The Ex. BEVERLY BARTON

for acquiescence. If y’all don’t find Lulu’s killer in a big hurry, the public and the Vanderley family are going to bring a great deal of pressure down on Director Danley. I don’t intend to stand idly by and do nothing until y’all arrest me for a murder I didn’t commit.”

      “What’s the matter, Cortez? If you’re so damn innocent, why are you afraid we’ll pin the murder on you?” Chad came out of the corner where he’d been standing quietly for the past ten minutes. “We’d have to have some really good evidence before we did that. You must be scared shitless that we’ll find that evidence.”

      Cortez glared at Chad, a killer stare that Jim figured had made many a man quake in his boots. Chad took a step back, but didn’t break eye contact with Cortez.

      “Lieutenant Norton, I advise you to rein in your partner.” Cortez eased his gaze from Chad to Jim.

      “We’re out of here.” Kendall Wells patted Cortez on the back.

      “We’ll be in touch,” Jim said.

      Just as Cortez passed by Chad, Jim heard Cortez warn his partner in a soft whisper, “Annabelle Vanderley is off-limits to you.”

      Before Chad could respond, Cortez and his lawyer were out the door. Jim clamped his hand down on Chad’s shoulder. “What was that all about?”

      Chad shrugged. “God damn son of a bitch. He’s the one who’d better steer clear of Ms. Vanderley.”

      Jim rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head. “What did I miss? What’s going on with you, Cortez and Annabelle Vanderley?”

      “Nothing. It’s just that Cortez played white knight to her outside earlier when some reporters were harassing her. We should have sent someone to meet her and escort her inside to protect her from—”

      “Someone meaning you?”

      “Yeah, why not?”

      “I take it that this Ms. Vanderley is quite attractive and that fact didn’t escape either you or Cortez.” Jim tightened his hold on Chad’s shoulder. “So help me God, if you instigate a personal pissing contest between you and Cortez, I’ll—”

      “I didn’t start anything. He—”

      “I don’t give a damn who started what. Just make sure you don’t get involved. Steer clear of Cortez except on official business. Do I make myself clear?”

      “I swear I’ll steer clear of Cortez until we have some evidence against him. And I’m telling you, there’s bound to be evidence. He may be smart, but he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is. If he killed her—and I say he did—then he slipped up somehow and all we’ve got to do is figure out how.”

      Quinn had wanted to stick around and speak to Annabelle Vanderley again. But he’d thought better of the idea— actually Kendall had warned him in no uncertain terms to stay away from Lulu’s cousin. And she was right. What good would it do either him or Annabelle if he sought her out again simply because she intrigued him. Lulu had talked about her cousin several times and he always sensed that she both loved and hated Annabelle. From what Lulu had told him— that her cousin was plain, placid and prudish—he hadn’t expected the woman to practically take his breath away the moment he saw her.

      Lulu had been gorgeous. All Barbie doll leggy, bosomy and blond. And as spoiled rotten as her daddy’s millions could make her. She’d been Quinn’s type—an easy lay who wouldn’t complicate his life.

      Annabelle possessed a cool, reserved elegance. A Grace Kelly beauty that hinted of hidden fires burning deep inside and saved for one lucky man.

      Was that it, the reason she fascinated him so much? Did he see Annabelle as a challenge? God knew he hadn’t found a woman challenging in…Hell, he couldn’t remember when.

      After the police interview, Quinn had driven back to Kendall’s, fixed a fresh pot of coffee and considered his options. Kendall had given him a key and told him to make himself at home, for the time being. He appreciated her hospitality, but if he was going to be stuck in Memphis for a while, he’d need his own place.

      Setting his coffee mug aside, Quinn punched the preset number on his cell phone and waited for Marcy to answer, which she did on the third ring.

      “Hello.”

      “Marcy, I need you to round up Aaron and Jace and y’all get the first flight out of Houston to Memphis.”

      “What’s going on? I thought you planned to get some R&R before even thinking about taking another case.”

      Marcy had been Quinn’s personal assistant for nearly ten years. Their association had lasted longer than a lot of marriages. He relied on her, trusted her and paid her an ungodly salary to be at his beck and call twenty-four/seven. In all their years together, she’d never let him down, which was more than he could say for most of the women in his life, past and present. And that was the reason he’d never allowed their association to change from the friendship level to something more intimate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been tempted. Marcy was a doll. Cute as a button. All of five one and a hundred pounds soaking wet. But he wouldn’t do anything to risk losing her. Lovers were a dime a dozen; a great personal assistant was irreplaceable.

      “Lulu Vanderley was murdered last night before I arrived at her house,” Quinn said. “I discovered her body.”

      “Holy shit.”

      “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.”

      “So, unless you’re phoning from the police station, I take it they haven’t arrested you.”

      “Not yet, but I’m suspect numero uno.”

      “You were told not to leave town, huh?”

      “It was more of a request than a demand.”

      “I’ll have to find Aaron and Jace. Might be tomorrow before they can fly in, but I can be there by this evening if you want—”

      “Just wait and the three of you fly in together tomorrow. But you could do something for me from there. Two things actually.”

      “Name them.”

      “Check out renting us a place here in Memphis. Something I can lease by the month. I could be stuck here a week or two or if they try to pin this thing on me—”

      “I’ll take care of it. What else?”

      “Get me Griffin Powell’s home phone number.”

      “Ask me to move the Smoky Mountains to Hawaii.”

      Quinn chuckled. “I know it’ll take a minor miracle, but you’re good at pulling off the impossible.”

      “Flattery will get you what you want,” she told him. “And maybe performing another minor miracle will get me a raise.”

      “You’re overpaid already.”

      “I wish.” She paused for a couple of seconds, then said, “Quinn?”

      “Yeah, honey?”

      “I know you didn’t kill Lulu Vanderley.”

      “You’re one in a million, kiddo.”

      “And don’t you forget it.”

      “I won’t,” he said. “Besides, if I do, you’ll remind me.”

      “Got that damn straight.”

      “Get me Powell’s number as soon as possible,” Quinn said. “He’s the best money can buy and—”

      “You always buy the best.”

      “You know me too well.” Quinn grunted. “I want my own private investigator to assist the Memphis police in their job of finding Lulu’s killer. Unless they come up with something damn quick, they may not look any further than me.”