Close Neighbors. Dawn Stewardson

she was speaking, a thought struck him. Even if he could, surely no bank would hand him that much money in cash. And cash was what his caller wanted.

      After he’d said as much to Anne, she slowly shook her head. “I’m not certain what that tells us. It might mean he doesn’t know much about how banks work, so he doesn’t realize it could be a stumbling block. On the other hand, he might be sophisticated enough to know there’d be ways of arranging it.”

      “You really think there would?”

      She nodded. “The bank wouldn’t be happy about it. And they’d probably want you to be accompanied by an armed guard, or sign some sort of release. Still, if it was your money, and you insisted on cash…You haven’t answered my question, though. Could you come up with that much?”

      When he eyed her uncertainly, she said, “I’m not trying to pry into your personal finances, but could you?”

      “Well…probably. I’ve got a good relationship with the manager at my trust company. But you’re not suggesting I pay this jerk, are you?” He couldn’t imagine that was what she had in mind, yet he didn’t know what else she’d be getting at.

      “No, of course not. If you did he’d be on your back forever. It’s just that…”

      Looking lost in thought, she absently pushed her hair back off her cheek. And as crazy as it seemed, given that they were in the midst of this conversation, he suddenly found himself thinking she was an incredibly sexy woman.

      Not that he hadn’t realized it before. Even though his mind had been pretty much occupied with other things from the moment they’d met, he’d certainly noticed she was a terrific-looking woman.

      But just a moment ago, something about the fluid motion of her hand, about the way her dark hair danced with auburn highlights as it moved in the sunshine, had gone straight to his groin. And started him imagining her brushing his hair away from his face. As a prelude to a kiss.

      He swallowed hard, unable to force his gaze from the lushness of her lips. Then he saw that she was watching him watch her and he felt hot all over.

      Scrambling for something—anything—to say, he settled on, “You know what I think Rachel’s biggest fear is? That those detectives are so convinced she killed Graham they won’t be trying to learn who the real killer is.”