“You look frazzled,” he noted in his more usual low-key fashion.
She regarded the ends of her hair and tried not to picture what his idea of frazzled entailed. When his gaze slid to her face, she caught just enough of his expression for comprehension to click in. “You thought it was because of Warren Critch, didn’t you?”
He jiggled a wire. “He’s never been happy about what you did in that alley.”
“I don’t believe this.” With a fatalistic laugh, Romana circled away, then returned. “I’m surrounded by enigmatic men. Give me something, Dylan. You hate me, you don’t. You want Critch to hurt Jacob and me, you want him to fail. You’ve seen him, you haven’t—what is it? Talk to me. React. Emote.”
He straightened, and his eyes—not as penetrating as Jacob’s—captured hers. “Warren and I talked on the phone the day he was released. One conversation, two minutes long. I thought he wanted money. He said he didn’t. He just wanted me to know he still thinks about Belinda every day, and he lives in that downtown alley every night.”
Romana’s hackles rose. “Jacob didn’t kill her, Dylan.”
“Someone did.”
“Yes.” Her mind slipped sideways. “Someone did.” Then with conviction, “But it wasn’t Jacob.”
Dylan’s chuckle had a raw edge. “You know, I can almost believe you. You sound so sure of yourself.” He stepped closer. “But I don’t think you’re as certain as you pretend to be.”
No way would she be intimidated by him. Romana held her ground and her nerve. She lifted a finger to his chin and tapped it in a manner intended to provoke. “You know, Dylan, it seems to me that someone must have redirected all those cards Critch wrote to Jacob and me while he was in prison. The postmarks said they were mailed from northern Kentucky. And you are, or were, his brother-in-law.”
Dylan’s eyebrows came together. “Warren wrote to you?”
“Subtly threatened is the way I see it now. He made sure that Jacob and I received Christmas cards every year, to let us know, I imagine, that he wasn’t going to forget about us, or the part he felt we played in Belinda’s death.”
Wilted organ music hovered in the air between them. Dylan’s features remained cold. “If Warren’s been threatening you, then he must still believe Knight murdered Belinda. I sorted through her stuff after she died, Romana. There was nothing that incriminated anyone else.”
“Anyone else?” Romana challenged softly. “Or anyone at all?”
If human features could take on the characteristics of a granite carving, Dylan’s did at that moment. She could almost hear the war that raged inside his head. He so wanted Jacob to be guilty. He needed to hate a specific person, not a faceless, nameless entity.
Before he could respond, they heard a rustle of fabric in the hallway. Romana didn’t have to look to know who was there.
Jacob’s hands were jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket. His expression was far less promising than Dylan’s. “You want to take a swing at someone, pal, take it at me.” He started toward them, slowly, deliberately. “Romana did her job in that alley. I’m the one who saw Belinda before she died.”
Dylan’s gaze flicked from Jacob to Romana and back again. When he finally spoke, it was in a controlled undertone. “Belinda said that Warren used to go down to the basement and brood when he got angry. Sometimes, he’d stay down there for hours, once for a whole day. Eventually, he’d come up, and when he did, he’d always find a way to get back at the person who’d angered him. Warren’s had six long years to brood about you two. Now that he’s out, my guess is he’ll let his vindictive side take over—until the source or sources of that feeling are eliminated.”
“I AM SO, SO TIRED OF BEING threatened.” Romana stalked back and forth in the hospital parking lot. Her white coat flapped open around her ankles, and a playful wind blew her long hair around her face. “Critch is convinced that you murdered his wife. Dylan’s ninety percent sure of it. Even Fitz, my own cousin, thinks you’re dangerous. Me, I still choose to believe you didn’t do it, because I think you’re a good person, and I know you’re a good cop. No, better than good, you’re an excellent cop.” She paused, slanted him a contemplative look. “The kind of cop female rookies fresh out of the Academy probably still fantasize about.”
Jacob had been leaning against the front fender of his SUV while she vented her frustration. Now his green eyes shifted from the distant line of freeway traffic to her face.
“Did you have fantasies about me, Romana?”
She resumed her pacing, but at a slower tempo. “I might have.” Amusement kindled at his expression. “Come on, Jacob, I was young, not happily married and not liking that fact one bit. You were an unattainable male. You didn’t notice me.” Amusement blossomed into a laugh. “Don’t be polite and pretend you did. Rookies are a pain, necessary to the force, but a pain just the same. I remember one time…” A sudden thought struck. “Oh, no!” She started to look at her watch, remembered she’d loaned it to her sister-in-law and grabbed Jacob’s arm. “What time is it?” A frustrated sound escaped. “It can’t be seven o’clock? I’m supposed to be in the park, watching Teresa figure-skate.”
“Are you serious?” He trapped her wrist before she could search for her keys.
“It’s for a Christmas play, Jacob. Pageant in the Park. The deputy mayor’s wife put it together. Tonight’s only a dress rehearsal, but I promised I’d be there, and I never break a promise, especially not to a seven-year-old child.”
He held fast even when she gave her wrist a tug. Romana knew she could have made a more determined effort to release herself, but her skin felt oddly warm under his fingers, and there were fiery little arrows currently racing up her arm to her throat.
“Huh.” She paused for a moment to marvel. “Didn’t expect that.”
Jacob’s expression altered slowly, went from exasperated to intrigued. He loosened his grip, but didn’t release her. Instead, he drew her closer and looked down into her eyes.
The pulse at the base of her throat beat like an erratic drum. Logically speaking, she should feel uneasy about this. After all, wanting to believe wasn’t the same thing as actually believing. Jacob had no alibi for the night Belinda Critch had died. But he did have the most riveting features, especially his eyes, sea-green with the barest hint of gray. And then there was his mouth…
“I’m…uh…hmm—lost the thought.” And possibly her mind with it. But right then she didn’t care. She was too busy wanting to pull that incredibly sexy mouth of his down and kiss him until she couldn’t think about anything else.
She’d wanted to kiss him almost from the first time she’d met him. Being married, she’d felt guilty about that, so she’d made a point of not looking any more than necessary—until Connor had cheated on her.
“Probably a good thing,” she murmured.
Jacob’s eyes fixed on hers. “Good things have the potential to turn bad, Romana. His lips twisted slightly. “Voice of experience.”
She tipped her head to regard him. Surely one kiss couldn’t hurt. She
