Maris pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees. A chill draft of air swept across her toes. "You don't have to go."

"Don't I?"

"No."

He straightened, his unsuccessful attempt to put on his left boot leaving it swinging in his hand. "I'm a police officer..."

"So what are you saying? Police officers aren't allowed to have s.e.x?"

The boot dropped to the floor. "Jesus, Maris."

"Or is that not what you meant?"

"No. It's exactly what I meant."

"Then don't leave."

He stood there as if undecided. She didn't need to know his thoughts to see he'd already made up his mind. "I shouldn't become involved like this."

"It's...our business. Our secret."

"Sounds like the kind of statement someone makes before they sue."

Maris dropped her hands to the mattress on either side of her hips. "Excuse me?"

"Not you. But I've heard of it happening. A man in a police officer's position, a woman who-"

"-is suspected of something? I thought you said I wasn't. That everything was routine. It's not like I was pulled over under the influence and offered you a-"

"Maris! Stop. Please. I beg you, stop."

"Okay." She stood and closed the gap between them. "Okay." She took his empty hand, tucking two fingers into the curve of his fist, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. "Thank you for believing me."

He smiled. Not the winning smile he'd given the waitress, but one that seemed meant for Maris alone. "Don't put words in my mouth, Maris."

"I could offer you something more palatable."

He groaned, tightening his fist around her fingers.

"What?" Maris jerked a thumb in the direction of the refrigerator. "I meant the meatloaf."

"No, you didn't."

"You're right," she said. "I didn't."

He s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand free of hers and shoved both into her hair, wrapping his fingers around the back of her head as he brought his mouth down onto her own, open and questing. Clutching his sleeves, she welcomed him, and allowed him to propel her backward to the bed. Inches shy of the mattress, he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled back, letting momentum and gravity take care of the rest.

What came next bore no connection to romantic pa.s.sion, but was a conflagration designed to drive out memory. Hard and fast in places slick with yearning, the sc.r.a.pe of teeth on tender flesh a shock of pleasure, a game of chance, but there was no cruelty in the lightning-swift play. When she cried out, he pressed his fingers to her lips, followed by his mouth on hers, holding her in place beneath him as he pounded the final strokes of his pleasure deep inside. Afterward, he collapsed onto his side breathless and, she thought, half-ashamed.

Yes, that was what she felt from him. Shame.

"Dan."

The television sent muted light flickering over the ceiling, across his face, along the walls. He lay with his eyes shielded by shadow.

"Dan. Say something."

"Like what?" She barely heard his whisper over the m.u.f.fled volume of the TV.

"Like you're not ashamed of what we did."

For a long moment, he was silent, and then he threw himself off the mattress with a flurry of motion. Standing beside the bed, he yanked his clothes back into place. Only then did she realize they hadn't even taken the time to remove any of them.

"I can't say that," he said, "because it wouldn't be true."

In less than ten seconds, he was gone, his uncooperative boot hanging by its laces from his hand as he exited the room. He latched the door upon departing, but the deadbolt remained open. She would have to remedy that, but not yet. She sat up and slid her body beneath the rumpled covers, staring at the television screen without seeing it. After a minute or two, she felt around for the remote and found it shoved beneath a pillow. The TV went off with one swift blast of static. From outside the window, the neon motel sign colored the slats of the blinds in the darkened room with a dim hue of rose.

"f.u.c.k."

Chapter 10.

"Whoa, Stauffer, what the heck happened to you?"

"Not a d.a.m.ned thing. Anyone process the prints from Mabry's yet?" Dan threw his jacket toward the coat rack in the corner and missed. Tossing his keys onto his desk, he retrieved the garment from the floor and took his time draping it over the curved wood. Something crinkled in the pocket. He yanked out a gas receipt and spotted Maris's number written across the back. With a roll of guilt through his gut, he went and tucked the paper into his top drawer.

"Yep. Eliminated all that were the dead woman's. There were quite a few others, mostly downstairs in the parlor where she conducted business, so that's to be expected, but upstairs, too. I'll get them run through the system today. When's that niece of hers coming in?"

"Today. I'll contact her today." Dan lowered himself into the swivel chair, running a hand through his hair.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Appreciate you asking. Might be coming down with something, I guess." Yeah, like a whopping case of s.h.i.thead-itis. He knew better. He G.o.dd.a.m.n knew better than to fall into bed with her. This case had been one screw-up after another, and all his to claim. What if she was guilty of the crime? He'd called the motel and found out she'd only checked in yesterday afternoon, not the night she claimed to have gotten here. Just where the h.e.l.l had she been?

Realizing the threshold still held the junior detective, Dan chewed on the inside of his cheek. Nearly a half year since they'd each been promoted, and Dan still wasn't sure if Jamie Rogers resented him for his senior position. Sometimes it seemed like he did. But right now, he was acting like the same old Jamie. Dan waved him away. "I'm fine. Seriously. Just go."

With a grunt, Jamie pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder. "Want me to call her for you? What's her name? Maris, right?"

"Maris. And I'll do it."

"Some of the guys are saying she's pretty hot. In a bohemian sort of way."

Dan snorted. "Where'd you pick up a word like bohemian'?"

"Dunno. You hear it a lot."

"You might want to look it up in the dictionary."

"f.u.c.k you, Stauffer."

"Yeah, you're not my type." Dan stared at the man until he started to back away. "Pull the door shut while you're at it, will you?"

