Deadly Gamble. Linda Lael Miller

take that for a yes,” Tucker said, and printed the page.

      I leaned over his shoulder, studying the site.

      “Steve Roberts” worked as a private nurse, an RN, no less. He sold vitamins for some network marketing outfit, too, and was available for consultations. Consultations! Have you been thinking of murdering your parents? I can tell you how to do it and get away with a slap on the wrist. Why, in no time at all, you’ll be back on the streets, looking for your next victim!

      I shivered.

      “I don’t think you should be alone tonight,” Tucker said.

      “I’m not going to your place.”

      “Then I’ll stay here.”

      “On the couch.”

      He sighed.

      “On the couch,” he agreed, but belatedly, and with reluctance.

      SOMETHING LANDED heavily on my chest. Sprawled in the middle of my bed, I opened one eye to sunlight and a purring white cat. I felt the familiar mingling of delight and sadness as I looked into Chester’s fuzzy face.

      “I’m so sorry he killed you,” I whispered, stroking his back.

      I heard the shower running and for a moment I was jarred, until I remembered that Tucker had spent the night. I’d no more than formed the thought when the pipes stopped rattling. I eased Chester off my breasts and rolled onto my side; I didn’t want to be caught petting empty air when Tucker put in an appearance.

      He did just that, a minute or so later, standing naked in the doorway, except for a towel around his waist. I put down an unseemly urge to 1—summon Tucker to my bed and 2—lick the little droplets of standing water off every muscled inch of his flesh.

      “Coffee’s on,” he said.

      Chester hopped onto the broad window sill and sat looking down at the main street of Cave Creek, tail slowly sweeping the warm morning air.

      I was grappling with my libido. In short, I wanted some nookie.

      What harm would it do? said libido inquired.

      I thought of Tucker’s kids. The custody battle. His beautiful ex-wife. Sure, they were divorced, but Allison still had a powerful hold on him. He visited regularly, despite their conflict; he’d been up front about that from the first. I couldn’t be sure all the emotional ties had been broken, and I knew it would kill me if they were still sleeping together.

      The best orgasm I ever had with Nick happened an hour after we left the courtroom, with the ink still wet on our decree.

      I don’t need another broken heart, I replied.

      “I’ll be with you in a few minutes,” I said, quelling the need to stretch because it might be misinterpreted as a sensual invitation, and I was barely holding on to my resolve as it was.

      Tucker looked disappointed but resigned. “I’ve got to get to work anyway,” he said. “You’ll be all right alone?”

      For some reason, those innocuous words blew through my soul like an icy wind. You’ll be all right alone?

      It wasn’t just Tucker talking. It was the whole universe.

      I blinked a couple of times. “Sure. I was just a little freaked out last night, that’s all. Thanks for staying. I really appreciate it.”

      After a beat, Tucker nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take that printout from your brother’s Web site. Do some follow-up.”

      “I’d appreciate that,” I said.

      Tucker made the slightest move, a sort of gathering of his forces, as though he might take a step toward me. Then he stopped himself, turned and went back into the bathroom to put on yesterday’s clothes. I wondered if a shower violated his job description, since he usually looked like he’d been living in a shelter for at least a week.

      It occurred to me, as I was lying there feeling sorry for myself, that I didn’t know much more about Tucker than he did about me. I knew he was a detective with Scottsdale PD, and that he worked Narcotics. I knew he had an ex-wife and two beautiful kids.

      Oh, yes. And I knew he could drive me crazy in bed.

      That was about the sum of it, though.

      I felt a little better, having thus justified keeping my own secrets, but not much.

      When I heard the outside door close and Tucker’s boots on the stairs, I got out of bed. After nipping down the hall to turn the dead bolt, I wandered into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee.

      It was when I went to the refrigerator, hoping a carton of eggs might have materialized while I slept, that I saw the sticky note he’d left on the freezer door.

      “We’ve got a lot more to talk about. Like why you own a litter box and no cat. See you tonight. Tucker.”

      “That’s what I get,” I told Chester, now watching me with interest from the floor, “for getting involved with a detective.”

      Chester wound himself around my ankles, his fur tickling my bare feet.

      “Ree-ooow,” he said earnestly.

      I bent, my eyes stinging, and gathered him in my arms. “How am I going to explain the cat litter?” I asked.

      He snuggled close, humming like a lawn mower at full throttle.

      “Don’t go,” I whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

      He did.

      It wasn’t a poof—nothing as dramatic as that.

      He just dissolved in my arms, between one moment and the next.

      One of these days, I knew, Chester was going to pull his vanishing act for good, and I would never see him again.