Black Oil, Red Blood - By Diane Castle Page 0,19

sighed. “You can drop the act. I know you just broke into Schaeffer’s house.”

D’oh! Busted! But how? And if he was certain of that fact, why was he here now instead of there, then? I was absolutely positive I had replaced everything exactly the way I found it. He couldn’t possibly be certain it was me, or even that anyone had been there at all. I thought fast, trying to figure out how to react, what to say.

I settled on busting out with a hearty, faked belly laugh. Miles and I were both practiced up on our fake laughs, seeing as how sometimes we needed Dick to believe that he truly was the funniest attorney on the planet. This, of course, happened only when we really wanted or needed something from him. The rest of the time, we just tried to avoid him as much as we could.

“Where on earth would you get an idea like that?” I said. “Listen, I know it’s been a long day for both of us, and we’ve both been drinking. . .”

“It’s no good, Chloe. I know you were there.”

I didn’t flinch. “You are mistaken,” I said through my teeth.

Nash leaned forward, his gaze piercing my own. I refused to look away, maintaining eye contact.

His lips came within inches of my face. I felt a certain electricity zoom up my spine against my will. It ought to be criminal for any one man to possess the amount of sex appeal Nash had. I was temporarily mesmerized.

“I was not mistaken,” Nash insisted. His fingers encircled my left wrist slowly. His hands were hot but not sweaty, his grasp gentle but firm. “The neighbors called because they saw a car. When I got there, the car was gone, but I went inside, and I could smell your perfume,” he said.

His warm breath, smelling of spearmint, caressed my face in a way that felt disturbingly intimate.

“Detective Nash.” I gingerly pulled my wrist away from his grasp. “Are you trying to tell me you are going to arrest me because you walked into Schaeffer’s house and smelled my scent? You know I spent a fair amount of time there, right?”

Nash’s fingers found my other wrist. “Ms. Taylor, are you trying to tell me you think I don’t know the difference between the smell of fresh perfume and the faint scent that’s left behind hours after a woman has been gone?”

“I—”

“If so, you have greatly underestimated both my intelligence and my personal charm.”

I slowly pulled my other wrist out of his grasp.

“It’s a commercial perfume. Anybody could have walked in wearing it.”

“Not just anyone in this town wears $500 Michael Kors perfume.” Nash rested his hand on my shoulder and gently tried to turn me around.

I pulled away, the spell broken. I was angry now—for many reasons, not the least of which was discovering that Nash was women-wise enough to know that I had paid $500 for my perfume back in the days when I actually had money. Men weren’t supposed to know those kinds of things. And if they did, they were definitely not to be trusted.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” I flung his arm away from me. “How stupid do you think I am? You haven’t got a warrant.”

“But I have probable cause.”

“You saw nothing. We are not at the scene. The opportunity for arrest without a warrant has passed.”

“I’ll have a warrant in five minutes.”

“That’s five more minutes you have to wait before cuffing me. And if you so much as try it before then, I’ll have myself out of your custody on procedural grounds so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Nash lifted his hands and spread them, palms out. The traditional “hands-up, don’t shoot” pose.

Inside, Lucy sensed I was in trouble and started up a steady stream of growling.

“You’re freaking my dog out,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject.

“I hear,” he said.

“Well, stop it.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to get lost.”

Naturally, he didn’t move. His harsh façade finally cracked into the beginnings of a grin, but just barely. Time to try another tactic. The roots of an idea were beginning to creep into my consciousness. Maybe if I worked things exactly right, I could come out of this not only unscathed, but actually ahead. I drew a deep breath.

“Listen to me, and listen good,” I said. “A man is dead. You’re looking for evidence to put someone away, and besides the deceased and the killers, I’m the only person

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