Love on Trial by Diana Palmer

and stayed home. She could be working on a fire right now, or some controversy in the police department. She could be where the action was, instead of stuck here on a beach littered with tourists. She could be doing something else beside mooning over Hawke.
    The second night, she forced herself tosit in the living room of the lonely suite with her small portable typewriter on the coffee table. Without much success, she tried to concoct a presentable summary of the Devolg murder.
    She studied her notes without any real enthusiasm. In a city that was notorious for homicide, another murder wasn’t that sensational. Not that she’d become hardened to the extent that she didn’t feel compassion for the families of victims, but she’d covered so many.
    As she stared at her notes, she came across the original news story she’d done on the murder. Datelined Atlanta, it read: Justin Devolg, 49, of Oak Street, Atlanta, was found dead in his apartment this morning from stab wounds.
    Her eyes scanned the page, resting on the paragraph that read: Inspector Long stated that no motive for the killing was readily apparent. The dead man had a large sum of cash in his wallet, but it was untouched. He was wearing a diamondring with an estimated value of $2,000 at the time of his death, and the ring was still on his finger when police arrived on the scene.
    A search is still pending for the unidentified man who fled when the body was discovered. Police have arrested a fifteen year old juvenile for questioning in connection with the murder, but no further information was available. The murder is still under investigation by local police and the FBI. Some pieces of evidence have already been sent to the state crime lab for inspection, and an early wrap-up of the case is expected by law enforcement officials.
    Siri frowned. Of course, the update would confirm stab wounds as the cause of death, but they also would include the arrest of Hawke’s young client in connection with the murder. The sensational nature of the case made it a natural for front page treatment.
    She was searching her brain for agood, strong lead, when the door opened unexpectedly and Hawke walked in. She gaped at him, as if she were looking at a ghost, her mind still on the murder.
    â€œHave you eaten?” he asked quietly. “Or does the creative effort really take the place of food?”
    â€œSometimes it has to,” she replied with a smile she didn’t feel. She dragged her eyes away from him, hating the sudden quick beating of her heart as it reacted to the sight and sound of him. She was just now realizing how lonely she’d been these past few days, and how much she’d missed him. She felt a glow inside, as if a rainbow of warmth had suddenly raced through her.
    â€œThat doesn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.
    â€œOh, sorry,” she apologized, “my mind was still on the Devolg story. No, I haven’t eaten.”
    â€œThrow on a sweater and we’ll walkdown the road to the seafood place,” he told her. “It’s a little chilly for summer.”
    â€œAll right.”
    As excited as a teenager on her first date, she darted into her bedroom to change. She threw on a beige wraparound skirt and a green blouse. She ran a comb through her unruly hair. She left off makeup, except for a light touch of lipstick, and grabbed for her sweater as she went out the door into the living room.
    Hawke was waiting for her at the main door. He was wearing a pale blue shirt that was open at the neck. Matched with his darker sports jacket, the outfit gave him a sophisticated look that went well with his masculine attractiveness. Her eyes absorbed the sight, dwelling on the broad, muscular sweep of his shoulders. Why did he have to be so good to look at, she wondered miserably, following him out into the hall. Why couldn’t he have been fat and squatty with a face like a toad?
    He caught the back of