In the next Faces of Evil book from USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb, is Amber Roberts a killer—or a victim?

Instead of reporting the news, Amber Roberts is the news. Has the beautiful journalist murdered someone she hardly knew or has she been brilliantly framed? Evidence points to the former. Enter Sean Douglas, the hottest bodyguard Amber’s ever seen. But Amber is all about her career, and giving it up for romance is unthinkable. Sean, she learns, has his own guilty reason for keeping things professional. The last woman who trusted him ended up dead. And now the same fate may await Amber, unless Sean can protect her while guarding his heart. Because someone is watching and terrorizing Amber...someone no one would suspect...

“You’re thinking they planted cameras so they could watch.”

“Oh, my God.” Both hands went to her face. “There’s no other explanation.”

Sean reached over and took her hand in his. “You’re okay. One killer is dead, and we’re onto another suspect. Whatever one or both did, it won’t happen again.”

She scrubbed at her eyes. “We have to search my house. Now. I need to know if they were watching me. . .I need to be sure.”

“I think it’s safe to have a look. But I’m not letting you stay there again until this is over.” Sean gave her hand a squeeze before letting go.

She held his gaze. “Okay.”

His entire being was aching to lean across the seat and kiss her. What he really wanted to do was pull over and make her feel this raging desire building inside him. She needed kissing. She needed to feel safe and cared for. For the first time in a very long time, he hoped he got the opportunity to make her feel that way.

Still Waters

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including reader-favorite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Amber Roberts—An investigative journalist, Amber is a household name in Birmingham. Now someone is determined to make the world believe she’s a murderer.

Sean Douglas—Former bodyguard to Hollywood celebrities, Sean is the best at personal security. Will his own painful past cause him to fall down on the job of protecting Amber?

Jess Harris Burnett—Former FBI profiler and deputy chief of major crimes. Jess has joined forces with her old friend Buddy Corlew in a private investigations agency in an effort to help victims of crimes the police can’t always resolve.

Buddy Corlew—Jess’s partner and oldest friend. Buddy is a top-notch PI, but will his skills be enough?

Captain Vanessa Aldridge—The new head of crimes against persons, Aldridge dislikes reporters in general. She appears determined to make an example of Amber.

Kyle Adler—Who wanted the reclusive deliveryman dead? Was he murdered for the sole purpose of framing Amber?

Peter Thrasher—Is the mild-mannered floral shop owner arranging more than flowers?

Gerard Stevens—As an investigative reporter himself, Stevens is determined to stay on top. He fooled Amber once; has he taken his ruthlessness to the next level?

Martha Guynes—Is the kindly shop owner hiding secrets of her own?

Lori Wells, Chet Harper, Chad Cook—Detectives from Jess’s former major crimes team who give her a hand whenever the need arises.

I feel so blessed to be surrounded by wonderful,

supportive friends. Among those many amazing friends

are the members of my incredible Street Team. Thank you

for all you do and for simply being you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Fourth Avenue North

Birmingham, Alabama

Monday, October 17, 9:30 a.m.

Jess Harris Burnett had just poured her third cup of decaf when the jingle of the bell over the door sounded. As she walked toward the lobby, she heard receptionist Rebecca Scott welcoming the visitor to B&C Investigations. The office had been open almost a whole month now. Jess and her lifelong friend Buddy Corlew had made a good decision going into business together. With a nineteen-month-old daughter and a son due in a mere six weeks—Jess rubbed her enormous belly—stepping away from her position as deputy chief of Birmingham’s major crimes team had been the right move.

The memory of being held prisoner by Ted Holmes attempted to bully into her thoughts, and Jess pushed it away. Holmes, like the many serial killers before him she had helped track down, was history now. Still, Jess was well aware that there would always be a new face of evil just around the next corner. She intended to leave tracking down the killers to the Birmingham PD. Her goal now was to concentrate on the victims. With B&C Investigations, she was accomplishing that goal.

“I’ll let Mrs. Burnett know you’re here, Ms. Coleman,” Rebecca said as Jess came into the lobby.

“Gina, what brings you here this morning?” Jess flashed a smile for the receptionist. “Thank you, Rebecca. We’ll be in my office.”

Gina Coleman, Birmingham’s beloved and award-winning television journalist, gave Jess a hug. “You look great!”

“You’re the one who looks great,” Jess countered. “Married life agrees with you.”

Gina smiled and gave Jess another quick hug. On the way to her office, Jess grabbed her coffee and offered her friend a cup.

“No, thanks. I’ve had way too much already this morning.”

When they were settled in Jess’s office, Gina surveyed the small space. “You’ve done a wonderful job of making this place comfortable.”

Jess was proud of how their offices had turned out. The downtown location was good for business even if the building was a very old one. In Jess’s opinion, the exposed brick walls gave the place character. It was a good fit. Anyone who knew them would say that she and Buddy had more than a little character.

“Thanks.” Jess sipped her decaf and smiled. “You really do seem happy.” Gina looked amazing, as always. Her long brunette hair and runway-model looks had ensured her a position in the world of television news, but it was her incredible ability to find the story that had made her a highly sought-after journalist. Her personal bravery, too, inspired Jess. Gina had taken some fire when she’d announced she was gay and married the woman she loved. Standing firm, Gina had weathered the storm.

“I am very happy.” Gina stared at her hands a moment. When she met Jess’s gaze once more, her face was cluttered with worry. “Barb and I need your help.”

“What can I do? Name it.” Jess set her coffee aside.

