Seth, a widower accountant testifying in a case. He’d dogged her footsteps, repeatedly asking her out.
Finally, she agreed. He brought his eleven-year-old daughter on their date and for some reason, still unknown to Annie, she’d gotten in her head that if she had a family, she could be whole again. She could be like the women who brought their toddlers to Starbucks and read self-help books with other women. She could serve on PTA boards and they could take Christmas-card pictures with the golden retriever Seth would buy her on their first wedding anniversary.
Yeah, she’d snapped.
And it had been a disaster.
So she didn’t want to love a boy who couldn’t be hers. Who might disappear like poor Della Dufrene had. What if Annie couldn’t stop whoever wanted to harm Spencer? What if caring for him made her blind? Made him more vulnerable?
No.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She set Spencer away from her. “Let’s get something to eat. You have a worksheet on numbers to do then we’ll have a story before nap time.”
“Mr. Bader and his Ghost Town Gator?”
“Sure.”
Her phone binged and she slid it out of her front jean pocket. Good. Jimmy could meet her. While Spencer napped under the watchful eye of Brick the bodyguard, she’d slip out and meet him. With her gun in hand, no one would get to Spencer unless he or she could get through a bullet first.
Annie wouldn’t fail in this task.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of interviewing the production crew and anyone who might have seen anything out of the ordinary, Nate concluded the whole dead-bird threat was more challenging than he’d originally thought. Whoever poked a stick at the Keenes was savvy enough to hide any cracks in his or her composure—a happenstance not typical in Nate’s realm of experience.
The most effective method of investigation other than an out-and-out eyewitness was the interview of a suspect. For Nate, interrogation was his bread and butter. In most cases, from petty theft to possession to murder, the suspect sang like the sweetest of birds when confronted with the evidence and prosecution. And if the suspect didn’t squeal, he or she at least gave him angle to work. But with this case, nothing. He hadn’t felt the slightest waver in any of the people he’d interviewed over the past few days, perhaps because many were actors accustomed to hiding their true emotions behind a façade. And that presented a stubborn wrinkle in the case.
The one person he hadn’t spoken to in-depth was Annie. Since their odd exchange in the library, he’d avoided questioning her on her background and on her impressions of the Keene family. Maybe because he was afraid of the desire that uncoiled when he was around her.
Damn it. She was a suspect. A viable one. She’d been hired around the time of the threat and he knew she was a liar.
So why hadn’t he already done his job?
He’d find out that afternoon, as soon as he finished the reports on those he’d taken statements from that morning. Time to interview the nanny.
He stared down at the forms and then shoved them toward where his cold coffee sat.
“You going to the Stumpwater Inn tonight?” Kelli asked, propping a hip on his metal desk.
“Is there ever a good reason to go there?”
The flirty detective ran a long red fingernail on top of the only photo sitting on his desk—the softball league championship pic
—and gave him a barracuda smile. “There is tonight.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” she said.
“You’re eight months pregnant. You can’t go to the Stump.”
Kelli raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “So? What are you saying? I’m not hot enough for action down there?”
Nate shook his head, picked up the hand still tapping the photo and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss. “Never.”
“Hey,” Wynn said, “get your lips off my wife.”
“Get your wife off my desk.”
Wynn’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I couldn’t pick her up if I
Finally, she agreed. He brought his eleven-year-old daughter on their date and for some reason, still unknown to Annie, she’d gotten in her head that if she had a family, she could be whole again. She could be like the women who brought their toddlers to Starbucks and read self-help books with other women. She could serve on PTA boards and they could take Christmas-card pictures with the golden retriever Seth would buy her on their first wedding anniversary.
Yeah, she’d snapped.
And it had been a disaster.
So she didn’t want to love a boy who couldn’t be hers. Who might disappear like poor Della Dufrene had. What if Annie couldn’t stop whoever wanted to harm Spencer? What if caring for him made her blind? Made him more vulnerable?
No.
She couldn’t let that happen.
She set Spencer away from her. “Let’s get something to eat. You have a worksheet on numbers to do then we’ll have a story before nap time.”
“Mr. Bader and his Ghost Town Gator?”
“Sure.”
Her phone binged and she slid it out of her front jean pocket. Good. Jimmy could meet her. While Spencer napped under the watchful eye of Brick the bodyguard, she’d slip out and meet him. With her gun in hand, no one would get to Spencer unless he or she could get through a bullet first.
Annie wouldn’t fail in this task.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of interviewing the production crew and anyone who might have seen anything out of the ordinary, Nate concluded the whole dead-bird threat was more challenging than he’d originally thought. Whoever poked a stick at the Keenes was savvy enough to hide any cracks in his or her composure—a happenstance not typical in Nate’s realm of experience.
The most effective method of investigation other than an out-and-out eyewitness was the interview of a suspect. For Nate, interrogation was his bread and butter. In most cases, from petty theft to possession to murder, the suspect sang like the sweetest of birds when confronted with the evidence and prosecution. And if the suspect didn’t squeal, he or she at least gave him angle to work. But with this case, nothing. He hadn’t felt the slightest waver in any of the people he’d interviewed over the past few days, perhaps because many were actors accustomed to hiding their true emotions behind a façade. And that presented a stubborn wrinkle in the case.
The one person he hadn’t spoken to in-depth was Annie. Since their odd exchange in the library, he’d avoided questioning her on her background and on her impressions of the Keene family. Maybe because he was afraid of the desire that uncoiled when he was around her.
Damn it. She was a suspect. A viable one. She’d been hired around the time of the threat and he knew she was a liar.
So why hadn’t he already done his job?
He’d find out that afternoon, as soon as he finished the reports on those he’d taken statements from that morning. Time to interview the nanny.
He stared down at the forms and then shoved them toward where his cold coffee sat.
“You going to the Stumpwater Inn tonight?” Kelli asked, propping a hip on his metal desk.
“Is there ever a good reason to go there?”
The flirty detective ran a long red fingernail on top of the only photo sitting on his desk—the softball league championship pic
—and gave him a barracuda smile. “There is tonight.”
He rolled his eyes.
“What?” she said.
“You’re eight months pregnant. You can’t go to the Stump.”
Kelli raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “So? What are you saying? I’m not hot enough for action down there?”
Nate shook his head, picked up the hand still tapping the photo and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss. “Never.”
“Hey,” Wynn said, “get your lips off my wife.”
“Get your wife off my desk.”
Wynn’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I couldn’t pick her up if I
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