Эль Кеннеди – Millionaire's Last Stand (страница 7)

She smiled back, confused by the way her pulse sped up at the sight of him. He wore jeans again, along with a pair of black boots and a long-sleeved dark blue shirt that emphasized the ripples of his broad chest.

Damn. Why couldn’t he look like a normal rich person? Designer clothes, expensive haircut, pretentious smirk. Those were the wealthy people she was accustomed to, the ones whose houses her mother used to clean. Sometimes her mom brought her along if she couldn’t find a babysitter, and Jamie had grown up thinking that all rich people were evil, something her mother never failed to remind her of.

She didn’t think it anymore; she knew several affluent folks who were incredibly wonderful people. But it would just be easier if Cole Donovan was like one of the wealthy jerks she’d known growing up.

Maybe then she wouldn’t find him so attractive.

Trying to hide her reaction, Jamie accepted the credit card receipt Sarah handed her and scribbled her signature on the slip. “Thanks for being so candid with me,” Jamie told the other woman.

“Candid is my middle name.”

Jamie smiled. “Maybe we can have coffee sometime, when I take a break from the case?”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

With a quick goodbye, Jamie headed for the door and stepped out of the gallery. She made a mental note to ask Finn about Sarah Connelly, though she truly hadn’t had an ulterior motive when she’d suggested coffee. With the stress of her job, making friends—or making time for friends—wasn’t usually a viable option, and she’d actually enjoyed meeting Sarah. It might be nice having some female company as long as she was in town.

“Shopping on the job, huh?” Cole said as she came outside, eyeing the paper bag she carried.

“Killing time,” she answered. “I’m meeting with your neighbor in a bit.”

His expression darkened. “Will you let me know what he says?”

“I can do that.” She noticed he held a shopping bag, a clear one that revealed the stack of candles and flashlights within it. “Are you planning a séance or going camping?”

His mouth quirked. “Neither. I’m just stocking up on some supplies. The weather network says there’s a hurricane making its way up the coast. It probably won’t make it this far inland, but that’s what I thought last time, and we were without power for two days.”

We. She wondered if he meant him and Teresa. She also wondered why the sight of his mouth brought a spark of heat to her belly. He really did have a nice mouth. Wide and sensual, with a surprisingly full bottom lip.

Murder suspect!

She clung to the reminder, though it only left her a little bewildered. Despite Cole’s rough masculine voice and somewhat reserved demeanor, she didn’t feel an ounce of fear in his presence. Not that she scared easily—she’d been in the same room with dozens of vicious killers in her career, and didn’t usually feel frightened. She was always aware, though. Aware of their crimes, aware of what they were capable of, and that awareness succeeded in making her cautious. Maybe that’s what troubled her about Cole, not that she didn’t fear him, but that she didn’t think she needed to.

“I like storms,” she said, trying to keep the subject neutral.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No?”

“You seem like the kind of woman who likes the excitement.”

Their gazes locked, and there it was, that rush of heat again. Even as a girl she hadn’t been one to indulge in silly crushes. Boys hadn’t evoked many primal reactions in her, and when she’d felt something for someone, she’d always been guarded, wondering if the boy who showed interest in her did so because he truly liked her or because he thought she was easy since she came from a trailer park. That cautiousness had followed her into adulthood, as had the lack of carnal sexual attraction.

But carnal was the only word to describe her reaction to Cole. Everything about him teased her senses—his silky dark hair, the hard set of his broad shoulders, his delicious scent of spice and musk.

Okay, this definitely needed to stop.

“No, I just like the sound of thunder,” she said lightly, then edged off to the side. “I should get going. Gideon is expecting me—”

“You son of a bitch!”

The shrill female cry came out of nowhere, and Jamie nearly dropped her canvas from the sheer volume of the voice. She turned in time to see a petite woman marching toward them. Toward Cole.