“A couple of hours ago Barb’s younger sister, Amber, was called into the BPD about a murder.”

A frown lined Jess’s brow, reminding her that by the time this baby was in high school she would look like his grandmother rather than his mother. She spotted a new wrinkle every time she looked in the mirror. Don’t even go there.

“I hadn’t heard. There was a homicide last night?” This time a few months ago and Jess would have known the persons of interest and the prime suspects in every homicide long before an arrest was made in the city of Birmingham. Not anymore. Dan made it a point not to discuss work when he came home. Though she could still nudge him for details when the need arose, it was one of the perks of being married to the chief of police. A sense of well-being warmed her when she thought of her husband. He was a genuinely good man.

“Dan explained as much as he was at liberty to share. He assured me it was routine questioning, but I’m worried. I told him I was coming to you.” Gina sighed. “I don’t think he was very happy about my decision. He obviously prefers to keep murder and mayhem away from the mother of his children.”

Two years ago Jess would have been jealous at hearing Gina had spoken to Dan. The two had once been an on-again, off-again item. Now she counted Gina as a good friend. “Don’t worry about Dan.” Jess shook her head. “I’ve warned him time and again that just because I’m no longer a cop doesn’t mean I won’t be investigating murders.”

“If he had his way, you’d retire,” Gina teased. “We both know how he feels about keeping you safe.”

Jess had been cursed with more than her fair share of obsessed killers during her career first as an FBI profiler and then as a deputy chief in the Birmingham PD. Dan’s concern was understandable if unwarranted. Just because she was a mother now didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of herself. Admittedly, she had grown considerably more cautious.

“Tell me about the case.” Considering it was a murder case, she could get the details from Lieutenant Chet Harper or Sergeant Lori Wells. Chet had recently been named acting chief of the small major crimes team—SPU, Special Problems Unit—Jess had started. Lori was reassigned to Crimes Against Persons. One or the other would be investigating the homicide case. Jess hoped the case was with Harper. She counted Lori as her best friend, but the new chief of the Crimes Against Persons Division, Captain Vanessa Aldridge, was brash and obstinate, and carried the biggest chip on her shoulder Jess had ever encountered.

Though they’d only met once or twice, Jess was familiar with Barbara’s younger sister. Amber Roberts was a reporter at the same station, Channel Six, as Gina. She was young, beautiful and talented. Her and Barbara’s parents were from old money, but Gina would be the first to attest to the fact that a sparkling pedigree didn’t exempt one from murder. Gina’s own sister had paid the price for her part in a long-ago tragedy.

“Kyle Adler’s body was found in his home yesterday. He’d been stabbed repeatedly. Amber hardly knew the man. The very notion is ludicrous.” Gina held up a hand. “I know you’re probably thinking that I felt the same way about Julie, but this is different. Amber had nothing to do with this man’s murder.”

As much as Jess sympathized with Gina, Amber would not have been questioned if the police hadn’t found some sort of connection between her and the victim. “The police have something,” she reminded her friend. “You know this. What about the murder weapon—was it found?”

“They haven’t found the murder weapon.” Gina shook her head. “The whole thing is insane. Amber swears the only time she ever saw this guy was when he made a delivery to her or someone at the station. Apparently he made a living delivering for various shops around town. But the cops claim they found evidence indicating she’d been in his house. Unless someone is framing her, it simply isn’t possible.”

Jess chewed her bottom lip a moment. “It’s conceivable someone may have wanted Adler dead and set it up to look as though another person, like Amber, committed the act.”

“If that’s true—” Gina leaned forward “—not only do we need help finding the actual murderer that the police may not even try to find, we also need to protect Amber. She could be in danger from the real killer.”

Jess sent a text to Harper. “Let’s see who’s working the case first. Then we’ll know whether or not we have to worry about finding the truth. As for the other, I agree. If Amber is being framed, it’s quite possible she could be in danger. Personal security would be a wise step until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Buddy said you do protective services as well as private investigations.”

“We do,” Jess agreed. “Right now the only investigator we have available is Sean Douglas.”

Gina’s gaze narrowed. “I’m sensing some hesitation. Do you have reservations as to whether he can handle the job?”

Jess considered how to answer the question. “He spent the past five years as a bodyguard to various celebrities in Hollywood.” She shrugged. “Based on our research into his background, he was very, very good at his job. For two years prior to that he was a cop with the LAPD. He’s had all the right training, and his references are impeccable.”

Gina said, “There’s a but coming.”

“His last assignment was Lacy James.”

Gina sat back in her chair. “Damn.”

Lacy James had been a rising pop star. The rumors about drug abuse had followed her from singing in the church choir in her hometown of Memphis all the way to her Grammy nomination in LA last year.

“Her agent hired Douglas to keep an eye on her,” Jess explained. “According to Douglas, she had been straight for a while and her agent wanted to ensure she stayed that way. Six months into the assignment, she died of an overdose.”

Gina pressed her hands to her face, then took a breath. “Do you think what happened was in some way his fault?”

Jess shook her head. “Responsibility for what happened to Lacy James lies with her agent and her other handlers. They cared more about her career than they did her health and welfare. My only hesitation is that Douglas is a little too cocky for his own good. I think he uses attitude to cover the pain and guilt he feels about James’s death.” Jess paused to weigh her words. “I’m concerned his need to prove himself again might be an issue, but as for his ability to protect a client, he’s more than capable.”

Gina’s expression brightened. “Trust me—whatever this guy’s attitude, Amber can handle it. You don’t rise as rapidly in my business as she has without a tough skin and a little attitude. I’m desperate, Jess. I promised Barb I would take care of this.”

