oak desk, ignoring the uncomfortable twinge of guilt that rose at the sight of her reddened, slender wrists.
Deputy Warren Teal stepped from the bathroom, still drying his hands with a paper towel. “Hi, boss.”
Warren’s curious gaze settled on Kate as he crumpled the sheet into a ball. After tossing it into the wastebasket, he perched his lean frame on the edge of Brody’s desk. “What do we have here? This the perp at the Kinsey house?”
Brody arched a brow at the deputy. The young rookie was overeager at times, but fairly competent.
“Sorry.” Warren moved away and sat at the only other desk in the room. “She do that to your face?”
Ignoring the questions and the reminder of his stinging cheek, Brody took a blank report, a pen—he preferred to write out the reports first and key them in later—then turned to the woman. “Name?”
Her gaze pinned him to his chair. Confusion radiated from the depths of her large green eyes. “You don’t know?”
Brody’s mouth twisted with wry amusement. “Lady, I’m good, but not that good.”
She blinked. “Why did you arrest me?”
“B and E is a felony, ma’am.” At her blank expression, he clarified, “Breaking and entering.”
“I didn’t break in,” she insisted, leaning forward. “I own the house. My late husband left the property to me.” Her voice wavered. “If you’ll let me call my attorney, he’ll be able to straighten this whole mess out.”
He glanced at her left hand. No band of gold encircled her ring finger. “Pete Kinsey’s your husband?” That was a surprise. The womanizing stockbroker had commented often enough how marriage turned men into jellyfish. Not exactly the marrying type.
“My husband’s name was Paul Wheeler. He owned the house. Pete Kinsey was my husband’s business partner.”
Warren turned in his chair, his gray eyes round with interest. “Pete never mentioned a business partner.” He shook his head in bemusement. “Wow, can that man party.”
Pete Kinsey’s parties were legendary on the Cape. Every summer he’d host a big bash with the big society types in attendance—Hollywood celebrities, corporate big shots, political figures. The affair lasted a full weekend and the locals looked forward to the money it brought in. And as long as they didn’t break any laws, Brody left them alone.
“Don’t you have some work to do, Warren?”
The deputy shrugged and picked up a report.
Intrigued by the situation and by the petite redhead, Brody tapped his pen against the form in front of him as he studied her. “Your full name?”
“Katherine Amanda Wheeler.”
Brody wrote out her name. “Address?”
The Beverly Hills address took him by surprise. “You’re a long way from home.”
She ignored his comment. “Don’t I get a phone call?”
“As soon as I have the paperwork filled out.” He laid his hand on her purse which he’d deposited on top of his desk. “Is your ID in here?”
“Yes.”
He picked up the satchel and unzipped it. “Mind?”
Her deprecating gaze bored into him. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.” But still he waited for permission.
“Then go ahead.”
He dumped the contents of her purse onto the desktop. A compact, a black tube of lipstick, three granola bars and a thick black wallet spilled out. He unclasped the single snap on the folded wallet and plucked her ID from the first plastic sheath. He wrote down the information on the form. “Your occupation?”
“I work for Valley Savings Bank as the Vice President of Operations. You want to call my boss for a reference?”
Brody cocked his brow. “No. That won’t be necessary.”
She rolled her eyes. The harsh fluorescent light overhead failed to wash out the sparks of fire in her shoulder-length hair. His gaze strayed to the curling ends where they teased the collar of her pink silk blouse. He tightened his grip on the pen in his hand to keep from reaching out to test the curls. Would they be as silky as they looked?
Her clothing spoke of the kind of money that went along with her address. The tailored suit she wore, though wrinkled and damp, couldn’t hide the curves beneath.
“What were you doing there, Mrs. Wheeler?” he questioned, bringing his mind back to business.
“I wanted to see the house.” Katherine wrapped her arms around herself. He noticed her shiver while some of the fight drained from her eyes. The coat he’d failed to take with him hung on the back of his chair. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the jacket and handed it to her.
She wrapped the too-large jacket around her shoulders. “Thanks.”
He gave a short nod of his head. She looked small and vulnerable and in need of protection. Seeing her in his coat made his chest burn. Irritably, he pushed the phone across the desk. “Make your call.”
He didn’t have to offer twice. Her long, tapered fingers moved over the keypad. Brody watched her hands and then, like a gawker at a crime scene, his gaze was drawn to her mouth. Pink, soft-looking. Well-shaped lips. Kissable lips
Yanking his mind away from that treacherous path, he decided he was more tired than he’d thought. The last thing he should be thinking about was his suspect’s kissability.
He forced his attention back to the phone, on the faint metallic sound of a male voice coming through the line. From the look of consternation on Katherine’s face, he guessed an answering machine had picked up.
“Gordon, its Kate. You won’t believe this. I’m at the Havensport Sheriff’s office, of all things. The number here is…” She raised her brows in question.
Brody gave her the number, which she repeated into the phone before hanging up. Circles of fatigue darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He dearly wished his mother hadn’t raised a gentleman. Despite how much he might want to let Katherine Wheeler go lie down, he still had questions that needed answers.
Swallowing his inclinations, he got back to business. “Why did you think someone was coming to the house to kill you?”
A watchful wariness filled her gaze. “I was alone. You attacked me. What was I supposed to think? That you wanted to dance?”
A spurt of amusement kicked up the corner of Brody’s mouth.
She picked up his nameplate and toyed with it between her slender hands. Her manicured nails clicked against the brass. “Where do we go from here?”
“I need to verify your story, check out your ID—”
“And
