this way, so I parked my car and followed.”

Sure that he’d come to question her again, she drew the cat to her chest, as if the animal were a shield. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, there’s nothing more I can tell you about Eric’s murder.”

“I didn’t come to question you about the case.”

If possible, she found that revelation even more unnerving than if he’d stated that he was there to arrest her. “Then what do you want?”

He scrunched his mouth to one side and looked away, as if he found his explanation distasteful. “To apologize.”

“For what?”

He scuffed his boot across the loose rock on the drive, then glanced over at her. The effect on her system was the same as if she’d stuck her finger into an electrical socket. The blue in his eyes was softer now, more open, giving her a glimpse at that hidden quality she was so sure was there inside.

“For being so tough on you the other day. You were upset when you left the diner, and I wanted you to know that I was sorry about that.”

Reminded of his callous treatment, she lifted her chin. “Yes, I was upset. And understandably so. Finding Eric was upsetting enough, but to be forced by you to relive the incident was sheer torture.”

He turned and gestured for her to walk with him. “As I said, I’m sorry. But the questions were necessary, in order for me to establish your innocence.”

She jerked to a stop and looked up at him, eyes wide. “You thought I killed Eric?”

He lifted the crime-scene tape. When she didn’t make a move to slip under it, he placed a hand on the small of her back and urged her beneath it. “Yes, you were a suspect.” He ducked beneath the tape, then dropped it and slid his hands into his pockets again. Inclining his head, he indicated for her to walk with him.

She did so, hugging Sadie against her breasts. “A suspect,” she repeated, stunned that he’d think she had killed Eric. She looked over at him. “But why me?”

“Opportunity. You had a key to his house and the perfect alibi.” He arched a brow at her questioning look. “Home alone,” he said, reminding her of the alibi she’d given to the police. “Impossible to prove or disprove.”

They reached the edge of her drive. “But it’s the truth,” she insisted, turning to face him. “I was home alone.”

He reached out and took the cat from her, his expression closed again, not offering a clue as to whether he believed her or not. “Hard to prove, either way.” He cradled the animal along his arm and chest and stroked her head. “Sure wish you could talk,” he said to the cat. “I’ll bet you could tell us who murdered Eric.”

Rebecca hugged her arms around her middle to hide a shiver. “It’s difficult to believe a murder was committed in Royal.” She shivered again and glanced uneasily down the street. “And in this neighborhood, no less.”

He glanced her way, his stroking drawing a deep, satisfied purr from the cat. “You keep your doors locked, don’t you?”

“Yes. Windows, too.” The blood slowly drained from her face as she stared at him. “You don’t think that whoever killed Eric would return and kill again, do you?”

He lifted a shoulder and passed the cat back to her. “Who knows? We still don’t know who murdered Eric or why.”

She buried her cheek against the cat’s fur. “If you’re trying to frighten me,” she said shakily, “you’re certainly doing a good job.”

“I’m not trying to frighten you. Just making sure you’re taking the necessary precautions.” He slid his hands into his pockets again. “But that’s not why I stopped by. I was wondering if you’d go out to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

The invitation caught Rebecca totally off guard. “Dinner?” she repeated. “Tomorrow night?” At his nod, she could only stare. For a moment she allowed herself to believe that he found her attractive, interesting, that he wanted to get to know her better. Maybe even develop a relationship. She even let herself go so far as to believe she could go out with him without suffering a panic attack. That she could talk and laugh and tease, just like any other woman, without her stomach knotting up or her hands growing damp.

Then she remembered him initially saying he’d dropped by to apologize, and all the air whooshed from her inflated dreams, as she realized that his dinner invitation was offered for no other reason than to make amends, just as his invitation to take her for coffee had been.

“No,” she murmured, and turned away to hide her disappointment. “I’m sorry. I already have plans.”

Three

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