Jess felt confident Gina was right about Amber. Putting herself in front of the camera every day was hard work, and it wasn’t for the faint of heart. “Why don’t I learn all I can from the BPD and then I’ll brief Douglas. I’ll arrange a meeting with Amber, and we’ll go from there.”

“I will be forever in your debt.”

“We’ll take care of Amber,” Jess assured her friend.

Gina stood. Jess did the same, albeit a little less gracefully.

“I’m aware that we don’t always know a person as well as we believe—even the people closest to us,” Gina confessed. “But I would wager all I own that Amber had nothing to do with this man’s death.”

Jess nodded resolutely. “Then all we need to do is ensure she stays safe until the BPD can find the killer.”

Chapter Two

Forest Brook Drive, Homewood, 12:32 p.m.

Amber Roberts entered the necessary code to stop the infernal beeping of her security system, tossed her keys on the table by the door and then kicked off her heels. This had been the longest morning of her life. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe as the man assigned to keep an eye on her rushed past her to have a look before she went any farther into the house.

Forcing her mind and body to focus on her normal routine, she locked the front door and set the alarm. Without waiting to hear the all-clear signal, she grabbed her shoes and headed for her bedroom. This was her home. The alarm had still been set, for God’s sake. If anyone was in her house, he or she had been there since Amber left that morning. Otherwise the alarm would have gone off, right? She closed her eyes for a moment. At this point she wasn’t sure of anything.

Her stomach knotted at the memory of the police showing up just as her early morning news broadcast ended. Everyone had watched as the detective explained she was needed downtown and then escorted her from the station. She didn’t have to look to know her face would be plastered all over the evening papers as well as the internet and television broadcasts.

The damage control had to start now. She’d already tweeted and posted on Instagram and Facebook. The station had backed her up, as well. If the reaction didn’t make her sound petty and paranoid, she would swear Gerard Stevens from the station’s primary competitor had set her up.

Amber walked into her closet and shoved her shoes into their slots. Her head spun as she dragged off the dress that would forever remind her of the interview room where she’d endured a relentless interrogation by one of the BPD’s finest. She tossed the dress into the dry-cleaning hamper and reached for a pair of sweatpants and a tee. Worst of all, a man was dead. Though she only knew him in passing, she felt bad about his murder. He was someone’s son. Probably someone’s brother and significant other. She pulled on the sweatpants. Most people had a life—unlike her. Gina and Barb warned her repeatedly that she was going to be sorry for allowing her life to fly by while she was totally absorbed by work.

Who had time for a social life? Gina should know better than anyone. Amber was fairly confident her mentor was saying what Barb expected her to say. It didn’t matter either way. Amber was twenty-eight; her top priority was her career. She still had decades for falling in love and building a family.

Even if her narrow focus on her career did get lonely sometimes.

She yanked on the tee and kicked the thought aside. The police believed she was somehow involved in a man’s murder. Her love life, or lack thereof, was the least of her worries.

How the hell the police could think she was involved was the million-dollar question. Why in the world would she hurt this man, much less kill him? She scarcely knew him. He had made a few deliveries to her house. He was always pleasant, but they never exchanged more than a dozen words. None of what she’d been told by the police so far made the slightest bit of sense.

“The house is clear.”

Amber jumped, slamming her elbow into the wall. Frowning at the broad-shouldered man filling the doorway to her closet, she rubbed her funny bone.

“Thank you,” she said even though she didn’t quite feel thankful. She did not want a babysitter. She hadn’t killed anyone, and there was no reason for a soul to want to harm her. Reporting the news for the past six-plus years had given her certain insights into situations like this one, and hiring a bodyguard this early in the investigation was overreacting. There could only be two potential explanations for her current dilemma: mistaken identity or a frame job. Both happened. As hard as she tried, she could come up with no other explanation.

Her bodyguard’s gaze roamed from her face all the way to her toes and back with a couple of unnecessary pauses in between. Now that annoyed her. He was here to keep her safe—supposedly. He had no business looking at her as if she was the next conquest on his radar. Though she suspected Mr. Sexy-as-Hell usually didn’t have to work very hard to get what he wanted. The man was gorgeous. Tall, with those broad shoulders that narrowed into a lean waist. Thick blond hair just the right length for threading your fingers through and deep blue eyes. His muscular build attested to his dedicated workout ethics. With every extra thump of her pulse she understood that beneath his smooth, tanned skin was an ego large enough for the Vulcan iron man that watched over the city of Birmingham from high atop Red Mountain.

Sean Douglas was hot, and he damn well knew it.

As if he agreed wholeheartedly with her assessment, he gifted her with a nod and disappeared.

Amber sighed. She should pull herself together. Her attorney was on the way over with whatever details the police had shared with him. They’d done nothing but ask questions this morning. Each time her attorney had asked about the evidence, the detective had evaded the question. Still, she hadn’t needed a lawyer to tell her that she wouldn’t have been called in and so thoroughly questioned had there been no evidence. Friends, colleagues and people acquainted with the victim were questioned in their homes or workplaces. Only the ones about to be named a person of interest—or, worse, a suspect—were hauled to the station and interviewed. The police had wanted her off balance—which was not a good thing.

How the hell was this possible?

She needed a couple of cocktails and a good night’s sleep. Maybe she’d wake up in the morning and discover this had all been just one big old bad nightmare.

Finding Sean Douglas kicked back on the sofa in her living room reminded her that the situation was all too real.

