The line of her jaw tightened. She didn’t have to be looking at him for him to sense her anger. He’d ticked her off by suggesting she was keeping something from him. That she didn’t deny his charges didn’t bode well. The detective was hiding something, it seemed.
“Detective Sanford called,” she said crisply, maintaining that steady watch on the traffic in front of their car.
“Did you give him an update on me?” He should have known that she wouldn’t be working alone. The cop mentality was pair oriented.
“I told him I was on my way to a spa appointment.” She looked at him then. “He thinks I’m in Cozumel on vacation.”
Sam fixed his attention on the street as he maneuvered through midmorning traffic. “If I find out you’re lying to me—”
“You won’t.”
Instead of driving directly to the office, he turned in the direction of his place. He might as well pack a bag and check the aquarium. Once preparation was underway back at the office, he didn’t want to have to break away for anything as menial as grabbing his toothbrush. He’d driven a dozen or so blocks before she spoke up. He hadn’t expected to get that far.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.” He took the next left. “I’m sure you already know the address.”
She didn’t bother denying his charge. He imagined that she knew all there was to know about him except the details of why and how the three scumbags who murdered Anna were executed.
He couldn’t really hold that against her. He’d done his research on her, as well as her partner, not long after his fiancée was murdered. At the time, he’d considered it his job to know if the cops on the case were up to snuff.
“I know a few things myself. Lisa Marie Smith,” he said out loud, mostly to unnerve her. “Thirty-one, born in San Diego, graduated Berkley with a degree in criminology. Made detective just over five years ago, much to the annoyance of your male peers. Assigned to homicide one month later. No family in L.A. Never been married. One dog.”
She continued her steady gaze out the windshield. “The dog died. Old age. I’d had him since I was in high school.”
“That’s a shame.” He slowed the car and took a right turn. “I’m sure you miss him.” He’d had a dog once. But the animal had gotten so attached to Anna that he’d literally grieved himself to death after her murder. Sam had decided after that he’d stick with fish.
Anna. He didn’t say or think her name very often. He banished the images that immediately attempted to intrude on his thoughts. Anytime he did he was sorry for it. She was gone. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. Her parents hated him, held him responsible. He couldn’t blame them. He was responsible. It was his fault Anna had died.
“Nice place,” Smith said as he made the final turn.
His thoughts drifted back to the present with her comment. He parked in the driveway of his Oak Park home. The price he’d gotten for his Hollywood Hills home would have bought something much larger and in the ritziest market available in Chicago, but he hadn’t been looking for glamour or square footage.
This place gave him the peace and quiet he needed.
By the time he’d gotten out and rounded the hood, she had already emerged from the passenger side. He led the way up the walk and to the door.
“Seems quiet,” she remarked.
“It is.” Since school was out for the summer, there would be a little more excitement around the neighborhood throughout the day. Otherwise the neatly manicured lawns were clear of clutter and people during the morning hours.
First thing, he checked the aquarium and filled up the automatic feeder. He could be gone for two weeks and not have to worry. Fish didn’t need to be walked or boarded at the kennel. Didn’t need baths or any particular attention. Just a clean tank and food.
Uncomplicated. That was his new motto.
Smith stood in the middle of his living room looking around. He hadn’t bothered with any decorating and, admittedly, the furniture left something to be desired. But he didn’t spend much time here so he didn’t actually care. He’d sold his house in California fully furnished. Too many memories to bring any of the stuff with him.
“Have a seat. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
His new home had two bedrooms, one he’d turned into an office. That was the one part of his past he’d kept, his research books. As a forensics scientist, he’d used reference materials daily. So far he hadn’t really needed them in his new job, but it didn’t hurt to have them around.
He grabbed a duffel from his closet and stuffed it with two changes of dark-colored clothes, gloves and the necessary toiletries. He threw in a mini flashlight and a small first-aid kit.
“You kept your reference books.”
Sam turned at the sound of her voice. She stood in the open doorway, but made no move to enter his bedroom. That she’d peeked into his home office didn’t surprise him. A cop didn’t stop being a cop just because she or he wasn’t on official duty.
“I did.” He zipped the duffel and lifted it off the unmade bed. “I’m ready.”
“You didn’t keep any pictures of her?”
She stayed in that doorway almost as if she intended to have her answers before she let him pass. Evidently she’d already had herself a better look around than he’d realized.
“No.” He’d sold or put away everything, except the books, related to the past.
“You shouldn’t pretend she didn’t exist.”
If those brown eyes hadn’t looked so sincere, he might have considered that she was baiting him, but he could see that she was serious.
“She’s dead. She doesn’t care what I pretend.” He moved toward the door, expecting the nosy detective to step out of the way. She didn’t.
“That’s how you’re dealing with it?”
What the hell did she want from him? The last time he’d spoken with Detective Lisa Smith she’d been convinced he’d killed three men in cold blood. Did she believe she could get close to him like this and find that truth she wanted so badly to know?
“Let’s get one thing straight.”
She still didn’t back off, just looked directly into his eyes.
“My personal life is off-limits. It’s none of your business. End of story.”
“Strange,” she said with a puzzled expression. “I thought this whole thing was personal. Three members of a notorious gang killed your fiancée, then ended up dead a short time after. Lil Watts wants you dead. Sanford wants you on death row. What part of that do you feel isn’t personal?”
He stepped directly into her personal space and cranked up the irritation in his tone when he spoke. “This is never going to work, Smith.”
“Probably not,” she agreed without a glimmer of trepidation as she stared up at him. “But I don’t see any point in pretending I don’t want answers or that how you’re dealing with the past doesn’t matter.”
“Stick to the facts related to the case,” he ordered. “We’re not friends. We’ve never been friends. How I’m dealing with life in general isn’t your concern.”
She pivoted on her heel and walked back into the living room. He watched her go, tamped his emotions back down to a more manageable place.
If he got even an inkling that she was working a scam on him, this liaison was over.
For