Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle. BEVERLY BARTON

bit nervous. Either he was completely innocent or he had simply perfected the art of being “cool.”

      “I was here, at home, the night Stephanie disappeared.” He held up a restraining hand. “And before you ask—yes, I have someone who can corroborate that fact. Her name is Holly Burcham. Deputy Holly Burcham.”

      Bernie clamped her teeth together tightly, then swallowed hard. Why was she not surprised to discover that one of her few female deputies was banging Brandon Kelley? Could it possibly be because ever since they were high school cheerleaders together, Holly had considered Robyn her rival. Whatever Robyn had, Holly wanted.

      “What time did Holly arrive and what time did she leave?” Bernie glared at Brandon, doing her best to disguise the disgust she felt. And yes, the fact that his lack of morals reminded her of her ex did affect her opinion of the man.

      “She got here around seven and stayed all night. We went to bed early, but didn’t go to sleep until around midnight.” Brandon clicked his tongue and winked at Bernie.

      Sleaze. Irritating, arrogant sleaze. Bernie groaned internally, longing to reach out and slap that silly, honey-I’m-so-good-in-bed smile off his face.

      “What about the day Stephanie was killed?” Jim asked totally deadpan, without any expression whatsoever, not on his face or in his voice.

      “I was at the college all day. My first class was at eight and my last one ended at five. And no, I did not leave the campus and there should be dozens of witnesses to that fact.” Brandon twined his fingers together and leisurely rested one elbow against the settee arm as he leaned his body comfortably in that direction.

      “If everything you’ve told us checks out, you’re in the clear,” Jim said.

      “Is that all?” Brandon asked.

      Jim stood and looked down at Brandon. “Only one more question tonight: Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Stephanie? Anyone who held a grudge against her, her husband or her family?”

      Brandon shrugged. “No, sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t know much about Stephanie’s personal life. We weren’t friends. We were simply lovers for a couple of weeks and my interest in her didn’t go beyond a mutual sexual attraction.”

      Bernie rose to her feet, forced herself to shake hands with Brandon and said, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

      He held her hand a moment too long and said, “Tell Robyn I said hello.”

      Bernie plastered a weak half smile on her lips, then turned and headed off the porch, wanting to get away from this guy as quickly as possible before she acted in an unprofessional manner.

      She made it back to the truck ahead of Jim, and by the time he opened the driver’s door, she was already inside the cab and had her seatbelt fastened. Jim got in, inserted the key in the ignition switch and started the engine; then he spread his arm out across the back of the seat, his big hand resting behind her head.

      “Nice fellow,” Jim said.

      “Isn’t he?” Bernie replied sarcastically.

      “So, is he the type of guy your sister likes?”

      That was it—the straw that broke the camel’s back. The tension that had built up inside her at having to deal with a bastard like Brandon Kelley had brought her to the very edge, but she had managed to remain in control. But now this! She’d thought she could handle Jim’s interest in Robyn, that even if the two dated, she would not get upset. After all, Jim Norton was nothing more to her than any other deputy.

      Yeah, right. He’s just the man she’d had a teenage crush on, the man she had idolized from afar like so many other teenage girls had done a couple of decades ago. And he was just the first man in only God knew how long who had stirred back to life something uniquely feminine and sexual within her. That’s all Jim Norton was to her.

      “Robyn doesn’t actually have a specific type,” Bernie said, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “So if you’re thinking that she might not date you because you’re nothing like Brandon, don’t worry. My sister loves to sample a variety. She has very eclectic tastes in bed partners. Although I have to admit that given the choice between a nice guy and a real sleaze, she usually tends to choose the sleaze.”

      Jim sucked in his cheeks, then huffed out a boy-did-I-step-in-it breath and said, “Okay, thanks for clearing that up for me.”

      “You’re welcome,” Bernie said much too loudly.

      But Jim appeared to ignore her. He backed his truck out of the driveway and onto the dirt road without saying another word or glancing her way. They drove in silence all the way back to town, which made Bernie feel rather foolish. She kept wondering if Jim realized the real reason she had overreacted to his perfectly normal question about her sister’s preference in men. Did he realize that she was jealous of the fact that he was interested in her sister and not in her? God, she hoped not.

      Jim couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Bernie, why she seemed to be angry with him. Or did he have nothing to do with her attitude? Maybe she was mad at her sister for apparently sleeping around and choosing the wrong kind of guy time and again.

      Just like Mary Lee. Another thing Robyn Granger had in common with his ex-wife. If this similarity didn’t warn him off, nothing would. Hadn’t he sworn that if he ever got seriously involved with another woman, he would listen to his brain and not his dick? Yeah, but who said that if he and Robyn became involved, it would turn into something serious. He got the idea that she wasn’t interested in settling down. So what would be the harm in getting to know the lady a little better, in getting himself laid?

      “You’ll have to give me directions to your house,” Jim said. “I don’t know where you live.”

      “Huh?”

      “You want me to take you home, don’t you? Or should I drop you off to pick up your Jeep? I assume you don’t still live at home with your parents.”

      “No, I have my own place and my folks probably took my Jeep to my house for me. I live on East Jefferson Street. That’s two blocks down from Washington. One-oh-four. It’s the third house on the right, an old twenties bungalow. Pale yellow with dark green shutters.”

      Jim nodded and continued driving. He had kept silent because Bernie seemed to prefer it that way; besides, he really didn’t know of anything to talk about other than the case they were working on together. He had immediately sensed the tension between them and wished he knew if he’d done something to create the problem. Too bad Charlie Patterson had gotten a call from his headquarters in Huntsville and had to drive back there overnight; otherwise, Charlie would have gone with them to question Brandon Kelley, and maybe his presence would have diffused whatever had set Bernie off. It wasn’t as if she’d screamed or chewed him out or told him that she was totally pissed. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had ruffled her feathers.

      “This is it, right?” he asked as soon as he spotted the house. He knew it had to be the right one since the street numbers had been painted on the curb and glowed in the dark. And with the porch light on, the large brass numbers attached to the door frame were visible.

      “Yes, this is it.”

      He pulled into the drive and stopped at the brick sidewalk that led from the drive to the porch. As soon as he killed the motor, he opened his door, but before he got out, she said, “You don’t have to go to the trouble of seeing me to my door.”

      He hesitated for half a second, then got out anyway and replied, “No trouble.” By the time he made it around to the passenger side, she’d already opened her door and gotten out on her own. They stood there and stared at each other for just a minute; then she started walking. He fell into step beside her, and together they rounded the truck’s hood, walked up the sidewalk and stepped up on the porch.

      When they reached her front door, she stopped and turned to face him. “Thanks.”