by Debra Cowan
“Strike one!” the umpire called.
“Dirty pool, Houston,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t make me use this bat on you.”
“Okay, okay.” Lips curving, he raised one hand in surrender.
“No more heckling.”
“That was a compliment.” Amusement traced his words. “Want me to take it back?”
“I want you to play the game,” she muttered.
He laughed, signaling Jerry that he was ready for the next pitch.
Robin got a solid hit, bringing in a runner and making it to third base herself. Her team was behind by one run when they took the field again.
Back at second base, Robin tried to concentrate on the game. When it was again Houston’s turn to bat, the bases were loaded. She wished she could throw him off balance the way he had done her, but she couldn’t do anything from her position. She would have to settle for tagging him out. She really wanted that.
He took his sweet time choosing a pitch. When he hit it, the ball sailed to right field. He had passed first and was on his way to second when the ball reached Clay, who fired it to Robin.
She caught it just as Houston slid into second base. Right between her legs. She barely managed to keep herself from stumbling.
“Safe!” the umpire called.
Frozen, her glove hanging uselessly at her side, Robin stared down at the man lying at her feet.
He propped himself on one elbow, staring at her legs with an arrested look on his face. Was he looking at her scar? Her skin tingled. Her senses sharpened. She noticed how his hair curled slightly on the ends. The streak of blood down the side of his arm. His sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his broad chest.
His gaze lifted to hers and tension arced between them. The crowd’s cheers faded into the background. Why wasn’t he moving?
Why wasn’t she?
Her brain kicked in and she frowned at him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” His attention dropped to the length of her leg bared by her shorts. “Just enjoying the view.”
Oh, my gosh. Heat shimmered beneath her skin and that got her moving. She nudged him with one foot. “Get up!”
Grinning, he rolled to his feet as she took a step back. The crowd continued clapping and cheering.
“Good catch,” he said. “You almost got me.”
“Next time I will.” What was she saying? She didn’t want a next time.
One corner of his mouth hitched up as if he knew what she was thinking. “I take back what I said earlier,” he murmured.
“About what?”
“Your legs aren’t nice, they’re great.”
Her eyes narrowed. He was just trying to get to her. There was no time to reply. The ball was hit and he sprinted for third base. Clay tagged the batter out at first then fired the ball to third just as Houston started for home. He slid into the bag, but the catcher snagged the ball and touched Nate a millisecond before he reached home plate.
“Out!” the ump called.
Getting to his feet, Nate good-naturedly accepted the umpire’s call. He walked to his team’s dugout, brushing red dirt off his arms before catching a bottle of water someone tossed to him and taking a long drink.
Robin couldn’t pull her gaze from the play of muscles in his arms. Why couldn’t she stop looking at him? Hadn’t she seen enough of him already? Yesterday. Today. Something weird was going on with her and she didn’t like it.
It was then she realized that, for the first time while being around him, she hadn’t thought about her aborted wedding at all.
Because she’d been thinking about Houston!
No man had ever affected her in such a strongly physical way. If it had been only lust, Robin could’ve handled it, but this warmth, this buoyancy in her chest was worse than lust.
Nate Houston had talked her fiancé into not marrying her, and she still didn’t know why. And here she was, afraid she could actually like this guy.
Chapter 4
Robin didn’t want to like Nate Houston. He had ruined her wedding. That reminder should’ve been enough to put him out of her mind, but Monday morning, she was still thinking about him.
It was because he was different than what she had expected. And because of the startling unwanted desire that had slammed into her like a bullet when he had shown up on Saturday at the ball field. She hadn’t been prepared to see him let alone drool over his jock-of-the-month look.
Today she was ready. She could appreciate his dark appeal without wanting to go deeper inside the man. When they were together, it was all about business. Like now, as they arrived at Dennis Bane’s place of employment in downtown Oklahoma City.
Collier was still on call for court, which meant it would be only Robin and Nate trying to find out if anyone might have a reason to kill their third fire-murder victim and his wife.
Nate had met Robin at the police department before nine that morning, and they had ridden together in his SUV. They both wore some semblance of a uniform. Nate’s navy polo shirt sported the emblem of the fire marshal’s office, and he wore his badge clipped to the trim waist of his dark blue slacks. His gun was tucked into his pants at the small of his back.
Her badge and holster were clipped to the waistband of her dusky blue slacks, just below the hem of a matching sleeveless top.
When they stepped out of the vehicle, heat rolled over them like a tide. Adjusting her sunglasses, Robin walked with Houston into the foyer of the high-rise.
Cool air swirled around them as they walked across the dark, gold-veined marble floor toward a bank of elevators. A waist-high podium against one wall of elevators held an electronic listing of the building’s tenants.
Robin and Nate stopped there, her gaze skimming the directory.
“There it is, Eastman and Associates,” Nate said.
She followed the direction of his finger. The commercial leasing and management company was on floor fifteen. Reached by a glass elevator. Vertigo and glass elevators did not mix.
“Yippee,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Nate glanced over as he punched the up button.
