Controversy Read Free

bedposts?
    God, she hoped so.
    â€œMichelle Michaels?” He glanced down at his small pocket notepad.
    â€œNo. It’s Michael Matthews—well, it was. It’s now Michael Adams,” she rambled. “I’m divorced. Recently. Happily—sort of.”
    He frowned, his gaze traveling from the top of her hair, which she suspected was standing straight up from its roots, to the tips of her chip-painted toenails.
    â€œYour name is Michael?”
    â€œFriends and family call me Mikey or Mike.”
    His gaze returned to her figure, this time paying particular attention to her voluptuous curves.
    She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I am a woman.” His powerful gaze traveled back to her face and warmed it considerably.
    â€œYes, ma’am. You most certainly are.”
    The compliment took her by surprise and him, too, judging by how quickly his eyes diverted back to his notepad.
    â€œI’m Detective Kyson Dekker and this is my partner, Detective Robert Griffin.” He indicated a lanky white cop in black jeans and a T-shirt.
    Up until that moment, Michael hadn’t noticed the flaxen-haired detective. She gave him a cursory nod and then dismissed him to stare at this fantasy man.
    â€œIs there a problem?” she asked, anxious again about why they were there and why they’d been about to break down her door.
    â€œYes, um.” Dekker cleared his throat as he crossed his arms in a V in front of his body, planted his legs wide and darted his eyes around her own.
    The man might as well have socked her in the gut; his sudden change in demeanor confirmed he carried bad news.
    â€œIt’s one of my sisters, isn’t it?”
    â€œUm, no, ma’am. We—”
    â€œMy baby brother?” But wait. He’s in Georgia.
    â€œNo, ma’am. We—”
    She gasped. “My father! It has to be my father. What was it—heart attack? Stroke? I told him about mixing that Viagra with his heart medication. But he never listens.”
    Detective Dekker’s frown deepened. “No. That’s not it.”
    â€œStepmother? Though I’m not too crazy about her. I’d call her a gold digger if my father had any money,” she added absently. “No one knows that much about her, she just popped up—”
    â€œMs. Matthews—”
    â€œAdams.”
    â€œRight,” he snapped with impatience.
    She caught the underlying hint and shut up—but, damn, he was fine.
    â€œMs. Adams, we’re here regarding your husband—”
    â€œEx-husband.”
    He drew a deep breath. “Right. Mr. Matthews is missing and his, ah, lady friend suspects foul play. She suggested we come and talk to you.”
    Lady friend? “I knew it.” She swore under her breath. “I’ll kill him.”
    Detective Dekker’s brows jumped and crinkled his forehead.
    Embarrassment burned Michael’s face. “I’m sorry. Figure of speech. You were saying?”
    Dekker glanced over his shoulder at his partner and then returned his attention to Michael. “Ma’am, do you mind if we come in?”
    It was Michael’s turn to glance back over her shoulder and assess her pigsty of a house. Why, oh, why hadn’t she cleaned up?
    â€œMa’am?”
    â€œUm…sure.” Reluctantly, she stepped back, pulling the door with her and allowing the two officers to enter.
    Kyson crossed the threshold and made a sweeping glance around the quaint, although cluttered, house.
    â€œI just moved in,” she said.
    â€œYes, ma’am. Um, like I was saying, Mr. Matthews’s place of residence appears to have been ransacked pretty badly, so our department concurs with Ms. Delaney’s assessment and believes there’s foul play at work here.” He walked farther into the house, not sure what to make of the place.
    Delaney—probably a hooker. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said,