Black Silk. Metsy Hingle

over to the Stratton mansion, hoping to get the scoop.

      According to the rumor mill, the bride-to-be had balked at signing a prenuptial agreement that had been presented to her at the eleventh hour. She didn’t blame the woman. What woman wanted to start off her marriage by planning what her take would be in a divorce? On the other hand, she supposed she could see Stratton’s point. After four ex-wives and several palimony suits, the man had probably forked over a chunk of his fortune. Evidently, he did not intend to do so again. And with no prenuptial, there would be no wedding. Of course, that wouldn’t be the reason given for the cancellation. No, they’d probably spin some tale about a sudden illness or business emergency being the cause for delaying the happy couple’s wedding. At least that’s what she had thought initially, Anne admitted. But the presence of two homicide detectives at the Stratton home told her there was a great deal more than an unsigned prenup behind the canceled wedding.

      “Say, isn’t that your sister?” Kevin asked as he aimed the camera on the two people leaving the Stratton house and approaching the gate.

      “It sure is,” Anne told him. And the hunk with the sexy swagger at her sister’s side was Detective Vincent Kossak. Her heart beat a little faster as she watched him. Not for the first time, Anne wondered how an innocent kiss under the mistletoe on New Year’s Eve with her sister’s partner had turned into a steamy, curl-your-toes kiss that had sent her hormones into overdrive. Oh, there had always been a little spark there. She’d been intrigued by him. With a nine-year difference in their ages, he was older than most of the men she’d dated, more mature, more serious. There was a confidence about him that she’d found attractive. But he’d never given the slightest indication that he was even remotely interested in her.

      Until New Year’s Eve.

      That night when she’d seen him standing under the mistletoe looking as if he’d rather be anyplace else than at that party, she had acted on impulse. She’d grabbed him by the tie, pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. And he had kissed her back. But there had been nothing sisterly or playful about that kiss. It had been a no-holds-barred, open-mouthed, hungry kiss. And ever since that night a month ago, she hadn’t been able to get Vince Kossak out of her head.

      The gate opened and her sister marched out to the sidewalk with a scowl on her face and a look in her eyes that said “back off.” As the youngest of three girls, Anne had had her share of run-ins with her two older siblings when the three of them had been living under the same roof and sharing one bathroom. With six years between her and Charlie and two years between her and Emily, her sisters had had a treasure trove of grown-up girlie stuff that she couldn’t wait to get into. And she had never allowed a little thing like Charlie threatening to toss her out the window to keep her from those treasures. Some things were simply worth the risk.

      Like Detective Vincent Kossak.

      Or a hot story. And her journalist’s antenna sensed a hot story now. She had no intention of allowing a little thing like Charlie’s angry expression to keep her from that story. “Detective, does your presence here have anything to do with J.

      P. Stratton’s wedding being canceled this evening?” she asked and aimed the microphone at her sister. “Unless you want to eat that thing, I’d suggest you get it out of my face,” Charlie hissed.

      “Was that a yes, Detective?”

      Her sister practically snarled and brushed past her.

      Unfazed, Anne pointed the microphone at Vince. “What about you, Detective Kossak? Can you tell us why you’re here?”

      He looked right at her, dropping his gaze to her mouth. For a moment, Anne felt that zap of awareness stretch between them like an electrical wire dangling in a storm. But when he lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes were calm, distant. “No comment.”

      Shaking off the impact of that initial look, Anne hurried after them. “Keep the camera running,” she told Kevin and followed them down the street as quickly as she could in the three-inch heels that matched her suit. She caught up with them at the corner. “Detective Le Blanc, can you tell us why you were at the home of J. P. Stratton?”

      Charlie glared at her and Anne was sure her sister would have given her an earful, were it not for her cell phone ringing. “Le Blanc.” She covered one ear with her hand. “What? I can’t hear you,” she told the party on the other end of the line. “Hang on a second.” Holding the phone to her chest a moment, she said to Vince, “I’m going to see if I can get a better connection. You can get rid of her.”

      When her sister walked away, Anne once again shifted the microphone in Vince’s direction. She gave him a challenging look. “If you want to get rid of me, Detective Kossak, all you have to do is tell me why you were at the Stratton home.”

      “No comment,” he repeated.

      She decided to try another tack. “Are you and Detective Le Blanc working on a homicide case?”

      “No comment.”

      “Is your case somehow connected to J. P. Stratton?”

      “No comment,” he told her and kept his eyes focused in the direction her sister had gone.

      Disappointed, Anne knew she wouldn’t get anything more. The man was every bit as stubborn as her sister. Turning to Kevin, she made a slicing motion across her throat, indicating he should shut down the camera. “I’ll meet you back at the truck,” she told him.

      He nodded and walked back down the street to where the TV van was parked. Once he was gone, she turned back to Vince. At six feet, he had nearly eight inches on her own five-foot-four-and-a-half-inch frame. So she was glad she had the extra three inches her heels provided. His dark brown hair was thick, his eyes the color of coffee. The sharp cheekbones and square jaw spoke of his Russian ancestry. He wasn’t movie-star handsome, but he was a man that a woman would notice.

      She’d noticed. And judging by the way he’d kissed her back, he had noticed her, too. So why hadn’t he done what most red-blooded males did after a kiss that registered on the Richter scale? Why hadn’t he followed through? For a second, she considered the possibility that she had been wrong, that maybe she had only imagined that Vince had felt something, too. No, she hadn’t been wrong. She’d been on the other end of that kiss. And Vincent Kossak had wanted her.

      “You’re wasting your time, Anne. Your sister isn’t going to comment on an investigation and neither am I.”

      “So there is an investigation,” she said, her journalistic instincts kicking in again.

      “No comment.”

      A canceled wedding and homicide detectives at the home of the prospective groom. A coincidence? She didn’t think so. In fact, she’d stake her new Louis Vuitton purse on it. “What about off the record? If I promise not to report anything, will you tell me what’s going on?”

      He chuckled. “Not a chance.”

      “Fine. Since you refuse to discuss police business with me, what about personal business?”

      He eyed her warily. “What personal business?”

      “Oh, we could start with you explaining why you’ve been avoiding me since New Year’s? Is it because we kissed?”

      “No. And I haven’t been avoiding you.”

      “Then how come every time I’ve set foot inside the police station during the past two months, you disappear?”

      “I’ve been busy.”

      “Careful, Vince, you keep telling fibs and your nose is going to grow.” She edged a little closer, just enough to get into his personal space. He moved back a step and Anne thought she detected a tinge of red in his cheeks.

      “Listen, about that night. I was out of line kissing you and I should have called to apol—”

      “Don’t,” she all but growled. “So help me, Vincent Kossak, if you apologize for kissing me, I swear