if she’s going to wind up working herself into a hospital bed—or worse,” he told her. His eyes held Mirabella’s as he went on to ask, “Am I making myself understood?”
Mirabella pressed her lips together, struggling to look as if everything was all right instead of in a state of almost complete upheaval. “Yes, sir.”
She looked like the picture of innocence, but he had a feeling he really wasn’t getting through to her. He’d never met a redheaded woman yet who, politely or not, wasn’t stubborn beyond words.
Still, he pressed on. “And if you need to go home and go to bed in order to get better, I want you to go do just that.”
Going to bed was what got me into this situation to begin with, Mirabella couldn’t help thinking ruefully.
Out loud, she told Zane, “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Colton, but I’m fine.”
“Belle,” Zane began, hesitating for a moment before finally continuing, “forgive me for being blunt here, but you really don’t look fine.”
She looked away and shrugged. “Bad hair day,” she murmured.
“Your hair is beautiful as always,” Zane said like a man who had no idea he was paying a woman a compliment instead of just simply stating what to him was an obvious fact. “Your face, however looks really pale.”
She became a tad defensive when she heard that. “I’m a redhead, it comes with the territory,” she said, wishing he would stop being so nice and just walk away like any normal, self-absorbed boss.
But he wasn’t a normal, self-absorbed boss, which was why, despite her best efforts not to, she found herself being so strongly attracted to him.
“I’m aware of that,” Zane replied patiently. “But you’re looking paler than usual.”
Mirabella blinked, totally surprised. “You’ve noticed how pale I am?” she asked, not knowing whether to be pleased because what Zane had just said meant he was paying attention to her, or insulted because his assessment was less than flattering—even if it was undoubtedly true.
Maybe he hadn’t worded that quite right, Zane realized. Still, it was out and he needed to do a little damage control.
“You’re a difficult person to ignore, Belle,” he told her, sounding as formal as he could. “Now if you’re feeling sick, say so and go home. There’s nothing here that can’t wait for a few days.”
This isn’t going to go away in a few days. It’s not going to go away for another six months, she told him silently.
Stubbornly, Mirabella shook her head in response to his instructions. “I don’t need to go home. It’s just something I ate,” she assured him with as much feeling as she could feign. “I’m over the worst of it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to my desk. I have those notes of yours to input.”
He looked at her dubiously. He knew she was lying about feeling better, but short of throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her to his car and driving her home, there wasn’t anything he could do. If he tried to force her to do what he’d just instructed her to do, it might even be viewed as harassment by some and the last thing he needed at a time like this was to get embroiled in a case involving acts of harassment.
With no other option opened to him, Zane merely nodded and told her, “I’ll see you in about an hour.” He turned away, intent on heading toward the elevator banks.
He took exactly three steps in that direction when he saw the elevator door on the far end opening and the sheriff emerging with one of his deputies, Charlie Kidwell, right behind him. Both men appeared to look rather grim—and they were both looking at him.
Zane froze in place.
The sheriff was paying him two visits in the space of two days. This couldn’t be good, he couldn’t help thinking.
How did a man brace himself to hear news he didn’t want to hear?
Zane had no answer for that. All he could do was fervently hope he was wrong about the sheriff’s reason for this second visit.
“You’re back, Sheriff,” Zane said by way of a greeting to the older man. His voice sounded stilted to his own ears, but it was all he could come up with at the spur of the moment.
“Looks like it,” Watkins acknowledged, his face devoid of any expression.
Zane’s mouth felt like cotton.
He was really trying to prolong this process, as though the message the sheriff was bringing would somehow change if he stalled long enough. “You were just here yesterday. Mind if I ask what you’re doing back here so soon?”
“I don’t mind,” Watkins assured him.
Zane had the distinct impression he was being toyed with and it helped him to rally. If the sheriff was toying with him, then the news couldn’t be bad, right? Or could it?
“As a matter of fact,” the sheriff drawled, “I’m going to tell you right now what made me come back so soon. You see, while going over the outside of the crime scene earlier today, I found this here little thing in the bushes that the other fellas from the crime scene unit must have missed the first time around.”
Zane had a strange, sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer, but he had to ask. “What little thing?”
Watkins smiled broadly. It was a humorless smile that still seemed to smack of satisfaction.
“Glad you asked. It was a cuff link. Now, I don’t have any myself. I’m just a regular old-buttons-on-my-shirts kind of guy. But you rich fellas, you like all that pretty extra stuff,” Watkins said, glancing at his deputy as if waiting for the other man to agree. But before Kidwell could say anything, Watkins continued. “Problem with cuff links and things of that nature, is that sometimes, you lose ’em and don’t even know it. Which must be how you lost yours,” Watkins concluded, holding up the cuff link, which was in a see-through evidence bag—as if it was exhibit A.
Zane frowned. Was this where the sheriff’s dance finally led? His eyes narrowed as he glared at the older man. “Are you saying you found my cuff link near the crime scene?”
Watkins smiled again. “That’s what I’m saying. Can’t put nothing over on you, can I?” the sheriff asked sarcastically. Dropping at least part of his warm, friendly act, Watkins told him, “I’d like you to come with me so we can have a little conversation about that cuff link and how it happened to be where it was found.”
Zane stared at the sheriff, stunned. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mirabella was having the exact same reaction as he was to what the sheriff was implying.
“Are you arresting me, Sheriff?” he asked in disbelief.
“No, not yet anyway,” he said mildly. And then, in a far less innocent tone of voice he asked, “Should I be?”
“No, you shouldn’t be,” Zane said with feeling. “I didn’t kidnap my fa— Eldridge,” he corrected himself, not wanting to have to listen to the sheriff do it. “You know that.”
“Right
