“Not interested?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Last one I met got me knocked up. Guess Grandma kind of forgot about that. I don’t know what I would have done if Liz hadn’t helped me find a family for my baby. Now she’s living in the suburbs. Like, with a mom and dad and two cats.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears.
“Uh…” He was so far out of his league here.
“Anyway,” she said, sniffing loudly. She tossed her hair back. “She’s the best. Some lawyer guy helps her. He talks fast, drinks too much and wears ugly ties. Easy to spot.”
“What’s his name?” Sawyer asked.
“Howard Fraypish. Liz went to the dance with him.”
Sawyer pulled his notebook out of his suit coat pocket and made a note of the name. Yesterday, after they’d gotten Liz Mayfield’s prints, he’d asked her whether she was seeing anybody. It was a legitimate question, he’d told himself at the time.
She hadn’t even blinked. Said that she hadn’t dated anyone for over a year.
Going to a dance with somebody sounded like a date.
“I think she just feels sorry for him,” the girl added.
So, she and lawyer guy weren’t close. Maybe there was someone else. He had a right to ask. Maybe the connection wasn’t Mary or Mirandez. Maybe the shooter’s target had been the pretty counselor. It wouldn’t be the first time a spurned love interest had crossed the line. “She seeing anybody else?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
He was glad that Liz hadn’t lied to him. But it still surprised him. A woman who looked like Liz Mayfield shouldn’t have trouble getting a date. She had the kind of face and body that made a man stupid.
He’d made that mistake once in his life. He wouldn’t make it again.
HE TRIED TO REMEMBER THAT, two hours later, when he watched her glide around the room. She had on a long, dark blue dress. It flowed from her narrow waist, falling just shy of her ankles. It puffed out when she turned.
She’d pulled her hair up, leaving just a few strands down. Sawyer rubbed his fingers together, imagining the feel of the silky texture. The dress had a high collar and sleeves ending just below the elbow. She barely showed any skin at all, and she was the sexiest woman there.
Classy. It was the only word he could think of.
Determined to get it over with, Sawyer strode across the dance floor, ignoring the startled whispers or shocked glances in his wake. He felt as out of place as he knew he looked with his faded blue jeans and his beat-up leather jacket. He’d shed his suit earlier that evening before suddenly deciding that he needed to see Liz Mayfield tonight. She’d had her twenty-four hours. It wasn’t his fault that she was a party girl and wanted to dance.
He met her eyes over the shoulder of her date. Her full lips parted ever so slightly, and her face lost its color. He shrugged in return and tapped the man between them on the shoulder.
The guy, early forties and balding, turned his head slightly, frowned at Sawyer and kept dancing.
Sawyer tapped again. “I need a few minutes with Ms. Mayfield.”
They stopped. When the guy made no move to let go of her, Sawyer held out his hand. She stared at it for several seconds then stepped away from her date. Suddenly she was in his arms, and they were dancing.
He wanted to say something. But his stupid mind wouldn’t work. He couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, couldn’t reason.
She smelled good—like the jasmine flowers that had grown outside his mother’s kitchen window.
He wanted to pull her close and taste her. The realization hit him hard, as if someone had punched him. He wanted his tongue in her mouth, her breasts in his hands and her thighs wrapped around him. He wanted her naked under him.
Sawyer jerked back, stumbling a bit. He dropped his hands to his sides. The two of them stood still in the middle of the dance floor like two statues.
Why didn’t she say something? Hell, why didn’t she blink? She just kept her pretty green eyes focused on his face. Sawyer kept his breaths shallow, unwilling to let any more temptation into his lungs. “Any more letters?” he asked. He kept his voice low, not wanting others to hear.
She shook her head. “Our mail doesn’t usually arrive until after lunch. I left before it got there.”
“So, no news is good news?”
“For tonight.”
He understood avoidance. At one point in his life, he’d perfected it. He felt silly standing in the middle of the floor. He stepped closer to Liz Mayfield, and she slipped back into his arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which didn’t make sense at all because it had to have been ten years since he’d danced with a woman. It felt good. She felt good.
He really needed to remember that he wasn’t here to dance. “What did your little friend have to say?” he asked.
Her body jerked, and he realized he’d been more stern than necessary. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s fine,” she said. “It’s just that I…I didn’t see Mary today.”
“She didn’t show, did she?”
Liz shook her head and jumped in with both feet. “I had to cancel most of my appointments. I didn’t feel well.” That much at least was true. She’d been sick after hearing Mary’s voice mail. I’m not coming today. I’ll see you tomorrow at the regular time.
Liz had tried to call her a dozen times before giving up. Dreading that Detective Montgomery would find her before she had the chance to locate Mary, she’d left the office. She’d worried that a frustrated Detective Montgomery might take matters in his own hands and track Mary down.
Liz had never expected he’d show up at the fund-raiser. But she should have known better. Detective Montgomery didn’t seem like the kind of guy who gave up easily. In fact, he seemed downright tenacious. Like a dog after a bone.
She tried to hold that against him. But couldn’t. While it made for an uncomfortable evening, she couldn’t help appreciating the fact that he’d held her to her twenty-four hours. He took his work seriously. She could relate to that.
“Are you okay now?” he asked, sounding concerned.
She nodded, not willing to verbalize any more half-truths. From across the room, she caught Carmen’s eye. She was standing behind the punch table, pouring cups for thirsty dancers. Liz could read the concern on her pretty face. She’d had that same look since Liz had told her about the letter.
Liz shook her head slightly, reassuring her. Carmen was little, but she could be a spitfire. If she thought Liz needed help, she’d come running.
“Who’s that?” Detective Montgomery asked.
“Carmen Jimenez. She’s a counselor, too. I think I mentioned her yesterday.”
“I remember. Did you tell her about your letter?”
“Yes.”
“She hasn’t gotten anything similar?”
Liz shook her head.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Detective Montgomery said. “We found another dead body this morning. Right outside of this very hotel. He’d been shot. Up until a few weeks ago, he’d been a cook for Mirandez.”
“Mirandez has a cook?”
He leaned his mouth closer to her ear, and she