Jamie immediately noticed the resemblance between this woman and the photo she had of Teresa Donovan. Both women had the same pale skin, inky-black hair and gunmetal-gray eyes, only this one looked older thanks to the deep brackets around her mouth and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“You have real nerve!” the woman shrieked, her fair skin taking on an angry flush. “Walking around, shopping, when you should be in jail for what you’ve done!”

“Valerie,” Cole started reluctantly.

“You murdered my sister!” Eyes blazing with hostility, she lifted her hand and sent it flying into Cole’s left cheek.

Jamie winced at the sound of the fierce slap, at the way Cole’s head jerked back from its force. Looking stricken, Cole took a step to the side. “I didn’t kill your sister,” he said in a low voice.

“Tell that to the judge!”

Jamie stifled a sigh. Several passersby had stopped and were staring openmouthed at the commotion. With Cole doing nothing to end the confrontation, Jamie moved between him and Teresa’s sister, softening her tone as she looked at Valerie and said, “This really isn’t the place, ma’am.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. She glanced from Cole to Jamie, then let out a hysterical-sounding laugh. “Already got yourself a new woman, huh, Donovan? You make me sick!”

Cole instinctively moved back, as if expecting another assault, but Valerie just stared at him with daggers in her eyes. She glowered at him for several long moments, before finally storming off.

Jamie watched her go, then turned to Cole. “Not your biggest fan, I see,” she murmured.

He didn’t look amused. “The feeling’s mutual. Valerie Matthews is as nasty as her sister was. In fact, she raised Teresa by herself, so she probably taught her everything she knew about being a terrible person.”

Jamie couldn’t even argue. Valerie hadn’t exactly seemed like the most stable person. She made a mental note to ask Finn about her, and the relationship between the sisters. Had jealousy been a factor there?

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Cole said with a heavy breath, reaching up to rub his red cheek. “As you’ve probably figured out, I’m not the most popular guy in this town at the moment.”

A silence fell over them. Jamie wanted to say a word or two of comfort, but she kept her mouth closed. She wasn’t allowed to reassure this man. She was investigating him, for Pete’s sake.

Evidently taking the lull as a sign of goodbye, Cole cleared his throat. “I should head home and try to fix the generator, in case that storm makes an appearance.”

With an awkward goodbye, he walked off, leaving her standing by the curb. Although she’d promised herself she wasn’t allowed to view Cole Donovan as anything other than a suspect, his parting sentence stayed in her mind. He was going to fix a generator. So he did work with his hands. She found herself wondering what else he did on his own. Was he involved in the actual building of any of his properties?

She shoved the questions aside, a sigh rising in her chest. She really needed to exorcise this ridiculous urge to get to know him.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamie pulled up in front of Joe Gideon’s cabin, her mind on the impending interview. The structure was a far cry from Cole’s luxurious house. It was nothing but a small one-story shack made of logs that seemed to be rotting in several places, with a splintered door, two boarded-up windows and a weathered porch with a gaping hole in it. Jamie carefully climbed the unstable steps and knocked on the ripped screen door, then waited.

A few seconds later, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard appeared in the doorway. His too-close-together brown eyes narrowed, thin lips curling into a frown as he barked, “What do you want?”

She pasted on a bright smile. “Mr. Gideon? I’m Special Agent Jamie Crawford. We spoke on the phone this morning.”

“Oh, it’s you. Come in, I guess.”

Not the warmest of welcomes, but Jamie would take it. She followed Gideon into the house, immediately overcome by the odor of stale beer, mothballs and spoiled food. Jeez, Finn hadn’t been kidding when he said Gideon’s life had taken a downward spiral. Just looking at the man, she could tell he was a heavy drinker. A beer gut spilled over the waistband of his jeans and his cheeks boasted a ruddy flush that made her wonder just how much he’d already drunk today.

“You can sit wherever,” he said brusquely as he flopped down into a large recliner with tattered plaid upholstery.

Jamie swallowed down her disgust and finally sat on the stained brown sofa, choosing the end that wasn’t covered with wet newspapers and an empty carton of beer bottles.

“Do you mind if I record this?” she asked pleasantly, already pulling out the mini recorder from her purse.