“I put on a pot of coffee.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees. “I figured some caffeine would be useful the next few hours.”

She would have preferred a caramel latte, but she’d been too emotional to think of dropping by her favorite coffee shop after leaving the police department. Her parents were beside themselves. They were in a remote part of Africa on a medical aid mission and couldn’t get back for days. She and Barbara had insisted they stay and do the important work they’d gone there to do. This entire business was nothing more than a mistake. Surely it would be cleared up in a day or two.

Belatedly she remembered to say, “Thank you.” Her attorney, Frank Teller, was a coffee drinker. Vaguely she wondered how Douglas had known this or if he was a coffee guy, too.

“I can call in some lunch for delivery. I’m guessing you didn’t take time for breakfast this morning.”

She appreciated the offer but said, “I had a protein smoothie. I’m fine.”

He dismissed her response with a wave of his hand. “How about a pizza or a burger? Your choice.”

She couldn’t possibly eat. “I’m not hungry. Feel free to raid my kitchen or order something for yourself.”

His mouth eased into a lopsided grin. “Already done that. You’re fresh out of real food.”

A frown furrowed her brow. He’d prowled through her kitchen? What kind of bodyguard checked the fridge?

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” he suggested with a pat of the sofa cushion next to him.

Amber felt sure that inviting pat worked well for him under normal circumstances, but those blue eyes and that hopeful smile did little more than annoy her at the moment. “Weren’t you briefed on my case?”

The need for personal security was entirely new to her, but instinct told her a man assigned to protect her would certainly have been briefed about the situation. Small talk was the furthest thing from her mind. He needed to find a way to entertain himself if he was bored. She had no desire to chat.

“I was.” He clasped his hands between his spread thighs.

“What else do you need to know?” She gave herself a mental pat on the back for not sounding as snippy as she felt.

“Until this situation is resolved,” he began, tracking her movements with those blue eyes as she settled in a chair a few feet away, “we’ll be spending a lot of time together. It’s helpful to know a little more than the facts of the case. What time do you like to get up in the mornings? What’s your usual bedtime? Do you watch television or read or just relax in the evenings? Should I expect company? Is there a boyfriend to accommodate?” He shrugged. “Things like that are good to know.”

For the love of Mike. Amber shook off the frustration. His request had merit. No need to be unreasonable. “I’m up at six unless I’m called to a scene earlier or I host the morning news the way I did this morning. I go to bed right after the ten o’clock news assuming I haven’t been called out to a scene. I usually leave the television turned on all night.” She glanced at the dark screen hanging on the wall above her fireplace. She imagined that every channel was running stories about her and the murder. “I might be taking a break from that habit for a few days.”

“Understandable.” He cocked an eyebrow. “What about a boyfriend?”

“There is no boyfriend.” Somehow saying it out loud sounded far worse than simply knowing it. She hadn’t been in a serious relationship in more than a year. Maybe there wouldn’t be another one. Who had time? More important, who cared? She had everything she needed. If that’s so, why the sudden need to justify your status?

He made a knowing sound as something like surprise flashed across his face. “A girlfriend then?”

“No girlfriend.”

He made one of those male grunts that could convey surprise as easily as indifference. Either way, the sound got on her already-frazzled nerves.

“Your degree is in mass communications,” he said, changing the subject. “When did you decide you preferred working in front of the camera versus behind it?”

“I didn’t decide. The journalist I assisted during my first assignment was in a car accident. Everyone was on the scene except her and the cameraman told me to get in front of the camera and do the job. The audience responded well to me, so that’s where the powers that be decided I should be—on-screen.”

“But you had aspirations?”

Amber nodded. “I had my heart set on hosting one of the big entertainment news shows.” She laughed, remembering the horror on her parents’ faces when she’d told them. “It wasn’t exactly the career my family had hoped for.”

He smiled. It was nice. Really nice. Too nice, damn it. “Your parents and your sister are all doctors.”

“Yes. I’m the black sheep.” The realization that her words had never been truer stole the air from her lungs. Now she was a potential suspect in a homicide.

The doorbell saved her from going down that pity path. She stood to go to the door, but Douglas moved ahead of her and checked the security viewfinder.

“It’s Mr. Teller.”

Douglas opened the door, and Teller came inside. He’d already been introduced to the man who would be keeping watch over her. There was just something wrong with calling him a bodyguard. Particularly since she continued to have a bit of trouble keeping her attention off his body. The foolish reaction had to be about sex. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone since she and Josh had ended their relationship.

Her gaze drifted to the man assigned to protect her. Don’t even go there.

“We should speak privately,” Frank Teller announced before saying hello. He looked from Amber to Douglas and back.

“I’d like him to stay,” Amber countered. Douglas and his boss would need to be kept up to speed anyway.

When Teller relented, Douglas insisted on serving the coffee. Amber was happy to let him do the honors. Her knees were feeling a little weak as she sank back into a chair. Maybe it was the grim expression Teller wore.

He placed his briefcase on the coffee table and opened it. “The news is not good.”

Amber’s stomach did the sinking now. “What sort of evidence could they possibly have? I don’t even know this man! He...he made deliveries to my house and the station a couple of times.” Maybe more than a couple of times. Still, the whole thing was incredible.

“Amber.” Teller closed his briefcase and placed the folder he’d removed atop it. “I’ve known your family for most of my life. Your father is my father’s personal physician. Your mother was my pediatrician. I, of all people, know this is wrong. You couldn’t possibly have harmed this man. Yet the evidence is enough to make even me have second thoughts.”

