Secret Star Read Free Page B

sinking in the stomach sensation than she’d experienced when she pulled up to the drive, saw the strange car and the lights blazing inside her empty house.
    She flicked her eyes from the badge up to his again. Damned if he didn’t look more like a cop than a crook, she decided. Very attractive, in a straight-edged, buttoned-down sort of fashion. The solid body, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, appeared ruthlessly disciplined.
    Eyes like that, cool and clear and golden brown, that seemed to see everything at once, belonged to either a cop or a criminal. Either way, she imagined, they belonged to a dangerous sort of man.
    Dangerous men usually appealed to her. But at the moment, as she took in the oddity of the situation, her mood wasn’t receptive.
    â€œAll right, Buchanan, Lieutenant Seth, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing in my house.” She thought of what she carried in her purse—whatBailey had sent her only days before—and felt that unsettling sensation in her stomach deepen.
    What kind of trouble are we in? she wondered. And just how do I slide out of it with a cop staring me down?
    â€œHave you got a search warrant to go along with that badge?” she demanded.
    â€œNo, I don’t.” He’d have felt better, considerably better, if she’d put the gun down altogether. But she seemed content to hold it, aiming it lower now, no less steadily, but lower. Still, his composure had snapped back. Keeping his eyes on hers, he came down the rest of the stairs and stood in the lofty foyer, facing her. “You’re Grace Fontaine.”
    She watched him tuck his badge back into his pocket, while those unreadable cop’s eyes skimmed over her face. Memorizing features, she thought, irritated. Making mental note of any distinguishing marks. Just what the hell was going on?
    â€œYes, I’m Grace Fontaine. This is my property, my home. And as you’re in it, without a proper warrant, you’re trespassing. As calling a cop seems superfluous, maybe I’ll just call my lawyer.”
    He angled his head, and unwillingly caught a whiff of that siren’s scent of hers. Perhaps it was that, and feeling its instant and unwelcome effecton his system, that had him speaking without thought.
    â€œWell, Ms. Fontaine, you look damn good for a dead woman.”

Chapter 2
    H er response was to narrow her eyes, arch a brow. “If that’s some sort of cop humor, I’m afraid you’ll have to translate.”
    It annoyed him that she’d jarred the remark out of him. It wasn’t professional. Cautious, he brought a hand up slowly, tipped the barrel of the gun farther to the left. “Do you mind?” he said, then, quickly, before she could agree, he twisted it neatly out of her hand, pulled out the clip. It wasn’t the time to ask if she had a license to carry, so he merely handed her back the empty gun and pocketed the clip.
    â€œIt’s best to keep both hands on your weapon,”he said easily, and with such sobriety that she suspected amusement lurked beneath. “And, if you want to keep it, not to get within reach.”
    â€œThanks so much for the lesson in self-defense.” Obviously irritated, she opened her bag and dumped the gun inside. “But you still haven’t answered my initial question, Lieutenant. Why are you in my house?”
    â€œYou’ve had an incident, Ms. Fontaine.”
    â€œAn incident? More copspeak?” She blew out a breath. “Was there a break-in?” she asked, and for the first time took her attention off the man and glanced past him into the foyer. “A robbery?” she added, then caught sight of an overturned chair and some smashed crockery through the archway in the living area.
    Swearing, she started to push past him. He curled a hand over her arm to stop her. “Ms. Fontaine—”
    â€œGet your hand off me,” she snapped, interrupting him.