He would never expect she’d refuse.
“I’m afraid that answer’s unacceptable, Miz Goodknight,” he informed her.
“Faye,” she corrected quietly.
“Whatever the f**k,” he clipped. “Now, again, what are you doing here?”
For several long moments she studied him before she took half a step toward him but stopped abruptly and asked softly, “Do you come here a lot?”
“Not sure that’s your business,” he answered.
“But you are sure it’s your business to know why I come here?” she returned, not testy or sharp, just careful.
“It’s a crime scene, Miz Goodknight.”
“Faye.”
He leaned in and bit out a curt, “Faye,” and again wished he didn’t because her nose scrunched again. Another flinch. The cute kind. He buried his reaction to learning that the town’s pretty, curvy, probably virgin librarian, who he once marked as the women he wanted to make his before his life turned to shit, could be cute. Then he pressed on, “This is a crime scene.”
“The tape’s down,” she reminded him. “It’s been down months.”
“It’s still a crime scene.”
She took another step and again her spine went straight. “Mr. Harker gave this wood to the city of Carnal ten years ago, Detective Keaton. It’s a park. Public property. I have every right to be here.”
There it was. The backbone again and even having seen it before, he was still surprised.
“City ordinance states all parks close to the public at ten o’clock unless they’re a campsite,” Chace shot back and through the moonlight, he watched her press her lips together.
Then she unpressed them and whispered, “Oh.”
And that one syllable was melodious and cute too, f**k him.
She went on, “I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.”
“Maybe I should be leaving,” she suggested.
“No maybe about it, Miz Goodknight,” he returned.
“Faye,” she whispered, her eyes locked to his.
Chace didn’t reply.
Faye Goodknight didn’t leave.
Instead, she took two more steps toward him before she stopped only three feet away.
When she did, she asked softly, “Are you okay?”
He should have lied and said yes. Or maybe not answered and reminded her she was leaving.
He didn’t do either of these.
“Miz Goodknight, it’s two in the morning and I’m in the cold in the wood where my wife was murdered. Do you think I’m okay?”
Instantly, still soft, she replied, “No.”