The trembling she had experienced that morning after the initial shock that no one was playing a joke on her started anew. The police had mentioned evidence without providing the details. “What evidence? I don’t know how they could find evidence that leads back to me in a home where I’ve never been...on a body I’ve never touched.”

“They found a teacup with your prints on it.”

“What?” The situation had just gone from unbelievable to incomprehensible. “If there is anything in that poor man’s house that either belonged to me or bore my prints, someone—besides me—put it there.”

Before Teller could respond, Douglas returned with the coffee. He’d gone to the trouble to find her grandmother’s serving tray and to dig out the china cups and saucers rather than the stoneware mugs. He’d even prepared the creamer and sugar servers. Her disbelief was temporarily sidelined by the idea that he would think to go to so much trouble.

Douglas placed the tray on the coffee table, and she noted there were only two cups. “If you need me for anything—” he hitched his thumb toward the rear of the house “—I’ll be outside checking the perimeter.”

“Thank you.” Amber suddenly didn’t want anyone else to hear these incredible lies—at least not until she had heard them.

When Douglas was gone, Teller said, “Amber, I realize this is shocking.”

He’d certainly nailed her feelings with that statement. “I don’t understand how any of this happened.” She shook her head, overwhelmed and confused and, honestly, terrified. “You see it on television or in the movies, but this is real life. My life.”

“Do you drink a tea called Paradise Peach?”

Something cold and dark welled inside her. She moistened her lips and cleared her throat. “Yes. It’s my favorite. There’s a specialty shop downtown that stocks it.”

“A can of Paradise Peach tea was found in the victim’s home. Your prints were on the can.”

Worry furrowed her brow and bumped her pulse rate to a faster rhythm. “Maybe he shopped there, too. He may have picked up a can after I did.” Hope knotted in her chest, but it was short-lived. How did a person prove a theory as full of circumstantial holes as the one she’d just suggested?

“Certainly,” he agreed. “Bear in mind that the burden of proof is not ours. It will be up to the BPD to make their case. For that they need evidence, which brings us to the cup that also bore your prints.”

The rationale she had attempted to use earlier vanished. Dear Lord she felt as if she had just awakened in the middle of a horror film and she was the next victim. All she had to do now was scream.

“Take a look at these crime scene photos.” He opened the folder and removed two eight-by-ten photographs. He scooted his briefcase and the serving platter to the far side of the table and placed the photographs in front of her. “These are copies, so they’re not the best quality.”

The first one showed the victim lying on the floor next to the dining table in what she presumed was his kitchen. Blood had soaked his shirt. He appeared to have multiple stab wounds to the chest. Poor man. She swallowed back the lump of emotion that rose in her throat and moved on to the second one. The second was a wider-angle view showing more of the room. Definitely the kitchen. Her attention zeroed in on the table. The table was set for two. Teacups sat in matching saucers, each flanked by a spoon and linen napkin. She squinted at the pattern on the cups. A floral pattern for sure, but difficult to distinguish.

“He was having tea with someone.” She lifted her gaze to Teller’s. “Whoever that person was, he or she is likely the one who killed him. Based on the prints found at the scene, the police believe that person was you.”

Hands shaking, she pressed her fingers to her mouth to hold back the cry of outrage. “The medical examiner is certain about the time of death?”

Teller nodded. “Last Friday night, around eight. It’ll be a while before we have the autopsy results, which will tell us what he had for dinner and various other details that may or may not help our case.”

Amber made a face.

“Knowing what and where he ate might help us,” Teller explained. “The police might be able to track down the restaurant—if he ate out—and someone there might remember if he was alone.”

Sounded like a long shot to her. The detectives had pressed her over and over about her whereabouts on Friday night. It was the one time she’d come home early and hit the sack. She hadn’t spent any time doing research at the station, she hadn’t spoken to anyone and she’d had no company. None of her neighbors could confirm she was home. She hadn’t done any work on her home computer, which might have confirmed her whereabouts. Bottom line, she had no alibi.

Disgusted, she shook her head. “Single people all over the world should be terrified of spending a quiet evening at home alone.” If she were married or involved in a relationship, she might have spent time or at least spoken to her plus one that evening.

“There’s more.”

His somber tone caused her heart to skip a beat.

“A pair of panties were found in his bed. There was trace evidence. A pubic hair and a much longer hair...” He touched his head. “They want you to agree to a DNA test.”

The heart that had stumbled a moment ago slammed against her ribs now. “Do you think I should?” Considering her fingerprints were there, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat tentative as to how to proceed. “I know I haven’t been in his house or his bed, so I have nothing to hide, but my fingerprints were there.” She pressed a hand to her throat. “If someone is setting me up...”

He reached into his folder and removed another photograph. “Do you recognize these?”

The red panties in the photograph stole her ability to draw in air. She shot to her feet and rushed to her bedroom. Opening drawer after drawer, she rifled through her things and then slammed each door closed in turn. Her pulse pounding, she moved to the laundry hamper.

The panties weren’t there.

Teller stood at her bedroom door, worry lining his face. “Lots of women have red panties. My wife has red panties. How can you be sure you recognize these?”

Her lungs finally filled with air. “The little bows.” She paused to release the big breath she’d managed to draw in. “There should be a little satin red bow on each side. One is missing. It annoys me every time I see it. I’ve meant to throw them away...”

Of course any woman with red panties that sported little red bows could be missing a bow. In her gut, Amber knew better than to believe it was a mere coincidence. Her red one-bowed panties were missing. There was a teacup in the man’s house, for God’s sake, with her prints on it. She didn’t need a DNA test to prove a damned thing. The hair and any other trace evidence would be hers, as well. Whoever wanted her to appear guilty had done a bang-up job.