“Nothing.” She thought longingly of taking the stairs, but she wouldn’t. Not only because it was impractical, but also because she didn’t want to show any weakness, not in front of Houston. As long as she kept her eyes trained on the steel doors or the floor she would be fine.
The elevator stopped several times on the way up and Robin had no problems. They reached their floor and stepped out. Just a few feet away was a large glass door identified by black lettering as the office of Eastman and Associates.
As Nate reached to open the door, Robin stopped. For a moment, she had almost forgotten he was “in charge.” “How do you want to handle the interviews?”
He frowned. “What would you do if Collier were here?”
“I’d probably lead.”
“Let’s do it that way then.”
“Okay.” Excellent. This might go better than she had anticipated. He wasn’t trying to muscle in on anything. Though glad, she wondered why. Meddling seemed to be his MO.
Nate opened the heavy door and followed Robin inside. Dark hardwood floors gleamed. Lush area rugs in a muted green and cream complemented the dark green leather sofa and the pairs of chairs that flanked each end, making the area inviting and open. The receptionist’s desk was also done in dark wood and the privacy counter along the top was crowded with plants and bouquets of flowers. From the sympathy card on a basket of ivy, Robin assumed the arrangements had been sent with condolences on the death of Dennis Bane.
“May I help you?” The blonde behind the desk was young, maybe twenty. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying.
Robin showed her badge. “Detective Daly, Presley P.D. This is Agent Houston with the fire marshal’s office. We’d like to talk to the person in charge.”
“That’s Mr. Eastman.” The woman picked up the phone and hit a button on a multiline receiver, sp
eaking quietly to the person on the other end. After a couple of minutes, a tall silver-haired man appeared in the entrance that led to the offices. His black suit was perfectly tailored to his lean frame. The fabric looked expensive, as did the shoes that were polished to a military sheen.
Distinguished and sharp-eyed, he extended his hand to Robin. “David Eastman.”
After introductions, Robin explained the reason for their visit. “We’re investigating the fire that killed Mr. and Mrs. Bane. We’d like to talk to you and your employees. It’s standard procedure.”
“Whatever you need. I have a large conference room not being used at the moment, if you would prefer people to come to you.”
“No need for that. Their offices will be fine.” Robin wanted to see if anything in individual work spaces showed signs that Bane had been more than a coworker. “We’d like to see Dennis’s office first.”
“All right.” The older man glanced at the receptionist. “Cara, is anyone out for a meeting this morning?”
“Not yet.”
“You should be able to talk to everyone.” He turned back to Robin and Nate, motioning for them to follow him. “This way to Dennis’s office.”
Accompanying the older man down a hallway carpeted in dusky green, they passed three offices before Eastman stopped in an open doorway. “Here we are.”
The office was large, with a window that looked south. Green pressboard files were strewn across a credenza behind the heavy walnut desk. A photograph of Sheila Bane, and another of Dennis and Sheila together sat at one corner. Thick manuals stamped with city code numbers lined the shelves of one six-foot bookcase on an adjacent wall. In front of the desk sat two visitors’ chairs in the same dark green leather as those in the waiting area.
Mr. Eastman stepped aside so Robin and Nate could enter. “Do you suspect foul play?”
“We’re still sorting things out, sir.” Nate moved to the far end of the desk occupied by a flat-screen monitor and laptop.
The other man looked at Nate. “The article in the paper said arson was a possible cause.”
“We always have to eliminate a lot of possibilities before we know for sure.”
Nate’s answer was the same she would’ve given, Robin noted.
The company’s owner nodded. “Well, if there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“We’d like to take Mr. Bane’s computer.” Robin smiled. “We can get a warrant if you’d like.”
“It’s not necessary. Take it. All of us here will help in any way we can. It’s so hard to believe Dennis is gone, and Sheila, too. Horrible tragedy to die that way.”
Robin nodded.
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Cara brews a fresh pot every morning.”
“No, thank you,” Robin and Nate said in unison.
“I’ll let you get to it, then. My office is straight down the hall. If you need anything at all, let me know.”
“Thank you, sir.” Once the man left, Nate moved behind the desk where Robin stood flipping through files. “Everyone seems cooperative.”
“We’ll know for sure when we start poking around and asking questions.” Catching Houston’s subtle scent, she stepped away.
A thorough search of Bane’s office turned up nothing helpful. Maybe his computer would. Carrying the laptop, Nate followed Robin out the door.
In addition to the receptionist and Mr. Eastman, there were ten leasing agents and four secretaries. Nate and Robin took turns questioning all of them, and one notable piece of information came to light.
Three different employees revealed that one of the secretaries, Tiffany Jarvis, had been openly pursuing Dennis Bane. Propositioning him, leaving notes on his desk, sending e-mails. According to all three people, Bane hadn’t been interested at all and would barely pay attention to her.
Robin and Nate made their way to her desk, which sat outside the large offices of two leasing agents.
When they introduced themselves, she stood. Brown hair streaked with gold highlights fell to her shoulders. Her bloodshot hazel eyes were emphasized by thick mascara and eye shadow. She was dressed professionally, in a slim lilac skirt and coordinating floral sweater.
