His taunt seemed to strike a nerve in her. She averted her face and blew out her breath on a long sigh. In the space of a heartbeat, Brett’s adversarial instincts switched to an uncomfortable mix of guilt and concern. She rose to her feet, a coordinated series of movements blending grace and control.
Regretting his self-serving need to strike back, to assert himself, Brett chose to remain seated. She stood beside him, not quite face-to-face, and he could see the ultrafine spider-web of bluish veins beneath the pale porcelain of her skin.
He curled his fingers into his palms, combatting the urge to touch her, to see if her cheek was as smooth and soft and fragile as it looked. He’d forgotten her job for the moment, given vent to his frustration. He’d simply reacted. Without much thought or consideration of the consequences.
“How much do you stand to lose if the Ludlow project fails?” She didn’t look at him until she’d finished the question.
When he turned his face to her, he nearly sank to the floor. Eye-to-eye, mere inches away, he felt the gentle heat of her reaching out to him like a tentative caress.
He must be tired and imagining things, he thought. He’d seen those eyes cool and blank. He’d seen them wide and dark with fear.
But he’d never seen them as he did now. The tiniest of frowns made a shallow dent between her eyebrows, and her eyes gleamed with a warmth that reminded him of sunshine streaming in through a stained-glass window.
The uncustomary openness in her expression triggered an unexpected response inside him, a desire to be equally frank, without sugarcoating the truth with a smile or a clever joke.
“I could lose my shirt, if I’m not careful. If this project fails and I have to repay my investors on top of the accumulated debt, I’ll go bankrupt. Taylor Construction would be no more.”
“What about your personal assets?”
His family suspected he was in this building campaign up to his eyeballs, but he’d never shared the extent of what he had laid on the table to make this reclamation project happen. But alone in his office with the bright-eyed detective, the words spilled out. “I could lose everything.”
She uttered a sound like a gasp of disbelief, then turned and paced to the far end of the room. When she spun around, Brett sat up straighter. That brief glimpse of compassion he’d imagined had vanished. She was primed for battle again.
“Then why do this? Why not take the renovation one building at a time?”
He took the offensive, standing and bracing his hands on his hips. “Are you investigating me or the murder?”
“This is personal for you, isn’t it?” She walked closer, each step a brick of suspicion building against him on some unknown case. “Does this have anything to do with Mark Bishop’s death?”
Brett turned his face to the ceiling and swore. When he looked at her again, he didn’t bother softening the blow. She hadn’t pulled any punches, and neither would he. “You got a lot of nerve, lady.”
“I understand Mark Bishop was a friend of yours.”
He shook his head, admiring her gall, if not her choice of topic. “That woman you just met was his sister. The Bishops were like family to me.” A defensive edge slipped into his voice. He didn’t try to mask it. “I met Mark through the Big Brother program. He was a good kid who needed a break. I tried to give him one.”
“What can you tell me about his death?”
“Somebody beat the hell out of him, then left him without any medical attention. Why do you want to know?”
“That body in the basement could be Mark and Sophie’s father, Alvin Bishop.”
“Hell.” He collapsed back onto the desk. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t have the forensics yet, but the timeline fits. It’s a possibility.”
It seemed impossible. To hear that name again. Twelve years after the man got away with murder…or maybe he hadn’t, after all. Brett looked Ginny square in the eye. Her phone message had said she wanted to discuss the case. But which one?
He schooled what was left of his patience and asked, “Just what is it you want from me?”
“Do you have any idea who’d want to kill Alvin Bishop?”
“Me, for one.”
“Brett.”
He liked the sound of his name in her crisp, clean voice, even if it was couched in a reprimand. But she’d made it more than clear that he was just a means to an end of a case for her. Keeping that sobering thought in mind, he answered, “Just about anybody in town back then. He wasn’t a nice guy.”
She moved a step closer, folding her hands together and beseeching him in an unconscious gesture that he found difficult to ignore. “Mac says you know more about the neighborhood’s history than anyone. Records about the Ludlow tenants are sketchy and outdated. Do you think you could give me some specifics?”
The intelligent gleam in those dark blue eyes never wavered. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I’m investigating a murder. I’m always serious.”
He could see that. “All right, then. But not on an empty stomach.” Her challenge galvanized him. Shoving himself to his feet, he grabbed his keys from the desk and strode toward the door. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s past nine o’clock. I need to fuel up if I’m going to do this right.”
Ginny hurried after him in quicker, shorter strides. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean I’m hungry. I’m going to go eat.”
“Now?”
He pushed the door and held it open for her, amused by the incredulity of her question. Once she was outside, he closed and locked it behind him. “That’s the general idea.”
He heard a rapid rush of air behind him. “I’m just getting started. There’s more I need to ask.”
“I figured you’d come with me.”
He swept his arm out, indicating she precede him down the stairs. Instead, she took a step back against the iron railing. Maybe it was a trick of the overhead light, but her already fair skin blanched to an unhealthy shade of pale.
Brett reached out and touched her shoulder. “You all right?”
For an instant, time suspended itself between them. But before he could question her jumpy reaction, Ginny shrugged away his fingers and bolted down the steps. He could tell by her hushed tones that she’d dropped him from the conversation. “I’ll look up the names of some of the longtime residents of this part of the city. Maybe I can get them to talk. Forensics alone won’t tell me why that man was buried alive.”
“Time out.” He caught up to her in three long strides, and coiled his hand around her upper arm, holding on when she would have pulled away again. “I didn’t say anything about not talking. You stirred up some ghosts when you mentioned Mark and Alvin Bishop. I want to be sure I’m thinking clearly. I don’t want to make a mistake about either death.”
Beneath the coiled tension of sleek muscles, he felt…trembling. He glanced from his hand up into the smooth perfection of her face. Cool and rock-solid as always, she revealed no emotion. But the fine tremors didn’t lie. Something made her nervous. Had he startled her? Or was it the fact that he refused to let go?
He was torn between putting her at ease and demanding to know why she’d so easily dismiss his help. Conscience beat curiosity.
“Look, my uncle was a cop. My cousin Mitch, your boss, is captain of the local precinct. I have three brothers who are in law enforcement or criminal investigation. A fourth who used to be. It’d be suicide at family