Captivating Witness. Melinda Lorenzo Di

cringed at the thought of trying to fool him. He was sixty-five, but he was as sharp as ever. Maybe sharper even, with his age. Reggie had never been able to sneak something by him—not as a kid, not as a teenager and definitely not now as an adult.

      She inhaled and straightened her shoulders. The simplest way to avoid having to deceive him would be to figure out what was going on before she had to talk to him. Maybe she could even enlist Brayden’s assistance. He seemed eager enough to help her. And he already knew what was going on and was aware of the danger but didn’t seem too concerned about it. Working together might be the perfect solution.

      “That’s an awfully determined look on your face.” The amusement-laced statement made her jerk her head up.

      She found Brayden standing in the doorway, a tray of food in his hands and an apron tied around his waist. For a second, she forgot what she’d just resolved to ask him. The domestic look somehow suited him and was out of place at the same time, and the result was...good. Better than good. But more complicated words failed Reggie right then.

      Was there anything more seductive than a man who brought her breakfast in bed?

      “Toast?” he offered, then stepped closer.

      As he set the tray on the bed, his scent mingled with the coffee aroma, and the combination made Reggie’s body warm. And it made her stomach growl.

      Brayden laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

      “I haven’t eaten since yesterday at about lunchtime,” Reggie admitted.

      He tipped one of the mug handles her way and lifted a plate. “Don’t be shy.”

      “Thanks.”

      She devoured the first piece of toast quickly, offered Brayden an unapologetic shrug, then helped herself to another slice before adding a splash of cream to her coffee and taking a hearty slurp.

      “Good?” Brayden asked.

      “Perfect.”

      “So.”

      “So?”

      “You going to tell me why you were making that gotta-get-it face when I walked in?”

      She swallowed another bite of toast before answering. Was there a tactful way—without coming across as totally lascivious, either—to say that he was the “it” at the other end of her determined expression? Probably not. So she decided not to bother trying to find one.

      “I want your help,” she stated. “Or I guess I should say more of your help.”

      He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “Hmm.”

      Her heart dropped a little. “That’s not an encouraging sound.”

      “Just wondering what more you need. I’ve already run you over with my car, carried you through the woods and agreed to be your date to the prom. Er, Gala.”

      Reggie relaxed a little. “Hilarious.”

      He dropped a wink. “What do you need help with?”

      “Figuring out who was on the bad end of Chuck Delta’s gun.”

      Brayden’s face immediately stiffened. “That’s a job for the police.”

      “I know. But you said yourself that there’s no way to know if the rest of the local cops are in on...whatever this is. What’s wrong with a little amateur sleuthing?”

      “Aside from the danger to your life?”

      “Aside from that...yes. What’s the problem?”

      He set down his mug and met her eyes. “I need to tell you a secret.”

      Reggie’s heart did a nervous jig as she waited for him to confess something terrible.

      * * *

      Brayden resisted an urge to get up and pace around the room. Guilt tickled at his mind, and he sighed and ran a hand over his hair, trying to convince himself that it wouldn’t do any harm for her to know why he was really there. In fact, with the danger she was already in, she’d probably want to know. Especially if she thought she ought to be digging into what happened. The idea that she might wind up on Garibaldi’s bad side made him grind his teeth together with worry.

      She needs to know, he thought. But she also needs to agree not to share the info with anyone else.

      “Can you say something?” she asked, her voice a little shaky. “You’re just sitting there. Brooding.”

      “Sorry. I just don’t want this to come out the wrong way.”

      “Oh, God.”

      “What?”

      “You’re married,” she stated.

      He stared at her for a second and said again, “What?”

      “You’re married. And we just slept together.” He cheeks went pink. “I mean. Not like that. But still.”

      He couldn’t fight a laugh. “No, Reggie. I’m not married. I’m very unmarried.”

      “Well...what then?”

      “I need your word that you’ll keep this between us.”

      “How can I agree to that when I don’t even know what it is you’re going to tell me?”

      “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you’d be willing. I’m trusting you with a secret. It’s not a bad one. I just want you to respect my need for confidentiality.”

      Brayden saw her suck in her bottom lip, considering it. Finally, she sighed.

      “So long as it’s nothing illegal.”

      He fought another laugh. “Hardly something illegal.”

      “Okay. Then you have my word. I won’t tell anyone your secret. Whatever it is.”

      “I’m a cop.”

      She flinched, and he knew she had to be thinking about Chuck.

      “I’m a good cop,” he clarified. “A Freemont City detective. I can dig up some proof, if you want to see it.”

      She shook her head. “I believe you.”

      “That easy?”

      “It wouldn’t make sense for you to lie after what I saw a cop do last night.” She swallowed nervously before adding, “Besides. You seem far more policemanish than businessmanish.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “You saying my cover’s no good?”

      Reggie shrugged. “I tend to notice things.”

      “Like?”

      “The wrong name on your phone. The fact that you weren’t wearing a suit the day you came into the diner and that you weren’t wearing one tonight. Not until I asked you about putting one on anyway.”

      “So all businessmen wear suits?”

      “All the ones who’re trying to convince someone to sell them something.”

      “Hmm. Think I got made by everyone else in Whispering Woods?”

      Her mouth tipped up. “Made?”

      Brayden smiled back. “TV-cop talk isn’t good?”

      “About as good as your real estate developer story. But don’t worry. We’re all TV-small-town-naive around here,” she said teasingly.

      “Except you.”

      “Well. I would’ve fallen for your clever ruse, too, if it hadn’t been for everything that’s happened tonight.”

      “Maybe you should’ve been a detective.”

      She laughed, the sound filling