Douglas appeared behind Teller. “Is everything okay?”

No. Everything was not okay. In fact, nothing was okay.

“I’ll do the DNA test,” Amber said to the man representing her.

Teller gave her a resigned nod. “I’ll set it up.”

Dear God. She was in serious trouble here.

Chapter Three

The mouthpiece hung around awhile longer, asking more questions and making Amber even more upset. Sean had heard of the guy. All the rich folks in Jefferson County used him. Teller didn’t need billboards or commercials with catchy jingles. The family name got him all the business he would ever need. It didn’t hurt that he had a reputation for being the best damn attorney in town.

Sean turned his attention back to assessing Amber’s place. If the items found in the victim’s residence were Amber’s and she hadn’t put them there, someone had been in her home. The reality likely hadn’t sunk in for her just yet. It would hit her soon enough. It was time to start considering who would want to see Amber go down for murder. There had to be an old schoolmate or ex-bestie, maybe even a competitor at a rival television station with a grudge against her. Revenge, jealousy, there were all kinds of potential motives.

No matter that he’d only been employed at B&C Investigations for a month, he’d learned a lot from the boss already. Jess had a motto: find the motive, find the killer. When looking for the source of trouble, there was no better advice. The boss didn’t exactly have a lot of confidence in Sean just yet. She’d been reluctant to assign him this case—which was exactly why he had to do the best job possible. Of course, he always wanted to do a good job, but he couldn’t allow even a single misstep this time. He had a feeling the first mistake and he would be out at B&C Investigations.

For damned sure he would never again allow the kind of mistake he’d made on his last security assignment. His bad judgment had cost a life.

His fingers stilled on the back door’s lock mechanism. How could he blame Jess Burnett for not fully trusting him? No matter that he had years of outstanding work history under his belt, his last assignment for his former employer had gone to hell. The only reason he’d gotten the job with B&C Investigations was because Buddy Corlew and Sean’s older brother, Chase, were friends. They’d played high school football together—against each other, actually. Chase had warned Sean that a year of moping around was enough. Sean had to get on with his life. During his time in Hollywood he’d built up considerable savings. Private security in the entertainment world paid extremely well. Finding a new job hadn’t been necessary the first year after he returned home, but his brother was right. Sean had to get on with at least part of his life. His personal life might never recover from his mistake with Lacy, but there was no excuse for allowing his professional life to stay in the toilet.

“Is there something wrong with my door?”

Amber’s question snapped him from his worrisome thoughts. He closed the door and shook his head. “I’ve checked front and back doors, and so far no sign of forced entry. The windows are next.”

A frown dragged down the corners of her lips. She had nice lips. Full and pink. Her red hair and green eyes were a vivid contrast to her pale skin. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose she worked so hard to cover with makeup made him want to smile. She was a gorgeous lady, no doubt, but not the kind of overdone Hollywood beauty he’d disliked in California. Amber’s was natural and completely unpretentious. He’d been watching her and fantasizing for months.

Fantasies and casual encounters were all he had anymore. He wasn’t sure he would ever trust himself in a real relationship again, and he would never permit work to become personal. Of course, his brother warned him that a guy still six months from thirty shouldn’t be throwing in the towel.

Realization dawned in the lady’s pretty green eyes. “You think someone broke into my home and took my...the evidence the police found.” The frown reappeared. “But how did they get my prints on the teacup?”

When he looked confused, she quickly explained about the evidence the BPD had discovered in the murder victim’s home.

Sean inspected the second of three kitchen windows. “Trust me,” he said in answer to her question, “there are ways to get into any place—home or business—if a person wants in badly enough.”

Amber followed him into the living room. She watched silently as he confirmed the windows were locked and that all the locking mechanisms were in working order.

“You mean like overriding security codes?”

“That’s one way, yes.” He shrugged. “Folks who make it their business to break and enter can unlock about any kind of lock with or without a key.”

Rather than continue with her hovering too close and watching his every move, he decided to run a few questions by her. Why not start with the most obvious ones she’d already answered for his boss and more than likely for the police? “Do you have any enemies, Amber?”

Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and she dropped into the nearest chair. “Your boss and the police asked me that question along with a barrage of others. The answer is no. I’ve never had any sort of trouble with anyone. I’ve never had a stalker. Never received strange emails or Facebook messages. The fan mail from viewers is never threatening or overly negative. Someone might disagree with the way I reported an issue or event, but so far no one has taken it any further.”

“Lucky you. Most celebrities get their fair share of threatening or nasty mail.” Sean meant the comment as a compliment, but judging by her sigh she didn’t feel so lucky. He hitched his head toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. “How about persistent fans or admirers? Any of those?”

Amber pushed to her feet and trailed after him. “The usual. I typically receive flowers at the station a couple of times a week, depending on the stories I’ve covered. The high-profile stories generate the most reaction from viewers. Letters, food baskets, the occasional gift.” She rubbed at the back of her neck and then stretched it from side to side. “Nothing negative.”

The single window in the hall bath was secure. Sean moved to the first of the three bedrooms. “Any that are unsigned or from repeat senders?”

“A few.”

Both windows in bedroom one were secure. “Define ‘a few.’”

Following him to the next bedroom, she shrugged and said, “Four or five fans who consistently send little gifts. The occasional unsigned letter, maybe once or twice a month.”

