LITMIR.BIZ

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look nice,” he commented as he followed her to his car.

      “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She reached for the passenger-door handle with her left hand, but he stretched around her and opened the door. When he did, her hair brushed his cheek. A bolt of lightning-hot lust shot straight to his groin.

      Damn. His reaction surprised him. So much that he’d almost gasped. He immediately straightened, putting the door between him and her, but not before his nose caught a subtle floral scent that was very familiar to him. Christy Moser smelled like the gardenias that grew in his grandmother Lilibelle’s garden.

      As Christy climbed into the car, Reilly swallowed. When had he gone from merely admiring her figure and feeling protective of her to lusting after her? Of course, as soon as he asked the question he knew the answer. About two seconds after he’d first spotted her walking across the courthouse lobby.

      In fact, he’d woken up in a very uncomfortable state this morning, with the dregs of a sexy dream involving the two of them and dozens of ladybugs floating in his head.

      He tried to make small talk on the way to the sheriff’s office. He pointed out the Christmas decorations that lined the streets of Covington and made comments about Christmas in the South, where shorts and sandals were more appropriate attire than parkas and boots.

      Christy seemed distracted, staring out the window at nothing. Probably thinking about her attack the night before and the statement she was going to have to make in a few minutes.

      As he pulled into the parking lot at the sheriff’s office, she turned to him. “I never heard from Detective Delancey. I need to talk to him.”

      Reilly winced. He’d forgotten to call Ryker. “I’ll let him know. I’m going to see him this morning.” He wanted to ask Ryker about Autumn Moser’s case. Whether, after Albert Moser’s confession and the connection between the murders he committed and his daughter’s death, the case was going to be reopened.

      If it was—

      “You told me you’d let him know yesterday.”

      “Yes, I did,” he said rather testily. “But the day got busy, for you as well as me.” He cut the engine and got out of the car. He knew that Christy had more than one reason to be upset and irritable. And he couldn’t deny how beautiful and sexy she was, but he was getting a little tired of her officious attitude.

      He walked around the car and opened the passenger door for her.

      “Thank you,” she muttered as she got out. He followed her into the building and directed her down the hall to the interview rooms.

      Buford Watts was standing near the break room, drinking a cup of coffee. When he saw them, he set the coffee mug down on the top of a bookcase and stepped up to Christy.

      “Morning, Ms. Moser.”

      Reilly started to correct him, then bit his tongue. If Christy wanted to remind the man that she was a doctor, she could do it herself.

      “Good morning,” she responded evenly.

      “I’ve got a room set up for us. It’s right through there.” Buford pointed the way to Interview Room Two. The door was open. Christy entered and Reilly followed, but Buford stopped him at the door.

      “Don’t you have something to do this morning, Delancey?”

      Reilly shook his head. “This week the SWAT team is practicing and recertifying weapons skills. I finished yesterday.” He gave Buford a bright smile. “You said I could sit in on the interview.”

      “The interview last night. Nobody said anything about this morning,” Buford said.

      “Well, do you have a problem with me sitting in?”

      The deputy muttered something under his breath and went into the room. Reilly entered behind him. Buford indicated a chair for Christy to sit in, then sat directly across from her, with the tape recorder in the middle of the table.

      Reilly moved a chair to a neutral spot at the end of the table, neither on Christy’s side nor Buford’s.

      Buford turned on the tape recorder and went through the required preliminary information—date, name, location and so on. He quickly and casually ran through the questions he’d asked Christy the night before.

      Then he leaned forward and picked up a folder that was lying near his right hand. “Ms. Moser—Dr. Moser that is—our crime scene investigator team went over to the Oak Grove Inn this morning and checked out Cottage Three. They didn’t find any trace evidence specific to your case.”

      Christy stiffened. “What do you mean? Are you saying I made up the attack?”

      “Now, now, Miss. I’m not doubting you were attacked. That was obvious. But as good a housekeeper as Miss Ella is, there was a lot of hair and dust and stuff on the floor of that cottage. CSI told me they didn’t find anything that could be definitely linked to last night.”

      Christy tried to fold her hands in front of her but the cast interfered. The fingers and thumb of her left hand played with the edge of the cast. Her gaze flickered to Reilly and away.

      “What about the pickup that followed me into the parking lot?”

      “Well,” Buford reached into his pocket for a small notepad. “That belongs to a Chester Ragsdale. He lives over in Covington. Him and his wife had a spat over the weekend, so he’s been staying there in Cottage One the past few days. He said he’s gonna try to go home today.” Buford took a breath. “My partner talked to him and to the couple from Mississippi who were in Cottage Two. None of them saw or heard anything.”

      Reilly saw and felt Christy’s frustration.

      “So you’re telling me there’s nothing you can do to find the man who attacked me?”

      “I’d like you to think back on last night. I know you’re awfully upset about your daddy. I don’t suppose anyone can blame you for that. And I’m sorry to hear that he’s in the hospital. But I do have to ask these questions. When the person knocked you down, tell me again what he said.”

      She eyed him narrowly. “He said, ‘Go back where you came from or you’re as dead as your sister.’“

      Buford tapped his pencil on the desktop and watched it. “And you’re sure about that?”

      “Yes.” The word was coated in frost.

      “Why do you think somebody would go to all that trouble to warn you to get out of town?”

      “Officer Watts,” Christy said in measured tones. “Five years ago, my sister was shot while I was on the phone with her. I heard her scream. I heard the—shots.” She took a breath and sent a quick glance toward Reilly. “The only times I’ve been back in Chef Voleur since her funeral were once for a seminar three years ago, and then two weeks ago. I flew down here to check on my father after I was notified about his first MI, while he was in jail.”

      “MI?”

      “Myocardial infarction—heart attack.”

      Watts nodded.

      Christy brushed her hair back, a typical sign of discomfort or deceit. Reilly didn’t think she was being deceitful.

      “I flew back to Boston the same day.” She stopped and looked at Watts.

      He looked at the eraser tip on his pencil, then back up at her. He raised his eyebrows. “You flew in when your father was put in the hospital. What about when he was arrested?”

      She shook her head. “I was busy—on call. I couldn’t leave my patients.”

      The detective nodded and wrote something on his notepad.

      “Don’t you see?” she asked. “The man who attacked me is the man who killed my sister—” Christy’s voice gave out. She swallowed and spread her hands.

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