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“Ah.” He slowly rubbed his jaw, which drew her attention to his four o’clock shadow and reminded her how long a day he’d had.
“Detective Quinn—”
“Travis,” he said. “Why don’t you call me Travis.”
He hadn’t even spoken all the words before he began wondering what he was doing. He was here because he was a cop, not to get friendly with the woman.
She looked a little surprised, but smiled and said, “Call me Celeste, then.”
Nodding, he told himself he’d only suggested they drop the formality because it felt strange to be sitting here drinking soda with her and calling her Ms. Langley. It had been nothing more than that.
Sure, buddy. Let’s be honest and admit you like her.
The imaginary voice sounded so much like Hank’s it almost made him smile.
Of course, he didn’t know her well enough to really like her yet. But he’d admit to finding her attractive. After all, he’d been admitting that—to himself, at least—since last night.
And the fact that he did was hardly surprising. Her smile was fantastic. And she had a beautiful mouth. Basically, she had a beautiful everything.
It made him curious about what sort of idiot her husband must be—to have given her reason to leave him. But that was not what he should be thinking about.
Scrambling to remember where they’d left off, he said, “So, getting back to Reese, you told him not to worry about you and then...?”
“He said he couldn’t help it. Because... This was what truly scared me. He said the two of us are cosmically connected.”
Travis felt that icy numbness at the base of his spine once more. “Cosmically connected. Did you ask exactly what he meant by that?”
“Uh-huh. And he said part of it was that I was an editor and he was a writer, so we were like two halves of a whole. But, far more significant, I was Steve’s sister. And Steve had been a very important part of his life. Which meant we had to look out for each other. So he’d keep in touch.”
Terrific. Just what she needed.
“Travis, he left me with such a creepy-crawly feeling I didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, you did the right thing by phoning me.”
“Then you don’t think I overreacted?”
“No. In fact, I’ll pay him another visit tomorrow. Make it clear he’s not to contact you again.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Reduce fear is one of the mandates in the department’s mission statement.” Not that he was going to worry about reducing Reese’s fear. He’d threaten to hang the guy up by his ears if he ever called her again.
“I’ll get back to you after I’ve talked to him,” he added. “Let you know how it went.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He pushed himself up, knowing he’d better get out of her apartment—pronto.
Until he and Hank were certain she hadn’t killed her brother, she was a suspect—regardless of whether he believed she could have done it or not. So he had to leave before he did something even more stupid than telling her to call him Travis.
* * *
CELESTE LOCKED HER DOOR, then resisted the temptation to head straight to the window so she could watch Travis as he left the building.
Instead, she sat down with her still half-full glass and asked herself what on earth was going on.
Her life had been heavy on emotional turmoil lately, and until she started feeling a lot closer to normal she’d be crazy to even contemplate getting involved with a man. Yet she couldn’t deny the tug of interest she felt toward this particular one.
Likely, she decided, that was the “something” she’d been trying to put her finger on all day. Last night, she’d been so upset she hadn’t consciously realized she found him attractive. But tonight had been a different story.
After he’d said there was nobody waiting at home for him, the statement had lingered in her mind. And she doubted he routinely asked people he was interviewing to call him Travis.
Snoops skulked into the room and leaped onto her lap, deciding it was safe to come out of hiding now that the company was gone. She began to stroke him, her thoughts turning back to Travis.
She felt immensely better than she had earlier, and that was entirely due to him. She’d told him what was bothering her and he’d come up with a solution. He’d talk to Evan Reese and set things straight.
It had been a while since she’d had someone offer to take care of a problem for her. And clichéd as it might be, she really did feel as if he’d lifted a weight from her shoulders.
Of course, as he’d said, it was part of his job. But even so, she had the distinct sense that he was going above and beyond for her.
I just hope you have somebody you can lean on.
Thinking of Reese’s words again made her wonder if that could be what she was doing with Travis. Was she leaning on him? When he was a virtual stranger? Who’d only come into her life because he was investigating Steve’s murder?
After considering the possibility, she decided she’d better give a lot of thought to exactly why she was attracted to him. Because not doing so could be very dangerous.
* * *
WHEN HIS PHONE rang at seven-thirty Tuesday morning, Travis groaned and pulled his pillow over his ears.
He hadn’t gotten home from Celeste’s until midnight. Then he’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep because visions of her kept wandering through his brain.
That had started him wondering whether someone could have hypnotized him without his knowing—and given him a post-hypnotic suggestion that was keeping her constantly on his mind.
