Fox came to his feet. He pulled her with him. “You have the right—”
“I didn’t know you were a cop when I bit you,” she interrupted. “You never identified yourself. As for the other—”
He was going to get this out if it killed him. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything—”
“I want a lawyer.”
Fox stopped cold.
The headache she’d given him was starting to pump heat behind his eyes. He was ready to drag her back to his car and take her in for questioning but he was thinking with his temper, not his good sense. Hadn’t the woman been haggling with Carmen over twenty-four walloping carats’ worth of Burmese ruby? She’d start hollering for an attorney the minute she crossed the threshold of headquarters, and the money he presumed she had would buy a lot of legal punch.
Fox made a decision. He decided to follow his gut.
In a relaxed atmosphere, with her guard down, he just might get something worth knowing out of her before she hid behind counsel. Something deeper than the obvious was going on here. He kept seeing the way she’d leaned her head against the door when she had closed it. She’d seemed beaten. Overwhelmed.
Not murderous.
If it turned out he was wrong, there was nothing saying he couldn’t bring her in later. Fox tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”
Fear finally ripped past Tara’s bravado and took off with her pulse, unbridled. “You’re arresting me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Tell you what. We’ll trade answers. Ladies always go first. What were you doing in Stephen Carmen’s home?”
“Who said I was?”
“I saw you leave with my own eyes!”
“Well, I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”
“You can’t pull the Fifth! This isn’t court!”
“That’s just a technicality.” She waved a hand dismissively and hoped he didn’t notice how badly it shook.
He wasn’t actually committing himself to arresting her on the spot, she realized. Maybe she could get out of this. She knew how to be brazen, how to baffle her opponent with the outrageous. It had almost always worked with Stephen. Remembering his body on the library floor, Tara’s heart spasmed. She put the image from her mind.
“Let’s get back to basics,” she said. “You never showed me your badge. I want to know who I’m dealing with here.”
This time he did it. They stopped beside the house and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a little leather case. He flipped it open but he moved his body as he did, edging in on her space, trapping her against the wall.
Tara couldn’t quite get her breath. Her head filled with his scent, something sharp yet smooth. It stroked her nerve endings and made things gather alertly all through her body. She fought the urge to squirm and concentrated on the badge he held in front of her nose.
Robbery-Homicide. That was the first thing she saw. He was one of those people who used initials—that was the second. His name was C. Fox Whittington. Tara took another quick, shallow breath. “What’s the C for?”
“What difference does it make?” He nearly snarled it.
“I’m curious. I like to be on a first name basis with anyone who arrests me.”
“Maybe you ought to put your mind to the trouble you’re in instead.”
Oh, she was in so very much trouble! Tara looked at his eyes in the thin moonlight. They were sharp, watchful eyes, totally at odds with that Southern drawl he had. Her teeth started chattering with a chill she wasn’t aware of feeling.
“M-my lawyer is Calvin Mazzeone. Take me to a telephone and I’ll c-call him.” Mentioning an attorney had stalled him once.
“Shut up and let me think about this.” Suddenly, she was shaking like a leaf, Fox realized. The hint of vulnerability—a shadow of how she had looked coming out of the house—touched him all over again. “We’re going to your house,” he decided. “We’ll talk there.”
“Isn’t that a little unconventional?”
“You want conventional? I’ve got cuffs in my car.”
“I wouldn’t want to put you to the trouble.”
She was right back on her game, he thought, his temper spiking again. Fox finished steering her around the house, maneuvering her toward the Shelby. He unlocked the passenger door and nudged her inside. “Here’s the way I see it. You must have left prints all over that house.”
“Stephen’s my stepbrother. I visit him all the time.”
He closed the door and went around to the other side of the car. “Stephen’s dead.” He slipped behind the wheel.
“He is?”
“Please try to control yourself. I can’t deal with all this grief while I’m driving.”
“Are you always this sarcastic?”
“No. You bring out the worst in me.” Somewhere in Savannah, Fox heard his whole family tree rolling over in their graves at his behavior.
“Then just drop me here at the curb,” she said. “I’ll find my own way home.”
Fox took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at her. “You came out of his house, damn it.” His gaze snapped forward again. “What’s your address, Ms. Cole?”
Of course, he’d guess who she was. Tara felt herself beginning to rattle apart again. “1222 Poplar Drive.”
“For real?”
“Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you just killed your brother?”
“Stepbrother.” She hissed it, the first real emotion he’d heard in her tone so far.
“So why did you kill him?”
“I refuse to answer—”
“Where’s the ruby?”
“I don’t have it.”
“Where’d you put it?”
“The—” Tara snapped her mouth shut again. He was hurling questions at her too quickly. She’d almost answered him and mentioned the dog.
She still didn’t know what that animal had been doing there in the first place and admitting that she knew it was there was as good as admitting that she’d been snooping around Stephen’s library tonight. It was probably not the best place to concede that she’d been until she managed to talk to her lawyer, Tara thought. Besides, he had the Rose, this…this cop with his gentle Southern drawl. His questions to the contrary were purely a smoke screen, intended to throw her off. The cops had to have found it. The ruby had landed right there on the library floor.
Whittington drove into the underground garage of her building. He showed his badge to the security guard and cruised on, looking for a place to park.
“Just pull over and let me out.” Tara crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re not staying.”
“Put coffee on. This could be a long one.”
“I don’t have to let you in.”
“Then I’d have something solid to charge you with. Obstruction of justice should keep you in a cell overnight.”
“That’s ridiculous. Cal could have me out on my own recognizance.”