“Have you ever met any of the four or five gift senders?” He progressed from the first window to the second before moving on to the final bedroom—her private space.

“The station has a big community day twice a year.” She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing his errant attention momentarily to her breasts. “You know, to thank the viewers. We do photos and giveaways. Have games and hot dogs. There’s always a clown and a couple of cartoon characters for the kids. Sometimes the people who write to me or send me gifts or flowers come by and say hi. No drama or discomfort. Just a friendly hello and a request for an autograph.”

The instant he entered her bedroom he felt completely out of place. The room smelled like her. Whatever perfume she wore was restrained but unmistakable. Light and citrusy. The delicate fragrance was barely there but so uniquely her, as if the subtle sweetness came from all that soft, satiny skin. He gave his head a mental shake. Evidently the skintight tee she wore had his imagination running a little wild.

The bed was big, too large for a woman to lie in alone. The bedding was pure white, lush and natural—like Amber. It didn’t take much to summon the image of that long, curly red hair flowing over those white linens. His body tightened with need at the thought of climbing onto that bed and kissing his way up her naked body.

Do the job, man. “Do you keep the unsigned letters?” He walked to the nearest window and confirmed it was locked. “Some of those may be from the same person.”

She massaged her temples as if a headache had begun there. Who wouldn’t have a headache? She was a person of interest in a murder case. That was enough to give anyone a headache.

“I never looked to see if there were similarities in the handwriting. I don’t keep them all. Only the ones that touch me in some way. In fact, Gina and I did a special about how feedback from viewers added a richness to our work.” She smiled; his pulse reacted. “We each shared things about ourselves that viewers could hopefully relate to. It was one of the most watched local programs last year.”

Her bedroom windows were secure. He stepped into the en suite bath. The only window was one of the half-moon types above the shower and it didn’t open. Like the rest of her home, the bathroom was organized and well-appointed. The house was a traditional one-story brick in an upscale, older neighborhood. According to the background report Jess had given him, Amber had lived here since graduating college. She’d inherited the house from her grandmother.

He returned to the bedroom, where she waited in the middle of the room looking very much like a lost little girl. “You keep the fan mail here or at work?”

“Here.” She opened the double doors leading to what he presumed would be the closet.

He hesitated in the doorway. The closet was almost as large as the bedroom with a sliding library-style ladder that provided access to the upper shelves that banded all the way around the space above the hanging clothes.

“The house used to have four bedrooms,” she explained as she adjusted the ladder. “I used the fourth bedroom to expand the bathroom and for this closet.”

“Looks like you made a smart move.” He surveyed the rods and rods of clothes and the rows of shoes and whistled. “This could be a supermodel’s closet.”

“Ha-ha. Viewers notice if you wear the same outfit.” She climbed up the ladder and reached for a box covered in a floral pattern resting on the first shelf.

“Let me take that.” He stepped over to the ladder and reached up to take the box.

“I suppose you’d know a supermodel’s closet when you saw one. My sister told me you were a bodyguard to the stars.”

He accepted the box and waited for her to climb down the few rungs. “I may have seen one or two.”

She pushed the ladder back into its storage position. “Don’t be modest, Mr. Douglas. Barbara says you had quite the reputation in Hollywood as a top security specialist as well as a ladies’ man.”

Apparently she hadn’t heard the whole story. “Where do you want these?” He was damned ready to get out of her bedroom. Being surrounded by her scent and her private things in what now felt like a small space was too much.

“Kitchen table.”

Rather than be a gentleman and wait for her to go first, he got the hell out of her closet and her bedroom. A few deep breaths and he still hadn’t cleared her scent from his lungs. He shook off the uneasiness and placed the box on the round table that stood in the breakfast alcove of the kitchen.

The red and pink rose-patterned box wasn’t a typical file storage size. Handholds were formed on each end. Judging by the weight, it was made of heavy-gauge cardboard. He’d noted several of varying sizes on the uppermost shelf of her closet. Some he recognized as photograph boxes. All were neatly arranged by size and color. His mother had similar tastes and organizing habits. From what he’d seen so far, his mother would like Amber.

He booted the concept out of his head. Maybe he needed more coffee. He was sure as hell having a hard time keeping his head on straight.

Amber joined him at the table. She pressed a hand to her flat belly and made a face.

“Look.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “I know you TV personalities don’t like to eat for fear of gaining half an ounce, but you’re going through some serious trauma right now. You need to eat.”

Her green eyes were wide with surprise or indignation because he’d touched her or that he’d dared to give her an order or both. He released her and dropped his hands back to his sides.

“No need for strong-arm tactics, Mr. Douglas. I was just thinking that I needed to eat.” She turned gracefully and marched to the refrigerator.

Strong-arm tactics? Well, at least she was smart enough to listen to good advice.

She pulled open the freezer drawer and selected a frozen dinner—the organic, calorie-conscious kind. While she removed the outer packaging, she flashed him a fake smile and said, “Take your pick. I highly recommend the pecan chicken and rice.”

While she nuked her meal, he rummaged through the selection. He chose the pizza. The photo on the box looked normal enough, though he doubted one would ever be enough. The way his stomach was protesting, he could eat his weight in steak and potatoes about now.

“Water or coffee?” She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge for herself.

“Water would be great.”

Ten minutes later they were seated at the table with their little prepackaged meals—little being the operative word. The first bite of the pizza did two things. Burned the hell out of his mouth and confirmed that although it looked nothing like the one on the box, it tasted exactly like the box.

“Gina says you grew up in Birmingham.” She twirled her fork in the noodles of her meal. She’d picked out the little chicken and broccoli chunks.

