"Like most wolves, I have a high tolerance for alcohol. I was nowhere near drunk, but I was right on the legal limit."
Until the lawmakers decided how to legally deal with the different makeup of humans, werewolves and shapeshifters, all of them had to cope with the laws as they were. And it didn't matter diddly-squat if the legal limit was barely tipsy for a wolf. It was the law, and they had to live with it. "So you got a fine and did community service?"
"Yes."
"So why is it that Savannah thinks you're a felon?"
"Because it's not the first time I've landed in jail for being drunk, though the other times, I wasn't driving."
"So you were a fool thrice over?"
"Yes."
"And were you having an affair with the husband's wife?"
"They were separated."
"So the answer is yes, you were."
He shrugged and didn't answer, his dark gaze as impassive as his thoughts. If not for the mix of exasperation, anger and hunger that burned between them, she would have thought him totally disinterested in both her reaction and her.
"Have you seen her since you got out of jail?"
"A fool I might be, but an idiot I'm not. I got the hell out of Denver the minute I legally could."
"And you've been with search and rescue since?"
"Basically."
"And sober?"
"Definitely. I have no intention of ever going back to jail. Being locked up for a couple of days was long enough for me to realize that being locked up for a long time would kill me." He regarded her for a moment, then said, "Satisfied I'm willing to tell the truth?"
It would be easy enough to check the authenticity of everything he'd said, though she really didn't doubt he was telling the truth. "Can I ask one more question?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Why did you leave Ripple Creek, and why did you come back?"
"Why I left is none of your damn business, and you've already guessed why I'm back."
She sipped her coffee and mentally made a note to ask Savannah to do some digging into his background — if she hadn't already. "So you are here to investigate the murders for your pack?"
"Yes."
He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table. Hunger slipped between them, caressing her skin with its heat, stirring her mind with its fervor. The deep-down ache increased, and she squirmed, trying to ignore the sensation. She might as well try to ignore the rising of the moon.
"Now," he continued softly. "Are you willing to offer the same sort of honesty?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"Then tell me why the rangers suspect it is one of the Sinclairs behind the killings."
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. Savannah wasn't going to be happy with her for doing this, but instinct suggested she had to trust him. And right now, instinct was the only thing she did trust. She certainly wasn't about to trust common sense, which was currently suggesting she leap this table and dance herself senseless with this beautiful but uncaring man.
"They haven't got anything concrete, and certainly nothing that would be admissible in a court of law."
His dark eyes watched her intently. Hungrily. "But?"