Part 10 (2/2)
He shrugged. ”There's not a lock that can't be breached by someone who really wants to get in. I could probably break into any house in this city. And I'm not nearly as good as some of the burglars who operate here.”
”That's encouraging,” she said dryly.
”The detective should have explained the facts of city life.”
”Perhaps he thought I should have realized them.”
”I'll have to have a talk with Morris.”
She raised her eyes and met his. ”How did you know it was Detective Morris?”
”I checked,” he said equably.
”Did he meet your approval?” she said, unable to prevent a twitch of a smile.
”He's okay.”
From the sound of his voice, that was probably his highest praise.
”I'm glad you approve.”
It was a snippy reply, but she reacted to the arrogant a.s.sumption that she couldn't take care of herself. She'd always prided herself on handling her own problems. Mixed with that was a traitorous jolt of pleasure that he had taken the trouble.
Faint amus.e.m.e.nt crossed his face. ”Except I would have explained about the locks,” he added.
”I didn't give him a chance. I was somewhat rattled.”
”I would have been more than rattled,” he replied.
That unexpected admission really 'did' rattle her. ”I'm sorry. I'm really tired and--” It was intended as a brush-off.
He didn't take the subtle invitation to leave.
”Why don't you stay with a family member? Or a friend?”
Because she didn't have anyone? She wasn't going to admit that to him. ”That's not your concern.”
He raised an eyebrow and she wondered why she was so short with him. Possibly because his presence was so strong, even overwhelming.
”I'm sorry,” she said. ”I'm tired. In any event, I thought you wanted to talk about the Prescott case.”
He took a big bite of sandwich, chewed slowly, then sat back in his chair. ”Do you remember him?”
”Barely. He was a friend of my father.”
”Do you recall where you were when he was killed?”
”I was on a cla.s.s trip to Was.h.i.+ngton, but I don't understand why--”
”I'm just talking to everyone who saw him during the days before his murder,” he said. ”Your father couldn't see me today. I thought you might remember something.”
”I was only sixteen.”
”Sometimes you don't realize that you do know something.”
She didn't reply, choosing to take another bite of sandwich instead.
”Was Prescott at your home frequently?”
”I truly don't know. I was usually studying and avoided most of the social gatherings at my house. I remember seeing him. I don't remember anything more than that.”
”Your impressions of him?”
”I didn't like him,” she said flatly, ”but then, to be honest, I didn't care for many of my father's friends.”
A startled look crossed his face, then a slow, appreciative grin that sparked a frisson of pleasure in her before he continued, ”Did you hear your father say anything about his murder?”
”No. He didn't talk to me about things like that.”
”What 'did' he talk to you about?”
”I think that's between him and me,” she said tartly, wis.h.i.+ng he would smile again. It transformed his stark face. She remembered when she had questioned Gaynor years ago and realized how he'd probably felt--like a b.u.t.terfly on a pin--even though there was nothing to hide.
She knew he was fis.h.i.+ng. She also knew that's what detectives did on cold cases. And it was logical to start with her father, who had been a close friend of Prescott's and seen him last. Still, she couldn't imagine her father having any knowledge of a murder. He was too rigid about proper behavior, and murder certainly wasn't proper behavior. He was also too concerned with his public image.
Yet in the back of her mind there was a seed of doubt. It was around that time that he had dropped his attempts to win a federal judges.h.i.+p, a position she'd known he wanted. Badly.
She dismissed the disloyal thought, took another bite, then rose. ”I have to go, Detective.”
”Are you going home now?”
”Yes.”
”I'll go with you.” His gaze dueled with hers, warming her with the attention, the perusal that seemed to peel her layers back one at a time. Wanting to study him in the same way--too much--she dragged her gaze away. She distrusted the sparks that streaked between them. He was everything she disliked, a macho man who felt he should always be in charge.
”No.” She wanted to be alone when she surveyed the ruin again. She wanted to replace the underwear and bring some semblance of order to her home before anyone saw it. It was her life that lay in shambles there.
Or perhaps she didn't want Detective Gaynor in particular to see her vulnerability. Of all people, he was the last one she wanted to see the house as it was.
He rose with a lazy grace that belied his size. ”Thanks for the time. If you think of anything else--”
”I'll call you,” she said quickly. ”Why is the Prescott case being opened now?” she asked after a pause.
”I'm the low man on the totem pole now,” he said. ”I get what they a.s.sign, and right now it's a few of the cold cases. I'm sure you know that many of them are being reopened because of technology advances.”
”But isn't there a separate cold case unit?”
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