As soon as the door had closed, Dan spun back and forth a few times in his chair. He needed to contact Maris, have her come in, but what in b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l was he going to say to her? He couldn't act as if none of it had happened-not the incident in the stone circle or the confessions in her motel room, not the incendiary s.e.x. They'd both needed the latter, he understood that, but he should have kept it in his pants. And afterward-G.o.d, he hated himself for speaking those words despite the truth of them. Even in the dark, he could see the hurt in her eyes, the shock.

Forget the unexplained bond, the flash of hope in which he foolishly thought she might be the perfect partner because she understood where he had been. Forget the comfort, the intrigue, the heated l.u.s.t. Unless he could prove otherwise, she might end up his prime suspect for the murder of Alva Mabry. He had not only literally slept in her bed, he'd slept with her. Too mild a term for what had pa.s.sed between them, lightning hot and just as fast, but even if it had been drawn out and taken all night with declarations of adoration and lasting fidelity, would he be any less culpable for his part in it? Of course not.

She had asked him to tell her he wasn't ashamed of what they had done. He could have said no. He should have said no. Why couldn't he lie to her? In many of their conversations, he'd hedged, danced around the truth, but he couldn't lie. Not outright, not even to save her pain. Because she only asked him what she already knew with that d.a.m.ned "sight" of hers. It wasn't exactly fair, now was it?

And it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't convenient.

Dan lifted the receiver, cradled it under his ear, determined to get this conversation over. He yanked open the drawer for another glance at her phone number and punched the digits on the keypad before whipping the drawer shut. After several rings, her voice mail picked up.

"If this is Dan, go f.u.c.k yourself. Anyone else, please leave a message."

s.h.i.t! Grateful he hadn't taken Jamie up on his offer to make the call, Dan tried to compose himself enough to leave a message for her. At the sound of the beep, he was forced to rush his message and ended up prefacing the whole thing with the words "I'm sorry" and, following the plummeting realization it was too late to take the sentiment back, added "for inconveniencing you, but I need you to come to the station at"-he glanced at the clock-"eleven this morning for fingerprints and a few questions. Please be prompt. Don't make me come get you."

Oh, for the love of G.o.d, why had he said that? He slammed the phone down, only to have the receiver bounce across the blotter and drop behind the desk. Cursing, he jumped up and, after several attempts, retrieved it by the cord.

A light tap sounded at the door.

"Come in!"

The door opened wide enough for a face to peer in. "You okay?"

Sally, the newest police clerk. She looked half his age and probably wasn't much older than that. She'd been making eyes at him for the past month. Well, he wasn't interested in any of what she was offering. Or any woman, period. Enough was enough. "I'm fine. Dropped the phone."

"Good. There's someone here to see you."

"I don't want-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open. Maris walked in, thanked the girl sweetly, and pushed the door shut. She turned to face him, holding up her cell phone. He heard his voice coming through it. After a second, she hit a number to replay the message, and then did it again and yet again, looping "I'm sorry" like an inane apology.

"You are an insane person," he said.

"You don't really believe that." She slipped the phone into her purse.

He sighed. "No, I don't. Sit down."

She sat in the chair where she'd been seated the first time he'd met her. Was that only yesterday in the wee hours of the morning? Yes. Yes it was. Therefore, the little leap of his heart at the sight of her face was inappropriate. Perhaps he was the insane one.

"I need to take your fingerprints."

"So I heard." She nodded in the direction of the cell phone sticking up from the pocket in her purse.

"Where were you when I made that call?"

"In the lobby. You said yesterday that you needed me to come in."

"Yes, I did. I said other things, too, and yet you came anyway."

"Well, you apologized after all." She grinned.

He broke into laughter, but sobered after a moment , experiencing a gut-wrenching urge to apologize for real. Maybe even cry a little. G.o.d, what was wrong with him?

"Maris, I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"About us."

She tipped her head to one side. "Is there an us'?"

"It feels like there is." He spun his chair and leaned forward, hands folded between his knees. "Which is absurd. That's not an insult, just reality. It's been twenty-four freaking hours, give or take, and I don't know you-"

"You know me."

He shook his head. "I don't. It feels like I do, but I don't. And I..." He stopped, staring down at his clasped hands at the scar on his thumb from a slippery blade when cleaning fish with his father their last time out on the ocean. He glanced back up. "I have to ask you this question, Maris. I have to."

She nodded encouragement, the expression on her face wary. "Go ahead."

"Did you kill your aunt? Did you poison Alva Mabry?"

A transition took place in her eyes. He couldn't tell if those gray orbs displayed disbelief or guilt or some other reaction he couldn't figure out since her facial expression didn't alter at all. Had she practiced for this moment? He didn't want to believe something so cold about her, but he had to take a step back and view the situation from an investigative standpoint, without prejudice or sentiment.

She shook her head. "Why would I do that?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, Maris. It doesn't bode well for your innocence."

"Ouch. Fine." She shifted in her chair. "Tell me why you think I did. What motive are you trying on for size? The whole estate thing you threw at me yesterday? Do you know for fact there is anything to be gained financially from her demise? And why would I suddenly decide to come back to Alcina Cove and kill my ninety-three-year-old aunt? Time was on my side, and it certainly wouldn't be worth the risk if I wanted to make sure I profited from her death."

He stared at her, mouth dropping open, at a loss for a response.

"Besides," she went on, "I loved my aunt. Not the way I did as a child, but the fondness, the loyalty, the memories I had of her-not all of them perfect, of course-didn't fade completely. I had no reason to harm her. I came here because she needed me. I just didn't know why."

He tightened the twisted grip of his fingers between his legs. "You still haven't answered my question."

Tears glistened abruptly on her lashes. She blinked them away. "I did not."

Dan threw up his hands. "Is that your answer, or are you just agreeing with my statement?"

"You're an a.s.s, Detective Stauffer."