had been taken up in court waiting to testify on a burglary arrest, and Collier had offered to finish sending the queries to the prisons. She hadn’t heard from him since before lunch when he’d told her Gwen Hadley’s alibi was solid. She wondered if he had learned anything new.
She expected he would be at tonight’s dedication, representing the fire investigator’s office in Terra’s absence. After Kiley spoke to Chief Smith and exchanged a few words with Lt. Hager and his wife, she made her way to the cash bar and ordered a ginger ale.
Despite the freezing temperatures outdoors and the veed back of her dress, the crowd of people inside kept her more than warm. It didn’t take long to spot Collier dancing in the center of the carpeted room. He wasn’t the tallest man here, so why had her gaze gone straight to him as if reeled there?
She should go ask him if he had any new information, but she couldn’t bring herself to stand near the stream of women who kept asking him to dance. In a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and muted red tie, he looked distinguished and commanding. He was clean shaven, the overhead light blunting the sharp angles of his jaw-and cheekbones, and still his appearance was rugged. She’d thought him blatantly male in his turnout gear, but the effect tonight was devastating. She could appreciate a gorgeous man even if she didn’t want him.
Recalling the bare chest she’d seen at his house, she knew the broad shoulders beneath that jacket were every bit real and not an illusion created by good tailoring.
Kiley hated these types of events, where she had to dress to the nines and schmooze with city officials. She would much rather be talking to the residents of Presley, for whom this center had been built, but Collier looked at ease as he chatted with members of city government who danced past him.
Watching him move on and off the dance floor with obscene regularity, Kiley saw no trace of the wounded man from yesterday. Just the heartbreaker she’d heard about, the one she planned to avoid. As a high-tempo dance song ended, he escorted Shelby Fox off the floor, and the pair joined a group in a corner that included Kiley’s sister, Kristin.
Deciding she’d rather talk to him in a crowd as opposed to alone, Kiley made her way toward the corner. She recognized Clay Jessup, the lanky cop who stood between her sister and Shelby, but the man to her sister’s left was unfamiliar. Kristin’s hair was the same dark gold as their mother’s, with enough wave to coax it into whatever style she wanted. Tonight she wore it down and loose, just as Kiley did. The fluttery white blouse she had paired with Kiley’s long black satin skirt was as dressy as the bronze knee-length dress Kiley had chosen.
More than one guy had asked Kristin to dance, but Kiley noted Collier hadn’t. Probably because he’d been too busy dancing with everyone else.
She walked up to the edge of the group, and her sister smiled. “Hi, Ki.”
“Hello.”
Kristin pulled her into the circle. “Does everyone know my sister?”
“Hey, Russell.” Clay Jessup smiled and Shelby waved.
Kiley and Clay had gone through the police academy together, and she knew Shelby because the woman was one of Clay’s closest friends. Kristin introduced Trey Vance, a computer technician from her office.
Kiley felt Collier’s gaze burning her skin and finally met his eyes. “Hello, McClain.”
“Detective.” His gaze skated over her body, and reaction clenched her belly.
Why, why, why did she have to feel anything? Determined to ignore the drumming pull of awareness she felt, she started to move next to him and ask if they’d had any responses yet from the prisons. Someone tapped on the microphone situated on the small stage a few feet away, and she paused.
After a few seconds of screeching feedback, Mayor Griffin greeted everyone and encouraged applause for the band as its members left the stage for a break. The mayor then invited everyone’s attention to the newly completed building and this spacious room, which would host community events such as senior citizen exercise classes or the citizens’ police academy.
The shiny wooden stage steps were trimmed with the same blue-and-gray flecked carpet that covered the floor and complemented the blue walls. The large space, which could be partitioned off to make four rooms, sparkled with the shine of newness. After a few moments the mayor introduced everyone who had worked on the community center’s planning committee.
When he introduced prominent criminal defense attorney Raye Ballinger, Trey Vance said, loud enough for their small circle, “I can’t believe they let her serve on the committee. The best thing the ‘Ball Basher’ could do for Presley would be to leave.”
Mayor Griffin turned the program over to Raye for her comments, and Kiley grimaced, unsure about what to expect from the woman. She’d had dealings with the dogged attorney in court.
Raye Ballinger was dressed to kill in a dramatic off-the-shoulder black-and-white gown with black elbow-length gloves. Her blond hair was piled atop her head; light caught the sparkling necklace and matching earrings she wore. From what Kiley had heard, the attorney earned enough to afford real diamonds.
“The city probably paid for those earrings and that necklace,” Kristin said behind her.
“We’re probably still paying.” Trey’s voice was low. “You know, her brother committed suicide several months back. Everyone expected her to sue the city, and sure enough, she instigated a lawsuit last month.”
Raye Ballinger had also brought a suit against Presley about three years ago for a policeman who said he’d been fired unfairly. She had intimidated every witness she could, and Kiley had the scars to prove it. She hadn’t folded under the lawyer’s sharklike attack, but others had. The woman was relentless to the point of cruelty, and Kiley had never liked her.
It appeared no one in this small circle did, either. Raye had once ripped Kiley to shreds on the witness stand during a rape case. She hated to think what the woman might have done if they’d been alone.
“If that lawsuit gets to court, there’s no justice,” Clay Jessup said to Collier.
Kiley glanced over at the two men. “What happened with her brother?”
“Last spring—April, I think—we got a call about a house fire,” Collier said. “Three stations responded and were able to get to the guy by using the ladder, but as they climbed down, he took a dive. It was Ballinger’s brother.”
“I remember.” She thought back to the coverage, done to the point of saturation, by local television stations as well as Presley’s and Oklahoma City’s newspapers. “It was pretty awful.”
“I guess the scene turned ugly,” Jessup said. “Shelby said Ballinger went ballistic, blaming everyone around.”
“She talked to the mayor right after it happened.” Kristin tucked her hair behind her ear. “But no one heard anything else until she filed the lawsuit.”
Collier shook his head. “I don’t see that she has grounds. Jamie Ballinger tried to kill himself by torching that house, and when that didn’t work, he jumped from the ladder. Everyone did their jobs. There was no negligence.”
“Well,” Clay said. “Skip Dickens was a known drunk with DUIs on record, and she got him reinstated, plus his back pay and a two-million-dollar settlement out of Presley.”
