LITMIR.BIZ

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wondered at what point during the night he’d figured that out. She shrugged. “Sorry. You must have me confused with someone else.”

      “Not a chance.” He propped his left hand against the car roof and leaned in closer. “Let me refresh your memory. The Passion Pit. Four months ago. You were cruising the bar when one of your admirers got out of hand.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Cruising the bar?”

      “Don’t go all naive on me, Faith. A lady doesn’t just drop into the Passion Pit unescorted because she’s thirsty. You were wearing a black dress that left little to the imagination and a pair of nosebleed heels that screamed to be noticed. We talked. I asked you to wait so that I could see you safely home. You didn’t.”

      “You definitely have me confused with someone else.”

      “Not unless you have an identical twin. I asked Joni. She assured me you don’t.”

      And Faith was a terrible liar. That left truth or some version of it as her only feasible choice if she wanted to get the detective off her back.

      “You’re right.” She cast her eyes downward, to the tips of Travis’s cowboy boots. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was in that disgusting place once. A detective came to my rescue when a rowdy drunk got out of hand. That must have been you.”

      “Yep. Apparently, I am easy to forget. So why the denials?” Travis asked. “As far as I know, you didn’t break any laws that night.”

      “I absolutely didn’t. Not that night or any other. I’d just rather Joni not know I did something so stupid.”

      “Not only stupid, but dangerous,” Travis corrected. “Why were you there?”

      “I was writing an article for a magazine on the increase of gentlemen’s clubs in the Dallas area. I decided I should at least visit one of them for firsthand research.”

      “Dressed like that?”

      “I thought I’d be less conspicuous that way.”

      “There was no way you’d ever go unnoticed, looking the way you did that night. Those red shoes alone were enough to guarantee you’d get hit on.”

      So he’d noticed more than that she’d needed help. At least she’d had an effect on him. Not that she cared.

      “I’d love to read that article,” Travis said. “Which magazine was that in?”

      “It doesn’t matter. It was a busy month and they decided not to run the story, after all.”

      “So all that work for nothing.”

      “That’s freelance,” she quipped. Even to her ears the attempt at nonchalance fell flat. She was too nervous. And she’d never written a magazine article in her life. The closest she’d come was a letter to the editor they had actually printed in the newspaper.

      “I thought Joni said you worked in the personnel department of a department-store chain.”

      “Benefits manager, but I occasionally freelance.”

      “You’re a lousy liar.”

      And always had been. She was going to have to come nearer to the truth if she expected Travis to buy her story.

      “Okay, I wasn’t there to write an article. A good friend of mine was worried about her daughter. She’d heard a rumor that she was dancing at the Passion Pit. I offered to go there and find out for certain.”

      “Just helping out a friend.”

      “Yes. Look, Travis, I know your cop instincts are running wild. But this time they’re way off base. I went to a strip club one night. I wasn’t looking for a job or trying to pick up tricks. I’m thirty-five years old, for heaven’s sake. Way too old to peddle flesh even if I was interested. End of conversation.”

      “Not quite. If I ever find out that you’ve exposed my niece to drugs, alcohol or any other sordid behaviors, I’ll tell Joni everything and see that you never come around Effie again.”

      Travis Dalton was not only arrogant, but overbearing. That would have turned her off in a second, except that he was being that way to protect his niece. That was the kind of dogmatism she’d craved from the cops investigating Cornell’s disappearance.

      The temptation to tell him the truth flared inside her. It passed just as quickly. There was no reason to think he’d be any different than the other officers she’d talked to.

      No. She’d made her decision. She had to go higher than the cops if she was to find Cornell. She’d done that. Now she was just waiting to hear back from a man she knew only as Georgio.

      “You don’t have to worry about Effie,” Faith assured him. “I would never corrupt a child.”

      “Good.” He opened the door.

      She slid past him and climbed behind the wheel. “Good night, Travis.”

      “One last thing.”

      She looked up just as he leaned forward. Their faces were mere inches apart. The musky scent of soap, aftershave and sheer manliness attacked her senses, and a riotous surge of attraction made her go weak.

      His hand touched her shoulder. “If you ever need to ask me about your friend’s problems—if you ever need to talk about anything at all—call me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and pressed it into her hand.

      His voice had lost its threatening edge. His tone was compelling. “I’ll do what I can to help, Faith. You can trust me.”

      Finally, he closed her door. She jerked the car into Reverse, backed from the parking space and then sped away. Her insides were shaking. Tears of frustration burned the back of her eyelids.

      Trust him. She’d love nothing more than to believe that. Desperation urged her to turn back. Put Travis Dalton to the test. Avoid getting involved with Georgio, a man whose power frightened her and whose dark and forbidden world made her sick to her stomach.

      But she’d tried working with the cops first, lost months doing things their way, wasted precious time not knowing if Cornell was sick, in pain, held captive or even...

      No. Cornell was alive. She’d find him. She was on the right track now. Trusting Travis would accomplish nothing except to drag Joni into this nightmare.

      Far better if she never saw Travis Dalton again, never gave him another chance to mess with her mind or her resolve.

      * * *

      TRAVIS TOOK A few steps, escaping the cloud of dust Faith left behind in her haste to get away from him. He was one of the best interrogators in the whole homicide department. He could recognize a liar as easily as some people could recognize a guy was bald or a woman was wearing a wig.

      And that was with a good liar. Faith Ashburn wasn’t. But he still couldn’t buy that she was a hooker or an addict looking for a way to feed her demon. So what had she been doing at the Passion Pit that night and what really haunted those captivating deep brown eyes?

      Travis started back to the party. He’d lost the mood for celebrating, but he couldn’t haul ass without letting Leif know he was leaving. His boots stirred up loose gravel as he neared the sprawling ranch house. Music from the band wafted through the night, competing with the cacophony of thousands of tree frogs, crickets and the occasional howl of a coyote.

      Welcoming lights spilled out from every window of the old ranch house. The glow did nothing to make Travis feel more at home, but oddly, he didn’t experience any rancor toward the house or the ranch.

      Even more surprising, he didn’t hate R.J., not the way Leif had at first or the way Travis had expected to before he’d met the man. Hard to hate a dying man, even a father who hadn’t bothered to find out if you were dead or alive or being daily abused after your mother died of cancer.

      Not

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