He exhaled. “Are you aware that she was dating your ex a while back?”
His question floated around her mind. She shook her head. “No, Mandy barely knew Clint.”
He glanced down at his cup and then up. “It appears she did.”
She tried to wrap her head around why he would say something so crazy. “How. . . Why would you believe l . .? That’s ridiculous.”
He sipped his coffee. “After your car was impounded, I ran a check on your ex. Someone from his address called the cops a couple of months ago for a domestic dispute issue. The name on the report was Amanda Adams.”
Savanna remembered Mandy calling Clint good looking and an asshole. Her chest felt hollow.
“I’m sorry.” He set his coffee down. “I know that might be hard to hear.”
“No, it can’t be right.” Then Savanna recalled that a couple of months ago Mandy had gone MIA on the group. Bethany thought Mandy was seeing someone, maybe a married man, and was embarrassed to admit to it. But then Mandy came back, and all she’d said was that she’d been busy, and everyone let it go. Had Mandy been dating Clint then?
Savanna’s disbelief faded. Yet accepting Mandy would date Clint was one thing, but . . . “Even if she was dating him, she wouldn’t kill him. She’s not crazy.”
He turned his cup. “Not all murderers are crazy. I know.”
Savanna sat there trying to come to grips with this. “But if you’re right, why would she bring him to my house to . . . do it?”
His gaze filled with empathy. “Because she hoped people would think you did it. And if you hadn’t stopped for gas, and if I hadn’t seen you come home alone, you’d still be at the police station being interrogated.”
She swallowed. “Mandy and I aren’t close, but I don’t see her trying to set me up for murder.” She started shaking again. “I need to call Bethany.”
He set his phone down on the table. “You can use mine, but I don’t think that’s wise. Jake was informing one of the detectives about the canceled flight as soon as we left. Chances are, your friends have already been contacted.”
“Then I’ve really got to get in touch with Bethany.” She reached for his phone at the same time it rang. She pulled her hand back.
He looked at the screen and took the call. “Mark Donaldson,” he said.
She heard a feminine voice reply.
His eyes widened and he put his hand over his phone and looked at Savanna “I don’t have a clue how she got my number, but Bethany wants to talk to you, too.” He handed her his cell.
“Hello.” Savanna’s chest clutch.
“Savanna? Oh, God, are you okay?”
“Someone killed Clint.” Her eyes stung again. “In my house. I came home and found him.”
“That’s what the police said. I’m on my way to the police station now. Are you still there? If so, don’t talk to them. Tell them you want a lawyer.”
“I already talked to them.” She looked up at Mark. He stood and went to the coffee pot for a refill. When he turned around she got a visual flash of him in front of her, completely naked. And just like that, she knew it had actually happened. She felt her face heat up.
“Do they think you did it?” Bethany asked.
Savanna pushed back her embarrassment. “Yes, maybe . . . Hell, I don’t know. Mark says because I have a gas receipt across town I’m probably clear.”
“Mark’s the neighbor cop, the guy’s phone I called?”
“Yeah. How did you get his number?”
“I dated a cop a few times last year. He’s one of the cops on the case. He called me, and when I insisted to know more he gave me a Jake Baldwin’s number. Mr. Baldwin gave me this number. Is your neighbor still being a jerk?”
“No.” She glanced up and saw his eyebrow arch and realized how loud Bethany sounded. He could probably hear everything. “He’s being nice.”
“Where are you?” Bethany asked.
“At his house.”
Bethany inhaled. “The cops want me to come in and talk to them. When I’m done, I’ll pick you up. I have no idea how long it will be, though. Are you okay for a while?”
“Yeah.” Savanna remembered Mandy. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah. Mandy and Jennifer were still packing their stuff. I was frantic to leave in case you needed me.”
“Were all of you together last night?” Savanna looked up as Mark leaned in closer.
“No, the airlines agreed to put us up for the night in a local hotel. They gave us our own rooms. We went to the bar and had a drink and then we all went back to our rooms and crashed.” She paused. “Why?”
Savanna took a deep breath. “Did you know Mandy was dating Clint?”
“What?” Bethany said. “No.”
“Supposedly, there’s a police report. Someone called the cops at Clint’s place because of an argument between him and his girlfriend. The report claims the girlfriend was Amanda Adams.”
“Oh, shit!” Bethany said.
Savanna closed her eyes and saw Clint’s image again, but forced herself to ask. “Do you think she’d kill Clint and make it look like I did it?”
Chapter Seven
“You should take one of the bedrooms,” Mark said after she’d hung up. “That sofa’s not sleepable.”
She looked ready to fall apart again. She also looked sexy as hell in his boxers and shirt, but he tried not to notice. Tried not to remember what she looked like naked. But now it wasn’t just the physical that drew him to her. The quick Internet search on his phone had revealed a few things that made him want to know more.
“It’s fine. Bethany should be here soon.”
“It’s not going to be soon. The A-team shift comes on at seven and they’ll want to question her, too. You should rest.”