“Would you like to go into the break room or conference room, Miss Jarvis?” Nate asked.
She flicked a worried glance between him and Robin. “For privacy?”
Robin nodded, flipping to a blank page in her small notebook.
Leaving her desk, Tiffany started down a corridor. “We can go to the break room.”
Once they got into the room outfitted with a long table, some chairs and a refrigerator, Robin didn’t see any reason to beat around the bush. “We understand from a few of your coworkers that you were interested in Mr. Bane.”
She hesitated. “It never went anywhere.”
“Because he threatened to report your behavior to the police?”
The woman folded her arms around her middle. “He never would’ve done that. He was too nice. Besides, it wasn’t like I was stalking him or anything.”
“So the threat was just his way of getting you to back off?” Nate asked.
She nodded, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other.
Robin exchanged a look with Nate before continuing. “We were told you followed Mr. Bane to lunch sometimes, and out to the parking lot.”
Her lips tightened. “Who told you that?”
“Yes or no, Miss Jarvis?” Robin asked.
The woman didn’t answer.
“So, yes,” Robin murmured.
Irritation flickered across Tiffany’s face, but she didn’t deny it.
Nate glanced over Robin’s shoulder at her notes, his breath tickling her temple. “A few times you asked for a ride to or from work when there was nothing wrong with your car.”
“That’s just people talking.” She looked anxiously past them into the hall. “I really need to get back to work.”
Nate stood so close that Robin could feel the warmth of his body. She edged away, putting some space between her and the man who she was noticing way too much about. “We can finish this at Presley’s police department.”
“No, no. We can talk here.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Did you ever follow Dennis home?”
Tiffany stiffened. “No.”
“You followed him other places,” Nate pointed out.
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Well, not there.”
Judging from the flat look on Nate’s face, he didn’t believe the secretary any more than Robin did. “Where were you last Thursday night, Tiffany?”
“Is that the night it happened?”
“Yes.” Nate looked at her expectantly. When she didn’t respond, he prodded, “Miss Jarvis?”
“I was at a bar.” She named a well-known spot.
Robin jotted a note. “Can anyone verify that?”
Her gaze flitted around the small room. “Is this going to take much longer?”
Nate’s voice turned flinty. “Not if you answer the questions.”
“I went alone and I left alone. Maybe the bartender will remember me.” The woman tightened her arms around her middle. “Am I a suspect?”
“Thanks, Miss Jarvis.” Robin tucked her notebook into the pocket of her slacks. “We’ll get back to you if we have more questions.”
“All right,” Tiffany said shakily.
Finished for now, Robin and Nate stopped by Mr. Eastman’s office to let him know they were leaving and taking Bane’s computer. They both gave him their business cards, urging the older man to call if he or any of his employees thought of anything else.
Once outside the office, Robin and Nate boarded the elevator, Nate holding the laptop. Just before the doors closed, a group of people piled on. Eight of them. Nate eased back into the corner and Robin shifted, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. There was the usual shuffling and arranging, nudging for space. Just when she thought they were ready to go, another person jumped on. The doo
rs closed and the car began to move.
All the maneuvering had landed Robin against the glass wall. And Nate. As the car started down, she felt a hard tug in her belly. The people who had joined them talked amongst themselves. Someone stepped on her foot and she edged away, pressing one hand against the solid side wall.
Standing close enough to brush Nate’s torso with her shoulder, she determinedly kept her gaze fixed on the floor; but from the corner of her eye, she could see the levels as they zipped past. Even though she squeezed her eyes shut, it was too late.
The air turned stifling, and a giddy sensation clutched at her stomach. A cold sweat popped out on her nape. Woozy now, black spots danced behind her eyes. The whoosh of the car, the murmur of voices faded.
Breathe in, breathe out. Focusing helped, but she felt her control slipping. It wasn’t the enclosed space that bothered her. It was the glass elevator. In the two seconds before she closed her eyes, she had seen enough to make her feel as though she were swept up in a circling funnel.
Crap! The world spun around her. Nate said something to her, but the words were thick, distorted. Part of her mind worked enough for her to grab the wall, which she did with her right hand, holding tight. The elevator shimmied to a stop and the spinning slowed.
Thank goodness they had stopped. Robin kept breathing steadily. The doors opened and people stepped off. She became aware then of a big hand cupping her elbow. Nate. And she had a death grip on his thigh. She hadn’t been holding on to the wall at all. She’d grabbed Houston.
Heat from embarrassment and irritation flushed her body. She wanted to disappear through the floor. Swallowing a groan, she tried to pull away, but Nate held firm to her arm.
Which was good, she admitted to herself reluctantly, as her surroundings melded into a spinning top of glass, steel and the sky visible through the top of the building. She wobbled.
Once outside the elevator, he steered her to one of the padded chairs in the sitting area.
“Sit.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Sit,” he said in a steely tone, one big hand on her shoulder, firmly pushing her into the seat. “What just happened in there? Did you almost pass out?”
