temper increased a notch. "Did it ever occur to you that cops don't have to think like men? Just because they've always been men?"
"No."
Nose to nose, they glowered at each other.
"Maybe that's because men so often don't think," she snapped, and made a move to push past him.
His hand shot out and gripped her upper arm. "You drive me crazy," he said in an odd voice.
She made the mistake of turning her head and saw that his eyes glittered with some powerful emotion. That shimmering gaze froze her, wide-eyed and breathless.
About the time her eyes started to burn from the need to blink, Nell managed to croak, "Good."
His fingers bit into her arm, and for just a second she thought he was going to pull her to him. Then, nostrils flaring, he abruptly released her.
"We have an interview to do."
Ignoring her shaky knees, Nell sniped, "And I thought you'd forgotten."
Behind her, he said roughly, "You never know when to shut up, do you?"
Starting up the walk to the split-level house set on a wooded lot, Nell said, "Gee. Maybe that's because I'm a woman."
A low frustrated sound followed her up the porch steps. She managed to clamp her mouth shut on a similar sound that expressed the simmering tension that she might have labeled PMS if she weren't pregnant and therefore definitely not premenstrual. Unfortunately.
Nell rang the doorbell. Hugh and she waited, both staring straight ahead, as if the plain paneled front door was the Mona Lisa.
This interview garnered a first corroborating tidbit.
Carrie Engen , a young sales rep, had been trembling under her desk when she heard the first shot. "I thought it would be closer," she said, her forehead wrinkling in remembered puzzlement. "Then there was just this … silence." She shivered. "For maybe a minute or even two. And then I heard another shot. It seemed closer." Her gaze appealed to them. "I must have been wrong. Right? I know sound does strange things."
They already knew her office was across the hall and two doors farther from the elevator than Jerome Ryman's.
"What about footsteps? Voices?"
"Kind of a—a shout." She wrapped her arms around herself, grief and shock on her face. "I think it was Jerome. It must have been." She swallowed. "Why did that man shoot Jerome and no one else on our floor?"
They were evasive and soothing: they didn't yet know, they hoped still to understand Gann's motivation for targeting Greater Northwest, but she had to understand that somebody in his state of mind was irrational.
Outside again, Hugh mopped his brow. "I hate feeding someone like her a line of BS."
"Me, too," Nell agreed. "She knows something isn't right."
"She'll make a good witness," he said practically.
"If in the meantime she doesn't talk herself into believing she heard wrong."
"She's smarter than that." A note of satisfaction rang in his voice. "Damn. We're right. Gann didn't shoot Ryman."
Nell quietly let herself in the house. Colin's beat-up Chevy wasn't out front, thank goodness. She wasn't in the mood for Kim's boyfriend.
Not, she thought with a flicker of humor, that she was ever in the mood for him.
Music blasted from the living room CD player. Faith Hill, Nell thought. It could have been worse. Kim's tastes were eclectic, and unfortunately included rappers like Eminem, whom Nell despised.
"Hello!" she called, but was drowned out by a plaint to a lost love.
Kim wasn't in the living room. Nell paused to turn down the volume.
"Mom?" Her daughter appeared from the kitchen. "Cool. You're home. I made dinner, and it's almost ready."
"Bless you!" Nell gave her a quick hug. "I really wasn't in the mood for cooking. What are we having?"
"I'm trying this new recipe. It's chicken with curry." Kim wrinkled her nose. "I hope I didn't put in too much. The spoon kinda tipped…"
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Nell said hastily. "Let me change."
"Okay. I'll make a salad."
In shorts and a tank top, Nell returned to the kitchen to find the small table set with place mats
"No."
Nose to nose, they glowered at each other.
"Maybe that's because men so often don't think," she snapped, and made a move to push past him.
His hand shot out and gripped her upper arm. "You drive me crazy," he said in an odd voice.
She made the mistake of turning her head and saw that his eyes glittered with some powerful emotion. That shimmering gaze froze her, wide-eyed and breathless.
About the time her eyes started to burn from the need to blink, Nell managed to croak, "Good."
His fingers bit into her arm, and for just a second she thought he was going to pull her to him. Then, nostrils flaring, he abruptly released her.
"We have an interview to do."
Ignoring her shaky knees, Nell sniped, "And I thought you'd forgotten."
Behind her, he said roughly, "You never know when to shut up, do you?"
Starting up the walk to the split-level house set on a wooded lot, Nell said, "Gee. Maybe that's because I'm a woman."
A low frustrated sound followed her up the porch steps. She managed to clamp her mouth shut on a similar sound that expressed the simmering tension that she might have labeled PMS if she weren't pregnant and therefore definitely not premenstrual. Unfortunately.
Nell rang the doorbell. Hugh and she waited, both staring straight ahead, as if the plain paneled front door was the Mona Lisa.
This interview garnered a first corroborating tidbit.
Carrie Engen , a young sales rep, had been trembling under her desk when she heard the first shot. "I thought it would be closer," she said, her forehead wrinkling in remembered puzzlement. "Then there was just this … silence." She shivered. "For maybe a minute or even two. And then I heard another shot. It seemed closer." Her gaze appealed to them. "I must have been wrong. Right? I know sound does strange things."
They already knew her office was across the hall and two doors farther from the elevator than Jerome Ryman's.
"What about footsteps? Voices?"
"Kind of a—a shout." She wrapped her arms around herself, grief and shock on her face. "I think it was Jerome. It must have been." She swallowed. "Why did that man shoot Jerome and no one else on our floor?"
They were evasive and soothing: they didn't yet know, they hoped still to understand Gann's motivation for targeting Greater Northwest, but she had to understand that somebody in his state of mind was irrational.
Outside again, Hugh mopped his brow. "I hate feeding someone like her a line of BS."
"Me, too," Nell agreed. "She knows something isn't right."
"She'll make a good witness," he said practically.
"If in the meantime she doesn't talk herself into believing she heard wrong."
"She's smarter than that." A note of satisfaction rang in his voice. "Damn. We're right. Gann didn't shoot Ryman."
Nell quietly let herself in the house. Colin's beat-up Chevy wasn't out front, thank goodness. She wasn't in the mood for Kim's boyfriend.
Not, she thought with a flicker of humor, that she was ever in the mood for him.
Music blasted from the living room CD player. Faith Hill, Nell thought. It could have been worse. Kim's tastes were eclectic, and unfortunately included rappers like Eminem, whom Nell despised.
"Hello!" she called, but was drowned out by a plaint to a lost love.
Kim wasn't in the living room. Nell paused to turn down the volume.
"Mom?" Her daughter appeared from the kitchen. "Cool. You're home. I made dinner, and it's almost ready."
"Bless you!" Nell gave her a quick hug. "I really wasn't in the mood for cooking. What are we having?"
"I'm trying this new recipe. It's chicken with curry." Kim wrinkled her nose. "I hope I didn't put in too much. The spoon kinda tipped…"
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Nell said hastily. "Let me change."
"Okay. I'll make a salad."
In shorts and a tank top, Nell returned to the kitchen to find the small table set with place mats
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