He imagined the noodles tasted somewhat similar to his pizza. “I did. When I graduated high school I went for a criminal justice degree. After that I headed out to Cali with my best friend. We both went to work for the LAPD. My friend’s parents had divorced when he was a kid. His father promised him a job with the department if he wanted to move out to California after school.”

“So you both became cops?”

He tore off another chunk of the tasteless pizza and nodded. “Two years later the top personal security team in the LA area offered me a position with a salary I couldn’t refuse.”

“You must have done something to grab their attention?” She smiled, and his pulse executed another of those crazy dips.

“I might have saved a couple of lives in a nightclub shoot-out while off duty and without a firearm.” He shoved the last of the pizza into his mouth to prevent having to say more. The doped-up ex-husband who’d come after his wife in a crowded club with a cocked and loaded nine millimeter had every intention of killing anyone in the room with her. There hadn’t been time to think, only to act. Sean had thrown himself at the guy. Two shots had hissed by his head, close enough to have him wishing he’d gone to church a little more often. Clips from the club’s security cameras had played on all the local networks and even a couple of national ones for days. The notoriety had bothered him. He’d done the right thing. Maybe that might have made him a hero to some.

“Had you always envisioned yourself as a bodyguard to the stars?” Amber set her fork aside and sipped her water.

“Never crossed my mind until they knocked on my door.”

“What was it like? Are the big stars as difficult to work with as the gossip rags suggest?”

He really didn’t want to talk about his past. Things always ventured into the territory he still couldn’t revisit. The only reason he hadn’t changed the subject already was because she looked relaxed for the first time since they’d met.

“Stars are like anyone else. You’ve got the nice ones, and you’ve got the jerks. They put on their pants the same way you and I do.”

“According to Gina, you’re the best.”

He pushed back from the table and stood. “Your friend might have exaggerated just a little.” He carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it before depositing it into the dishwasher. Amber did the same with her bowl and fork.

“We need a notepad or something to list the names of the people who’ve written to you repeatedly.” He moved back to the table. The sooner they focused on the reason he was here, the quicker she would forget about all the questions she appeared to have for him. Not that he had expected anything less from the lady. Amber might not be a big-screen celebrity, but she was damned sure a big star in Birmingham. “Anyone who seems overly interested in your career or you as a person is what we’re looking for.”

She opened a drawer and came up with a notepad and pen.

“We should talk about your neighbors,” he went on. “Friends. Ex-boyfriends. Former girlfriends. Anyone who knows your routine. Anyone who knows you well enough to have a handle on your likes and dislikes. Paradise Peach tea, for instance. Who would know about your taste in tea?”

When she’d settled back at the table, she placed the pen next to the pad and looked him straight in the eye. “My sister and my parents. My colleagues at work. None of them would do this any more than I would. Most of my neighbors are the same ones who lived here when my grandmother was still alive. They’re older, and I’ve known them forever. I have no former girlfriends. I only have current ones.”

“No fallings-out. No estrangements of any kind?”

“There are people with whom I’ve lost touch, but nothing like you’re suggesting.”

“What about ex-boyfriends? Even the one-night stands—especially the one-night stands.”

“I don’t do one-night stands, Mr. Douglas. This is not Hollywood.”

“But it is the twenty-first century. Even people in Alabama do one-night stands, Ms. Roberts.”

“Not this person.” Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “And before you jump to that conclusion, I’m not a prude, either.”

“Ex-boyfriends?”

“We talked about this already.”

He exhaled a big breath and reached for patience. “I need more details.”

“There have been three.”

Did she just say three? “Three?” he echoed.

She gave him a sharp look that answered the question. “One in high school. We started dating when we were freshmen. We broke up when we went our separate ways to college. He’s married with three children and lives in Wyoming. My second boyfriend was in college. He decided he wanted to travel the world before settling down. To my knowledge he’s still doing so. Last year I broke up with the man to whom I’d been engaged for two years.”

“Please tell me you dated a few guys in between.”

“A few. Yes. I was very busy with my education and then with building my career, Mr. Douglas.”

“Sean,” he countered. “The Mr. Douglas thing makes me feel old.”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to make you feel old, Sean,” she acquiesced.

Like every other ridiculous reaction he’d experienced since coming into her home, the sound of his first name on those pink lips disrupted the rhythm of his pulse again. “The ex-fiancé has no reason to want to cause you trouble?”

She sent him a look. “Killing a man and leaving my panties in his bed is a little more than causing me trouble—wouldn’t you say?”

He nodded. She had him there. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“We broke up because he confessed that he’d never stopped loving his college sweetheart. They’re married with a baby on the way. They live in Mobile. I’m certain I’m the last person on his mind these days.”

The guy must have been a total idiot.

Sean cleared his throat and his head. “That leaves us with strangers.” More often than not, crimes of this nature were committed by an intimate, but not always. Occasionally strangers formed fantasy relationships or attachments with high-profile personalities. Once in a while those bonds led to murder.

“Okay.” She stood, took the lid from the box and set it aside. “I have quite a few letters and cards here.” She reached inside and lifted a mound of envelopes. She placed them on the table. She reached into the box once more and stalled. “What in the world?” Her eyes widened with horror. “Oh, my God.”

Sean moved to her side. In the box, amid the stacks of envelopes addressed to Amber Roberts, was a knife. Nothing elaborate or exotic, just a stock kitchen butcher knife, with an eight-or ten-inch blade covered in dried blood.

It was time to call his boss.

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