Armed and Famous. Jennifer Morey

time you saw him?” the detective asked her.

      “Yes.” The lie left her numb with dread.

      He studied her a moment longer. “Why was he threatening you?”

      Remy tried to subdue her shaking but sensed Lincoln picking up on it. “He...h-he must be angry that I broke up with him.”

      “You were seeing each other?”

      Lincoln was watching her as closely as the detectives.

      The lies were terrible and getting worse. “Yes. Not seriously, though. Just...seeing each other once in a while.”

      The detectives shared a look, and then Henderson said, “We have a witness who says they saw you meet him last night.”

      Remy’s heart flew. Panic engulfed her. She was afraid her breathing gave her away.

      “One of Mr. Nelson’s managers said he’d been coming to see you a lot lately, and he was on the phone with him when you arrived at his home at 8:30 p.m. He said Mr. Nelson told him he had to go because you’d shown up.”

      “I did go and see him. I tried to convince him to stop threatening me.”

      “For not seeing him anymore.” Baker spoke with a hint of cynicism. He didn’t believe her.

      She didn’t respond.

      “Why did you lie about the last time you saw him?” Henderson asked.

      “I...forgot I went to see him last night.”

      “You forgot?”

      Remy swallowed the constricting fear tightening her throat. “Yes.”

      “What time did you leave?” Baker asked.

      “I wasn’t there long.” Thank God that was the truth. “Thirty minutes, maybe.”

      “And where did you go after that?” Henderson asked.

      “Home.”

      “Can anyone confirm that for you?” Baker asked.

      She glanced over at Lincoln, who met her look and said nothing. He hadn’t seen her come home. No one had. Looking back at Henderson, she reluctantly said, “Probably not.” She hadn’t stopped anywhere on the way home. The only person who could confirm the time she left was dead.

      Baker closed his notebook.

      Henderson stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

      * * *

      After the detectives left, Remy changed into jeans and an azure-blue boat-necked T-shirt and rejoined him in her living room. It was after seven o’clock. Late but not that late. Lincoln had felt and seen her trembling when the detectives had questioned her. If she preferred to be alone, he wasn’t picking up on that. But he wasn’t picking up on a willingness not to, either.

      “I need to get my dog,” she said, folding her arms in front of her, uncomfortable.

      He wondered what had her uncomfortable, the detectives or being alone with him. Maybe that was it. She didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want to be alone with him.

      “Right.” He led her out of her house, making sure she locked her door, and then ushered her over to his.

      Something dug deep into him to ensure no one who dared to come after them again would harm her. It was a strong instinct, one he could not ignore despite her fear of the law. Those detectives had to have known she wasn’t telling the complete truth. So why was he so intent on protecting her? He needed answers. His life was in danger right along with hers now. Wasn’t that enough of a reason? He couldn’t leave her to her own defenses. If those men were going to go after both of them, it made more sense to stick together.

      He shut the door as Maddie bounded to Remy for her trademark exuberant greeting, stuffed burger gently clamped between her jaws, pushing up her furry, whiskery, white cheeks.

      “Come on, girl,” Remy said.

      She was going to leave. Sleep next door. Alone.

      “Wait.” Lincoln stepped in her way. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

      “What?” One of her hands went to her stomach, not out of dread; Lincoln was beginning to suspect she couldn’t keep her hands still.

      “If those men come back, it’s best if you’re with me. I have a guest room.”

      Gaze unwavering, she lowered her hand and hooked her thumbs on the belt loops of her jeans. She didn’t argue. How could she? If she slept alone tonight, she might end up dead.

      But the nervous fidgeting, the inability to stay still, revealed her discomfort. Was she wondering if he’d press her for information? He would. But not just yet. He wanted her relaxed when he asked her the questions he had.

      “I’ll start dinner. We can go back to your place later so you can pack a bag.” Locking the door, he walked into the kitchen, Maddie on his heels after her ears perked with the sound of the word dinner.

      Taking his gun out of the front of his jeans, he set it on the counter. Remy was slower to follow. She eyed the gun and then watched him get some things out of the refrigerator.

      “Why do you own a gun?” she asked.

      “It’s legal.” He wasn’t ready to tell her more about himself. Keep her guessing for now. He needed her to do the talking first.

      He started a skillet of hamburger going and began cutting up peppers and onions.

      “What are you making?”

      “‘Even the Kids Love It’ casserole.”

      “A kid recipe?” She grinned wide, his relaxation strategy already going to work. “Are you a good cook?”

      “I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled at the idea. Him, a good cook. Ha! “Casseroles are easy, and they taste good. My sister is a real pro at making them for me. She doesn’t know it, though.”

      “Which of the eight is she?”

      “Arizona. The youngest.” He smiled his fondness. It had been a while since she’d come over to play a board game with him.

      “I can see you’re close. Are you that way with all your brothers and sisters?”

      “No. Arizona and I are the closest, even though we’re the farthest apart in age. When she was a kid, I was the one she always came to when she was being bullied and, later, when she was older, when the press crawled a little too close.”

      “Tough big brother, huh?”

      “She’s always needed watching over.”

      “Protective.” She mulled that over awhile, making him wonder what she was thinking. Was being protective a good thing or a bad thing to her? She struck him as very independent. Women like that didn’t appreciate being treated like a helpless damsel in distress.

      Lincoln didn’t see it that way. Men were typically physically stronger than women. They could protect them.

      “Arizona thinks she can do more than she actually can, or maybe it’s more than she has to do.”

      “She goes above and beyond?”

      “She lost a fiancé several years ago. He was kidnapped and killed, and she had a hard time getting over it.” He went to the sink to wash his hands. “Now she wants to start up an adventure organization for victimized people. Sort of like fear therapy.”

      Remy moved farther into the kitchen toward the refrigerator. “That’s commendable. She sounds like a very brave woman.”

      “Brave is a good word for her. And she’s got a good man in her life to keep her out of trouble. I don’t have to watch her so closely.” He grinned as he dried his hands with a paper towel.