couldn’t fault Annie’s reasoning. From the beginning, publicity surrounding the case had played up its sensational aspects. Anything connected to the wealthy Fortune family was big news in Texas. “Good idea. Where do we start?”
Annie leaned back and studied him pointedly. The movement thrust out her breasts. Memories had his fingers curling in reaction behind the desk. “We?” she echoed.
“She’s my mother,” he replied a little more forcefully than necessary. “I’m not just some attorney trying to better his win–loss record.”
“Precisely. You’re biased.”
“And you’re not?” he countered.
“I haven’t formed an opinion of her guilt or innocence yet, if that’s what you mean,” she said loftily.
Cole ignored the quick surge of temper. “Why did you take this case?” he asked instead.
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Ryan Fortune has been very supportive,” she said finally. “I owe him.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Is that the only reason?”
She shifted in her chair and uncrossed her legs. “What are you implying?”
“You can’t ignore the fact that you and I have a history,” Cole said with great reluctance. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but maybe it would be better to clear the air now, before they got deeper into the investigation.
Annie was surprised he would mention their unfortunate past. “Ancient history.” She bristled at the idea that he might think she’d let anything personal influence the way she handled a case. “It certainly has no bearing on this investigation.” She didn’t like the way he was studying her, but she refused to allow him to put her on the defensive. Instead she leaned down to stuff the folder back into her bag, then got to her feet.
“I’ll keep you posted.” Before she could reach the door, Cole had circled his desk and blocked her path. She could smell his cologne. Thank heaven he’d changed brands and the new scent, something clean and sharp, wasn’t another painful reminder of the past they’d shared.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, easing his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks and propping his shoulder against the door. “Can we start over?” He was so close she could see the faint stubble of his beard, could feel his breath on her cheek.
“No problem.” Annie refused to retreat. Instead she looked into his eyes, at the twin reflections of herself in the blackness of his pupils, as awareness—stronger than a sigh but fainter than a whisper—shimmered between them.
Cole was the first to step away, leaving her to wonder if he felt it too. He gave his silk tie, the exact same blue as his irises, an unnecessary tug, but his expression remained unchanged.
Annie realized she’d die if he suspected she still found him attractive. She felt like a dog that had been kicked and kept crawling back to its master no matter how many times it was hurt.
“Let’s start by pooling our information,” Cole suggested briskly, sliding the folder around so it was facing the chair she’d just vacated. “Here’s the police report.”
Curious, Annie sat back down and did her best to concentrate on the form in front of her. “How odd,” she murmured when she’d scanned the report of the crime scene.
Cole perched on the corner of the desk. “What do you mean?”
“As usual, there was a lot of physical evidence to sift through—fingerprints, hair, fibers.” She glanced over the report. “I know this forensics team,” she said, tapping the paper for emphasis. “If there had been anything else in that hotel room to link your mother to the victim, no matter how minuscule, they should have found it.” She looked again. “They have several unidentified fingerprints, but none of Lily’s.” Perhaps Lily was telling the truth.
“Of course they don’t have her prints. She wasn’t there,” Cole insisted. “Maybe something will match up to the real killer.”
Annie ignored his comment. “What else do you have?” she asked, pulling a bag of lemon drops from her bag and holding them out. Did he remember how he used to buy them for her?
Declining her offer, he sat back down and shuffled through more papers. “Witness statements. A copy of the hotel registry. The autopsy report.” He frowned. “The police believe the only two acquaintances of Sophia’s who were at the hotel the night of the murder were Lily and the ranch employee who drove her there, Roy Dirkson.”
“What do we know about Dirkson?” Annie asked eagerly.
Cole kept reading. “He’s in the clear. He was seen having a beer in the bar after he dropped Mom at the hotel, and he swears he left right after that. A couple of witnesses corroborated his statement. I suppose he could have circled around and come back to the hotel later, but, judging by how soon he got to the ranch, he’s probably telling the truth.”
“His arrival time is documented too?” Annie asked.
“By Ryan himself. Dirkson reported to him when he arrived.”
Sucking on the lemon drop, she made a note on the pad she’d pulled out. “I’ll talk to Dirkson again before we eliminate him,” she decided.
Cole’s brows lifted. “It can’t hurt, but what reason could he possibly have had to kill her?” he asked skeptically.
“From what I’ve learned so far about dear Sophia,” Annie felt compelled to explain, “her taste in men was eclectic. Dirkson’s worth a look.” She’d be darned if she was going to justify every step she took to Cole.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Only that Sophia’s hotel room showed definite signs of a struggle, and Mom had no scratches or bruising on her arms or face when they questioned her,” he replied.
Annie made another note and drew a star next to it. “How do the police explain that? Sophia must have fought back.”
He shrugged. “They don’t even try. I’ll have Tiffany make copies of all this for you.” He pressed a button on his intercom.
When his secretary opened the door and he rose to hand her the file, Annie took the opportunity to study him from beneath her lashes. His suit was impeccably tailored, his black shoes as shiny as tinted windows. He had always liked to dress well.
If she didn’t put the past where it belonged, this case was only going to be more difficult. As it was, Lily had already been tried and found guilty in the press, which had painted her as a gold digger, a home-wrecker and worse. The obvious holes in the case wouldn’t matter to those people who’d already convicted her in their minds—people from whom a pool of jurors would be selected.
Annie realized that Cole had resumed his seat and was watching her. “How do you like Denver?” she asked to fill the silence while they waited for his secretary to come back with the copies.
“It’s a nice city,” he said noncommittally. “The winters took some getting used to, but it’s home for me now. I’ve made friends. I’ve settled in.”
No