She pressed her hand on the sofa. “This feels fine.” Her cat, one of those fancy Persian cats with a pugged nose, circled her feet.
He nodded. “You sure you don’t want something to drink? Milk, juice, tea.”
“No, my stomach is still shaky.” She looked down at the floor. “But thank you,” she said, instinctively polite.
“For what?”
“For being nice.”
“After I was a jerk.” He recalled what he’d heard.
She flinched as if guilty. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Hey. I’m teasing.”
She frowned. “You were kind of a jerk with the car thing.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry. I think you’ve more than made up for it.” She made a funny face. “I sort of recall puking on you.” She offered him a weak smile.
“Right between my toes.” He grinned.
Her smile widened, but still didn’t reach her eyes.
“I guess we’re even, huh?” he asked.
She nodded, her smile vanished. She gripped her hands. Another flashback, he suspected. He’d had them with the first three bad homicide cases he’d worked. The images would just pop into his head causing an emotional kneejerk. Sometimes, if it was bad, he still got them.
He stepped closer. “You know what you need?”
She glanced up, her face lacking color. “What?”
“A drink.”
“I tried coffee at the police station. I couldn’t—”
“A real drink.” He walked over to a cabinet on the far side of the living room. “I have some brandy.” He glanced over his shoulder. “My dad always does better at picking Christmas gifts than my mom. It’ll make the flashbacks disappear.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know . . . ?”
“It’s part of shock and seeing something . . . not pleasant.”
He pulled out the brandy and two glasses but waited for her to say yes.
She rubbed her hand over her bare knees. Pretty knees. Pretty legs.
“You really think it’ll make them go away?” she asked.
“It worked for me.”
“Then I’ll try it.”
He poured them both a glass.
Walking over, he sat down beside her and handed her the glass. He held up his drink. “To better days.”
She took a sip and looked down at the glass. “Not bad.”
She took another sip. When she pulled the glass away from her lips, they were wet. And sexy. He had his own flashback, but the good kind, of perfect skin and a curvy body. Of nipples the same color as her lips. Guilt pulled at his conscience. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that. But the moment he’d found no wounds, he’d lost his protect-and-serve attitude and went straight to just being a man.
The silence felt awkward, so he asked, “How’s the florist business these days?”
She titled her head. “Did I tell you that?”
“No, I . . . Googled you while I was waiting for you in the office.”
“Our lives are open books now,” she said. She tapped her glass with her finger. “The business is growing every year.”
He noted her light pink fingernail polish. Everything about her was light. Her hair, eyes, how she’d felt in his arms when he’d carried her to his sofa.
“So what else did Google say about me?” she asked.
“Interesting stuff.” He sipped his brandy. “You graduated with a degree in business five years ago—which puts you about twenty-eight or twenty-nine. You opened your shop three years ago—after managing another flower shop for two years. It led me to the article about how you donate flower arrangements to the women’s shelter twice a year because your father used to work there before he died in car crash when you were a teenager. You host a Valentine’s Day essay contest about what’s special about your girlfriend and give away twenty-five arrangements to the winning guys. You donated your mom’s home to the feral cat organization last year.” He grinned. “Oh, and you also have a porn site.”
Her eyes popped open. “There’s a porn site with my name on it?”
“Well, they spell Savanna with only one ‘n.’ But don’t worry, she’s not nearly as pretty as you.”
She choked on her drink then smiled. “You checked?”
He shrugged. “I’m a cop. Investigating is what I do.”
“Right.” Her smile was the first real one she’d offered him and damn if his chest didn’t feel lighter seeing it.
She took another sip of brandy. “Who knew Google could tell my life story.”
“That’s not your entire story. I’ll bet you still have a few secrets.”
“I don’t know, it just about covered it.”
It wasn’t an invitation to ask questions, but he decided to make it one. “I don’t think so. For example, are you a real Texan? Born and raised?”
“Yup. Grew up in downtown Magnolia.”
He nodded. She had the personality of a small-town girl. He liked that. “Siblings?”
“Only child. Which most people think means I’m selfish. And I’m not. But I’ll admit, I never liked sharing my toys.”
He chuckled. “How long were you married?”
From her expression, he knew this question wasn’t so well received, but he’d found himself wondering about her relationship to the vic and how a guy could be stupid enough to lose her.
“Not quite two years,” she said.
“What happened?”
She hesitated. “Mom was in hospice and I was staying with her. He’d been with me, but said it was too hard, so he went home.” She finished off her brandy. “Mom died and when I came home, he was in bed with one of his employees.”
“Ouch!” he said.
She looked at her empty glass. He took hers and replaced it with his.
“Thanks.” She took another sip and her shoulders relaxed. “I stayed angry for months. And then it just . . . went away. I knew I was over it. Over him. But I didn’t want . . . this to happen to him.”
“I know,” he said, leaning a little closer to let his shoulder brush against hers.
She exhaled. “I’ll bet this whole mess will be up on Google in a few days.”
“Probably,” he said. “Nothing’s safe from Google.”
