Courting Danger. Carol Stephenson

listen, the temptation was strong. Too strong. I needed to steer the conversation back to business.

      “Gabe.”

      “Yes?”

      “Carling and Nicole both speak highly of your investigation skills.” If fact, they had waxed poetic about his results. When their regular investigator had suffered a heart attack and retired two months ago, he had recommended Gabe. At that time I had no clients of my own, so I hadn’t bothered to meet Gabe and hadn’t bothered to check his references.

      “They’re dynamite women.”

      The obvious admiration in his tone gave me a pause. Was his relationship with one of my friends personal? Jealousy’s claws needled me.

      “Look,” I said in desperation. “I’m sure you’d be fine to use on a case with not as high a profile….” My voice trailed off. My family had said the same about me.

      Gabe winked at me. “We’re quite a pair with our history, aren’t we?”

      I nodded.

      His expression intensified as he studied me. “Your partners said you got a bum deal at the U.S. Attorney’s office.”

      My cheeks warmed.

      “But you made a mistake and paid for it.”

      Even months later, chagrin was a hot ball in my throat that I had to swallow.

      “Slept with the top guy—”

      Oh no, not again. I wasn’t about to listen to the career-favors-for-sex intimation. “Don’t go there.” My voice was tight with anger.

      “Don’t go where?”

      “I did not get any special breaks for dating Harold. Period.”

      Gabe’s eyebrow arched in skepticism. “I know Harold Lowell and you’re a looker.”

      Just like a man to assume the worst. This time I welcomed Hilary’s reproving tone in my voice. “What you don’t know is that I eloped when I was eighteen, only to learn the boy had visions of trust funds and not love.” I snapped my fingers. “My family secured the divorce within a few weeks.”

      He whistled. “Talk about a quickie.”

      Perhaps. But not quick in terms of emotional toll, although I wasn’t about to admit that. I settled for a frosty glare. “Call my mistakes with men lessons learned the hard way.”

      Moreover, I wasn’t about to follow my mother’s path and blaze a sexual trail through the opposite sex.

      “You must be talking about that rat Prince Harold.” Nicole Sterling, carrying a white terry washcloth and first-aid kit, walked toward us. Tall and slender in her navy pin-stripe suit, she was model-perfect. Her concerned gaze absorbed my condition in one glance.

      “You look like hell.”

      “Gee, thanks.”

      “Carling needed to take a call so she asked me to bring in the first-aid kit.”

      Gabe leaned back on his heels and flashed that killer smile. “Hello, Red. Looking gorgeous as usual.”

      “Looking to die young, Gabe?”

      “No, ma’am.”

      “Then don’t call me Red.” She handed him the cloth.

      “Sure thing, Red…I mean Nicole.” He winked before he looked down as he probed and cleaned my wounds. I bit back a whimper.

      “Did Katherine also mention that she was the one who figured out Harold’s scam and turned him in to the federal authorities?”

      “No, she forgot that fact.” He squeezed a drop of salve onto his palm and carefully applied it to the cuts.

      “Fine.” I leaned back into the chair. “Let’s talk about me as if I wasn’t present.”

      Nicole propped her hip against the edge of my desk. “Lucky gal. Nothing like having a tall, dark and handsome man attend to you.”

      And dangerous, I thought. Very dangerous to a woman who lacked any intuition about the opposite sex. I said coolly, “If you see a man like that, let me know. Ouch!”

      Gabe’s expression was pure innocence. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

      “You know it did.”

      Nicole laughed. “Sounds like you two are going to have a great time working together.”

      I cast her a withering glance.

      “Kate here hasn’t made up her mind whether I can stand up to public scrutiny on this case.”

      I squirmed. I hadn’t decided, but the truth said out loud sounded shallow.

      “Nonsense. Your credentials are impeccable.” Nicole paused a beat and fluttered her eyelashes. “And you owe me a beer for landing you another case.”

      Gabe grunted as he wrapped gauze around my foot. “Thanks a lot. Your partner is already skittish as a perp under questioning.”

      Nicole picked up the Saint Louis paperweight on my desk and tossed it from hand to hand. Its facets flashed a rainbow of colors in the light. When my friend was working on a problem, she liked to keep her hands busy.

      “We all appreciate the best.”

      He patted my bandaged feet and rose, spreading his hands. “Working for three beautiful women. How can life get any better?”

      I rolled my eyes, and Nicole laughed. She put down the paperweight and walked over to the corner of the room where I kept a huge dry-erase board. “Since you’re the walking wounded, Katherine, I’ll man the marker. What do we know so far?”

      Gabe proceeded to wander around the office, pausing here and there to check out a photograph or a knickknack.

      I squelched a Hilary urge to instruct him not to touch anything, but instead removed the portfolio from the tote, and flipped through my notes.

      “Grace’s body was discovered at ten-twenty p.m. when the guard was making his rounds. Approximate time of death speculated to be after eight. Our client was home alone.”

      “So no alibi.” Nicole’s marker squeaked on the board as she wrote down all the facts.

      “Police theory of motivation was lover’s quarrel.”

      “Were they having an affair?”

      I shrugged. “He denies it.”

      “Good-looking older man, pretty young girl. Jury may disbelieve him.”

      “True.” I frowned at one page. “He mentioned the restoration has run into major snags. Additional subcontractors had to be hired in the hopes of bringing the project in on time.”

      Gabe paused in his prowling. “What kind of snags?”

      “Delayed shipments, busted or stolen equipment, accidents.” I lowered the pad. “The workers are complaining the site is jinxed. A few have even quit, saying the fourth floor was haunted.”

      Gabe examined the array of my skeet-shooting and swimming trophies on a shelf. “That’s the floor where the woman was murdered.”

      Nicole chose a different colored marker. “So for suspects we have our client, his wife….” She wrote rapidly.

      “Why Meredith?”

      “Jealousy.” Nicole and Gabe spoke in unison and grinned at each other.

      “Textbook suspect,” Nicole added.

      “All right.” Personally I doubted that Lloyd’s small, reserved wife could muster the energy to kill anyone. She was more into complaining about her lowered financial situation. If she killed anyone, it would be her husband, to collect insurance payments.

      “Others