Deciding whoever was calling wasn’t going to give up, he grabbed the phone from the bedside table.
There was a moment’s silence after he answered, then a woman said, “Detective Quinn, this is Jill Flores. You and your partner came to see me yesterday. About Steve Parker.”
“Yes, of course.” He sat up in bed, trying to force away his grogginess. “What can I do for you?”
“First, I should apologize for calling so early. But I wanted to do it before I left for work. I don’t have much privacy on the job.”
“That’s okay.”
She didn’t continue immediately, so he said, “Did you remember something that might help us with the case?”
She cleared her throat. “It wasn’t really something I remembered. I just didn’t mention it yesterday.”
So his sense that she was holding out on them had been right.
“Then I started thinking I’d better tell you,” she added.
“Good. You never know what will prove useful.”
“Yes...well, your partner asked if Steve had been seeing anyone since we broke up. And I said I had no idea, but that wasn’t exactly true.
“A couple of weeks ago, he asked one of my friends out. One he met through me. I only knew about it because she called to check that I wouldn’t mind.
“At any rate, she’s seen him a few times. I didn’t say anything about her last night because she’s the sort of person who’d get upset about being questioned by the police. So since I knew she couldn’t possibly have been involved, I didn’t see the sense in putting her through it.
“But after I’d had time to think, I realized Steve might have said something to her that would give you a lead.”
“I’m glad you reconsidered,” Travis said, grabbing a pad and pencil from the bedside table. “And her name is...?”
“Ah...do you think you could avoid saying that I told you about her?”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. Her name’s Beth Winston. I’ll give you both her office and home numbers.”
He jotted them down, then said, “And she works...?”
“On Wall Street. For a law firm called Mitchell and Conlin. She has her own office, so if you wanted to talk to her there I think it would be all right.”
“Great. And thanks a lot for calling. I really appreciate it. By the way, just out of curiosity, what color is her hair?”
“Oh...about the same shade as mine. Why?”
Another blonde.
Resisting the temptation to ask if Beth owned a gray trench coat and a big black purse, he said, “Oh, it really was just curiosity.”
After saying goodbye, he put down the phone and glanced at the clock. If Beth Winston started work at nine, he had enough time to be there waiting when she arrived.
That would make him late meeting Hank, but he wouldn’t care. Especially not if this woman turned out to be their mystery blonde.
He phoned and left a message for Hank at the precinct, then got the coffee started and headed for the shower.
Barely half an hour later, he was climbing into the Mustang. Not many detectives drove their own cars on duty, but he’d had enough bad experiences with ones from the pool that he always did.
Despite the morning traffic, he arrived at the offices of Mitchell and Conlin before nine. Even so, Beth Winston had beaten him there.
“Is she expecting you?” the receptionist asked.
“No.”
“And your name?”
“Travis Quinn,” he told her, thinking he’d only say he was a police detective if he had to.
Since Beth Winston was the type of person who’d get upset at being questioned by the police, she’d probably get even more upset if her coworkers knew about it.
The receptionist didn’t press him. She just buzzed Beth, then directed him to her office.
When he reached its open door, the woman behind the desk said, “Travis Quinn? Should I know the name?”
“No.”
He handed her his card, then appraised her as she eyed it.
Maybe thirty-five and definitely “stylish.” She might well be their woman. And there was a gray trench coat hanging on the coatrack in the corner. Seeing it started his hopes climbing.
When she looked at him again, he decided Jill Flores had been right. He hadn’t asked a single question yet, and Beth Winston already seemed upset.
“Would you like me to close the door?” he said.
“Please.”
Once he had, she gestured for him to sit down and said, “I assume this has to do with Steve Parker.”
“You’ve heard, then.”
“Yes. One of his friends called me last night.”
“I understand you were seeing him.”
“I’d been out with him three times. And I...” She paused and shook her head. “I could easily have been with him on Saturday. He asked me to a movie, but I already had plans.
“My sister moved away from New York last year, and she was coming home for a week. So I’d asked a few of her friends over.”
“To your place, you mean.”
“Yes. Just an after-dinner thing. Drinks and catching up. You know.”
He nodded.
She had an alibi. He’d check it out, of course, but she was probably telling the truth.
“Except for that...” she said.
“You would have been with Steve Parker.”
“Yes. I can’t quite get over it.” She nervously drummed the surface of her desk for a couple of seconds, then murmured, “What time was he killed?”
“Sometime between nine and midnight.”
“Then if I’d been with him he’d still be alive. We’d have gone someplace after the show.” She shook her head, looking close to tears.
