Martinez. She paid you for your services?"
"Cash. Not traceable."
"That's not odd?"
"Not in my business."
"Anything else you can tell me about her?" he asked, clearly fishing for something, though I wasn't sure what.
I shrugged. "Honestly, she looked like every other wife I deal with daily. She was considerably younger than him, but if that’s a crime, half of L.A. would be arrested."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "True."
"Infidelity is a private investigator’s specialty. Our bread and butter."
"The police usually handle murder."
"And I’d gladly let them if they weren't accusing me ." Irritation filled my tone.
He stared at me, eyes unreadable. I noticed his demeanor was much less affable than it had been at dinner last night. All pretense of flirtation was gone, his witty banter replaced with bare facts. Even so, I felt a current of something running just under his words. His eyes lingered a little too long on my hemline, his body language just a little too relaxed, words drawled a little too slowly. Whether it was unintentional or by design to make me uncomfortable, I wasn't sure. But I felt myself shifting under his gaze, heat filling my cheeks. Open leering I was used to. Occupational hazard. But this slow, assessment, flirting with the border of sensual and clinical, was new.
"So when did you realize Donna Martinez was not what she seemed?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "When I saw the real wife on the news."
He nodded, pieces clicking into place. "Along with the video of you."
I nodded back at him in agreement. "We tracked the package the video was delivered in to Donna."
"I thought it was an anonymous delivery?"
"It was, but we found her through the stationary."
The corner of his mouth hitched up. "Clever."
I thought so, but now wasn't the time to gloat. Instead I cleared my throat again. "Okay, I've shown you mine, now show my yours."
The smiled hitched higher, definitely falling closer to the sensual side of the border. "Mine?"
"Everything the reporters on TV are saying points to me. But you must have other evidence, or else I'd be in handcuffs right now," I pointed out with a lot more bravado than I felt.
Aiden shook his head. "I'm sorry, there's not much I can tell you. It's an ongoing investigation."
I felt my teeth grind. "But you believe me?" I asked, hating just how desperately I wanted him to say yes.
Like the lawyer he was, he didn't answer.
"I don't like to lose," he said. "I want my ducks in a row before I go in front of a jury."
I gave him a hard stare, wondering just what ducks he was trying to line up tonight.
As if to answer my question, he followed that up with, "When was the last time you saw Donna Martinez alive?"
I shook my head slowly. "You haven't shown me yours, yet," I pointed out.
He might have been annoyed, but instead that slow smile spread across his face again, this time even touching his eyes. "Okay, I can play fair. The medical examiner says Donna Martinez died of an overdose of an amphetamine-type stimulant. It wasn’t any of the pills she had a prescription for. There’s no sign of forced entry or anything to conclude she hadn’t taken them voluntarily."
"Wait-" I said, holding up a hand. "If the pills in her system were not prescription, then they weren't the ones I saw scattered around her body?"
The smile widened. "Beautiful and smart. No. The pills we found with the body were not in her system. They were similar, likely having caused a similar effect. And, had there not been extenuating circumstances-"
"Me finding her and linking her to the judge," I supplied.
He nodded. "-we likely never would have tested them as closely as we did."
"She would have just been written off as a suicide. A woman distraught over the death of her husband."
Aiden nodded again in the soft light. "Something like that."
I paused, taking this all in. "But why not just kill her with the pills she had on hand?"
"Painkillers mostly, given to her by her dentist after
"Cash. Not traceable."
"That's not odd?"
"Not in my business."
"Anything else you can tell me about her?" he asked, clearly fishing for something, though I wasn't sure what.
I shrugged. "Honestly, she looked like every other wife I deal with daily. She was considerably younger than him, but if that’s a crime, half of L.A. would be arrested."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "True."
"Infidelity is a private investigator’s specialty. Our bread and butter."
"The police usually handle murder."
"And I’d gladly let them if they weren't accusing me ." Irritation filled my tone.
He stared at me, eyes unreadable. I noticed his demeanor was much less affable than it had been at dinner last night. All pretense of flirtation was gone, his witty banter replaced with bare facts. Even so, I felt a current of something running just under his words. His eyes lingered a little too long on my hemline, his body language just a little too relaxed, words drawled a little too slowly. Whether it was unintentional or by design to make me uncomfortable, I wasn't sure. But I felt myself shifting under his gaze, heat filling my cheeks. Open leering I was used to. Occupational hazard. But this slow, assessment, flirting with the border of sensual and clinical, was new.
"So when did you realize Donna Martinez was not what she seemed?" he asked.
I cleared my throat. "When I saw the real wife on the news."
He nodded, pieces clicking into place. "Along with the video of you."
I nodded back at him in agreement. "We tracked the package the video was delivered in to Donna."
"I thought it was an anonymous delivery?"
"It was, but we found her through the stationary."
The corner of his mouth hitched up. "Clever."
I thought so, but now wasn't the time to gloat. Instead I cleared my throat again. "Okay, I've shown you mine, now show my yours."
The smiled hitched higher, definitely falling closer to the sensual side of the border. "Mine?"
"Everything the reporters on TV are saying points to me. But you must have other evidence, or else I'd be in handcuffs right now," I pointed out with a lot more bravado than I felt.
Aiden shook his head. "I'm sorry, there's not much I can tell you. It's an ongoing investigation."
I felt my teeth grind. "But you believe me?" I asked, hating just how desperately I wanted him to say yes.
Like the lawyer he was, he didn't answer.
"I don't like to lose," he said. "I want my ducks in a row before I go in front of a jury."
I gave him a hard stare, wondering just what ducks he was trying to line up tonight.
As if to answer my question, he followed that up with, "When was the last time you saw Donna Martinez alive?"
I shook my head slowly. "You haven't shown me yours, yet," I pointed out.
He might have been annoyed, but instead that slow smile spread across his face again, this time even touching his eyes. "Okay, I can play fair. The medical examiner says Donna Martinez died of an overdose of an amphetamine-type stimulant. It wasn’t any of the pills she had a prescription for. There’s no sign of forced entry or anything to conclude she hadn’t taken them voluntarily."
"Wait-" I said, holding up a hand. "If the pills in her system were not prescription, then they weren't the ones I saw scattered around her body?"
The smile widened. "Beautiful and smart. No. The pills we found with the body were not in her system. They were similar, likely having caused a similar effect. And, had there not been extenuating circumstances-"
"Me finding her and linking her to the judge," I supplied.
He nodded. "-we likely never would have tested them as closely as we did."
"She would have just been written off as a suicide. A woman distraught over the death of her husband."
Aiden nodded again in the soft light. "Something like that."
I paused, taking this all in. "But why not just kill her with the pills she had on hand?"
"Painkillers mostly, given to her by her dentist after
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