The room quieted again. She stared at the glass. “So if I Googled you, what would I discover?”
“That I don’t have a porn site.” He grinned.
Her smile returned. But damn, he’d thought she was pretty from across the street. Up close she was . . . Pretty didn’t begin to describe it. And she didn’t even have makeup on.
“And?” she asked.
He’d started this game. Now he had to play. He regretted it.
“Well, I started out a military brat. Lived all over.”
“Started out?” she asked.
“My father moved into politics. So I spent my junior and senior high years either flying from country to country or in Washington.”
“What countries?”
“About fifteen different ones. You really want me to name them?”
“Yeah.”
So he did. All fifteen of them. Starting with Angola and ending with Venezuela.
“Wow. So cool. Your dad must have been successful.” She held up the brandy. “Especially considering this and the silk housecoats you don’t wear.”
“He was.”
“That’s really neat.”
He was surprised she didn’t ask for titles. “Not so neat. Wealthy yes, not neat.””
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say dysfunctional comes in all different income levels.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. I’m fine.” And he wished he hadn’t said anything.
She turned her cup in her hands. “College?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Harvard.”
“I’m impressed. Degree?”
“Criminal justice and law.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“No. I’m a cop. I didn’t take the bar.”
“Why not? Afraid you wouldn’t pass? I hear it’s really hard.”
“No. I’d have passed.”
She tilted her head to the side and studied him. The shadows of panic were gone. The brandy had worked.
“Hmm,” she said. “I don’t know if that means you’re cocky or just really smart?”
He laughed. “Probably a little of both, but mostly smart.”
“So you were the smart, rich kid?” There was a tease in her voice.
He liked hearing it, too. He grinned. “Yeah.”
“So why didn’t you take the bar?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted to do.”
She looked at him as if surmising. “So your parents wanted you to be a lawyer?”
He reached for her glass and took his own sip, then placed it back in her hands. “Yup. Then I would follow my father into politics.”
“You still should have taken the bar. I mean, if you’re really smart, you should go take it now.”
“Why?” he asked, disappointed that she was saying what the rest of them said. Being a lawyer held prestige. A cop, not so much.
“Because you earned it. You went to school.”
“I’m perfectly happy with what I do.”
“I didn’t say become a lawyer. You should never do what you don’t want to do. I said pass the bar. Hang the certificate up on your wall. It’s something to be proud of. Bethany had to take it twice.” She made a funny face and pressed a hand to her mouth. “Don’t tell her I said that. She’d kill me.”
“I won’t,” he said, enjoying the relaxed Savanna more than he thought he would.
“So you don’t get along with your parents?” she asked.
He leaned back on the sofa. “We tolerate each other better.”
“That’s good. Having lost my parents, I think you should work on that.”
“Were you close with yours?”
“I was a daddy’s girl and lost him. Mom stepped up to the plate. She was more like a friend than a parent. Not that it was a bad thing. I didn’t need a parent. I couldn’t be
bad—not after we lost dad. That nearly killed her, and I don’t think I ever did a bad thing after that. Well, she didn’t approve of the men I dated. She didn’t like Clint at all. She was right.”
He didn’t know what to say, so he just listened.
“I still miss her so bad. Tonight, or last night I guess, was the first time I’ve been back to the gravesite.” She fell against him, just a little.
He saw her eyelids droop, and he knew that between the brandy and no sleep, she was crashing. The glass settled in her lap. He took the glass and set it on the coffee table then leaned back. The lack of sleep and the little brandy he’d consumed was getting to him, too.
“You really should go stretch out on a bed,” he said, seeing her eyes grow heavy.
“No.” Her eyes fluttered open. “Besides, your shoulder is more comfortable.” She leaned against him.
He knew then just how much the brandy had gone to her head.
“You don’t mind if I . . . lean on you, do you? I haven’t . . . had anyone to lean on in a long time.”
“Not at all.” He raised his arm to the back of the sofa so her cheek pillowed into a softer spot. A few stands of her hair caught in his five o’clock shadow.
She snuggled closer, pressed her face between his arm and shoulder. “You smell good.”
He lowered his head and inhaled the fruity scent of her shampoo. “So do you.”
• • •
The sound of the doorbell chased away the sweetness of sleep. But another sweetness took its place. Mark was stretched out on the sofa. Savanna on top of him. And damn if she didn’t fit in the all right places. Her head cradled in the soft spot of his shoulder. Her soft breasts against his lower chest. Her pelvis pressed against . . . Oh, yeah, sweet. And a certain southern body part seemed to agree with his assessment, too. He was morning hard and then some.
The doorbell chimed again and he realized instead of enjoying this he should find a way to solve it before she woke up and found him hard and ready.
She stirred. Too late. She pushed up on his chest, looked him right in the eyes.
“Crap,” She started scrambling to get up. Her thigh shifting up and down his shaft, only made his predicament worse. Or it did until her urgency to get up had her knee swinging up making a direct hit to his family jewels.
The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan) Page 6
