The Black Widow. BEVERLY BARTON

Her hips rounded nicely and her breasts were large enough to fill a C-cup bra. He surmised her height and weight: five-four, a hundred and twenty pounds. Her creamy skin was like fine porcelain, unmarred by the sun or a tanning bed. She possessed an almost ethereal quality, like an angelic statue brought to life.

      “You’re staring,” she told him, her voice slightly breathless.

      Yes, he was. He was staring at a beautiful woman, but one he suspected was deadly. Was Jordan Price a black widow? Or was she what she appeared to be—sad, vulnerable, and in need of a strong shoulder to lean on?

      Rick shook off the latter thought. He wasn’t here to give comfort. His job was to investigate a murder.

      “Let’s say for the sake of argument that I believe you, that you didn’t kill your husband. Do you have any idea who did?”

      She lifted her slender hand and smoothed back an errant strand of ash blonde hair. The thick mass was pulled loosely away from her face and secured with a silver clasp into a broad bun at the nape of her neck. Other than the ostentatious set of rings on her left ring finger, her jewelry was minimal, only a silver-and-gold watch and a pair of small, discreet diamond earrings.

      Goddamn, why did she have to be so beautiful?

      “I have no idea who killed Dan, if indeed he was murdered,” Jordan said. “He had political enemies, of course, but certainly none of them would have killed him.”

      “What about personal enemies?” Rick tried his best not to skim his gaze over her body again, but his best wasn’t good enough. Sitting there in a pair of navy blue slacks and a white cotton sweater, she was hardly dressed for sex appeal, but he found her sexy as hell. When he returned his attention to her face, his gaze collided with hers.

      “I don’t know of anyone who would want to kill Dan.”

      He sensed that she might be withholding something. But why? Did she suspect Devon Markham and was protecting him because they were lovers?

      “You do realize that if there was bad blood between your husband and another person, I’ll find out while I’m investigating. So, why don’t you save me some time and just tell me.”

      She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He noted the rise and fall of her breasts. Damn it, he had to stop lusting after Jordan. First and foremost, it was hardly professional to have the hots for your employer. And second and probably even more important, it would be stupid to become emotionally involved with a woman he suspected of murder.

      “Dan and his ex-wife, Jane Anne, were not the best of friends, but I don’t think she’s capable of murder.” Jordan paused for a moment and glanced toward the closed door to her study. “My stepbrother, J.C., and Dan have had a few arguments. J.C. is a gambler and last year, he got himself into deep debt. Dan helped him, but when he went to Dan again this year, Dan turned him down.”

      Rick nodded. “And that’s it. His ex-wife and your stepbrother?”

      “As far as I know. Dan was highly respected and people in general liked him. He was a man with a good heart.”

      She clenched her teeth and swallowed. If she was faking emotion, she was doing a really good job. Unable to stop himself, Rick reached out and clasped her hand. Their gazes met and God help him, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her.

      He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then abruptly released her. “I’ll need office space of some type while I’m here.” That’s it, Carson, stick to Powell Agency business and steer clear of any monkey business. “Access to high-speed Internet, a fax machine, a copier and printer. Could that be arranged in whatever room you’ve—?”

      “All of it is available in Dan’s study. He used that room as his home office. Feel free to arrange things any way you’d like. I’ll inform Tobias and Vadonna that the room will be yours to use while you’re here.”

      “Are you sure you want me using your husband’s study? I mean, considering that’s where he died.”

      Jordan clutched her hands together and moistened her lips with a quick, light lick.

      Did she have any idea what kind of an effect she had on him? Sure she did. She was playing him and he’d damn well better not forget it.

      “Yes, I’m sure you may use Dan’s study. I—I hadn’t been back in there until yesterday when I interrupted your private conversation with Ryan.”

      “Everyone is a suspect until I rule them out, including you and Ryan. If you have a problem with that, I need to know now.”

      She almost smiled. Her lips curved upward ever so slightly and he noted a faint trace of laughter in her eyes. “Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?”

      He nodded. What sort of game was she playing? Please, call me Jordan. And may I call you Rick?

      A soft rap on the half-open door interrupted them.

      “Yes, come in, please,” Jordan said, as if she was expecting someone.

      A plump, middle-aged woman entered the room, a silver tray in her hands. She set the tray on Jordan’s desk.

      “Thank you, Vadonna,” Jordan said.

      “Yes, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”

      “No, thank you, that will be all.”

      While the woman exited, Jordan indicated the silver pot and accessories on the tray. “Would you care for coffee?”

      Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

      Jordan focused on him. “You laid your cards on the table, Rick, and asked me point blank if I killed my husband. Now it’s my turn to be brutally honest. I don’t like you. I don’t want you here invading my home and my grief, taking away my privacy and questioning my integrity. But if my husband was murdered, I want his killer found and brought to justice. I want you to do your job. However, if you do anything to sully Dan Price’s reputation, I’ll see to it personally that you regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear. Any skeletons your husband had in his closet will remain there.”

      She sighed heavily. “I expect to be kept up-to-date on the investigation. For now, a daily report will suffice.”

      The lady was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. The privilege of wealth—her dead husband’s wealth. “Will every morning right after breakfast be suitable for my daily report or do you prefer for me to report right before bedtime?”

      “Every morning works for me.” A cool, succinct reply.

      When she stood, he stood.

      “I’ll have Tobias show you to your room. If there’s anything you need, please let us know.” As she walked toward the door, he followed. “Dinner is at seven.”

      She opened the door and ushered him out of her study, effectively dismissing him. “If you’ll wait in the foyer, I’ll find Tobias.”

      He watched her as she walked away. She moved with a fluid grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. Jordan Price’s kind of class couldn’t be learned. It was innate.

      If he didn’t watch his step, the lady would have him wrapped around her little finger in no time at all.

      Rene washed hurriedly, removing the smell of sex from her body, then not bothering to dry off, she yanked on her thong and pulled up her slacks. As she hooked her bra, she noticed a bruise on her left breast. J.C. liked to bite, not forcefully enough to bring blood to the surface, but hard enough to bruise. While slipping on her blouse, she returned to the bedroom and found J.C., still naked, sprawled in the center of the bed, a rakish smile on his too-handsome face.

      “What’s the hurry, babe? Sister won’t need you this after noon. She’s got that stud Powell agent to keep her company.” J.C. chuckled.