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glance sympathetic.
    He didn’t want sympathy—he wanted results—three months and still not one clue, and now, another victim. There’d been female investigators, reporters, and with the second woman’s body found, the questions would start again. His stomach did a couple of churns. He was sick to death of women and questions. Men he could deal with. They spoke the same damn language, straight shooters, no emotional crap. But the female investigators, they all looked at him, sized him up, the questions visible in their eyes.
    “I’m sorry for my anger.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “The first murder victim had my phone number in her purse. I never knew her.” He didn’t add that she’d been raped and strangled. That sounded harsh when spoken.
    “No subject is off limits,” Dena said. “I’m a crisis communications expert. I’ve heard everything. I can advise—”
    “Why would you want me as a client? I might be a suspect.”
    She made eye contact, a defiant look on her face. “I know you’re innocent.”
    He raised his eyebrows, and then sat straighter. “Based on what?”
    ****
    Seconds ticked by. Dena thought about admitting to being Carli’s sister, but would Zeke throw her out if she did? Better to stick with her first plan. Get the contract. Investigate over the weekend. Tell the truth on Monday.
    “You’re not…you weren’t the woman’s type. I read a lot about her.” She tried for a casual, relaxed pose, even though her heart pounded. “She always went for the artistic type…theater, film, struggling artists.”
    Carli had never been attracted to tall rangy men, especially blonds. She claimed she liked her men like her coffee—dark and hot—but Dena wouldn’t tell him that. Some things should stay between sisters. Would she give herself away under his lawyerly appraisal? She thought of Carli, her vibrant life snuffed out, and let icy determination fill her veins. This could be her chance, probably her only chance, to do something to avenge Carli’s murder.
    “I believe the woman knew her murderer. She’d never mentioned your name, or the town of Rancho Almagro, or Three C’s to…to her family, and—” She took a deep breath. “I think her murder took place elsewhere.”
    Zeke remained silent but his posture relaxed.
    Dena continued before he had a chance to stop her. “The CEO of a fruit farming company as large as Three C’s, wealthy, educated, well, she would have gone against type. I’ve fully researched the case and I know people. It’s my business.”
    Zeke gave Rocky an inquisitive tilt of his chin and raised his eyebrows, maybe he even half-smiled. She couldn’t be sure. Rocky gave a quick shake of his head. Both men became even quieter for a few moments. Maybe Rocky held a higher position than she thought.
    “The murderer could have been a stranger,” Rocky said. “A drifter—”
    “But I don’t think so. I have a theory.” Dena leaned forward, excited. “You see—”
    “I’m sorry.” Zeke pushed against the edge of the desk. “I like your idea of representation. The firm has a good reputation. However, this would not be a comfortable work arrangement.”
    Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and her brow and upper lip felt damp. Darn it, why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut? Theory, why did she say that? She clasped her hands together and resisted the desire to pat at her damp face.
    “Would you like me to call Mr. Brennan?”
    “No. Thank you,” Zeke said. “I’ll show you out.”
    She restacked her papers. So, he wasn’t even going to use the firm. Would Steve fire her? Never one to give up easily, she turned toward Zeke.
    “Wouldn’t the fact that I’m female be to your benefit?” she asked. “It would show the public that our firm trusts you, believes in your innocence.”
    “I am innocent,” Zeke said curtly.
    Darn. “Well, yes, I know that.”
    “Small towns…lot of narrow minds.” Zeke pushed his chair back even