"Are you here alone?" The husky, masculine voice made me jump and whirl around on the spot.
"No. I was supposed to have dinner with my boyfriend tonight, but he isn't answering the intercom." I tried very hard not to let my anxiety seep into my voice.
The raven-haired man gave me a grim smile. "I hate to be the one to tell you, sweetheart, but your boyfriend is dead."
Shit. I hadn't noticed the shoulder holster under his sport coat before. It held a pistol big enough to make King Kong nervous. I swallowed convulsively. "Are you a bad guy?" I can't believe I just said that. What am I, a four-year-old?
He smiled, and I almost had a hot flash. "Yeah, I'm bad. But in a good way."
I choked back a hysterical giggle, suddenly wishing I wasn't quite so fond of Humphrey Bogart movies. "How do you know my boyfriend's dead?"
"I saw you pushing the buzzer for 3C. I've been working a homicide scene in that apartment for the past two and a half hours. The intercom is smashed. I'm just getting back from a coffee run." The man gave me the once-over and sighed. His eyes were a flinty gray, but they softened a little as I returned his look with a blank stare. "You look like you could use a cup." He plucked one from the cardboard carrier and passed it to me. "You can have mine."
The warmth from the cup helped lessen the shaking in my hands. "It's not black, is it?"
He shook his head. "It's got plenty of sugar, but no cream."
"That's fine." I took a sip of the dark, scalding liquid. "Thank you." The coffee scalded my throat and I felt my eyes sting with tears, tears that had nothing to do with Peyton’s death.
The detective laid a hand on my shoulder and sighed. “This must be an awful shock for you…I’m sorry.” He was assuming that I was crying over my boyfriend, and I let him. I managed an appreciative smile and nodded.
“I just can’t believe Peyton’s dead.” The gravity of the idea slammed into me as I said it and I felt the color drain from my face. My hands trembled and some of the dark, steaming liquid sloshed out of the hole on the lid.
“Whoa.” The man gripped my hands to steady them. “We don’t want you burning your hands. Maybe you should sit down.”
I nodded, mute, and let him lead me to a bench in the run-down park across the street. My breaths were sharp and deep as I tried to stem the rush of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. I stared at the ground and my voice shook as I spoke. “I was going to break up with him tonight.”
“And now he’s dead.” I could hear a frown in the detective’s voice.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” More like a stroke of luck. I sucked in a breath and shuddered at the callousness of my thoughts. What kind of person am I?
Black dots danced in front of my eyes and I fisted my hands in my hair, resting my elbows on my knees. I could feel my chest constricting and my breath came in shallow gasps. I started rocking, a subtle back and forth motion that was supposed to bring comfort. It didn’t help. I tried to think straight, but only one thing came to mind. I must look like a crazy person. I’m not crazy.
In an instant warm, rough fingers were tugging my chin up, forcing me to look at his startlingly handsome face. “I’m sorry, but I need to ask you a few questions.” I didn’t hear a word of it. I was too distracted by his cobalt eyes to be able to process conversation. I couldn’t stop my eyes from drifting to his sensual, inviting lips. “Ma’am?”
I pulled away from his touch, feeling a strange sense of loss as I snapped out of my reverie. I watched through lowered lashes as he stood and paced away from me. His height was average, but his build wasn’t. Every move he made was powerful, and subtle muscles flowed underneath a golden tan. He rolled his broad shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck before he faced me again. I could feel my skin flushing, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Sorry.” I sat up and shook my head, hoping it would settle my unruly thoughts. “What do you need to know?” I couldn’t help a mental cringe as I waited for him to speak. Damn it, what’s wrong with me? My boyfriend just died and here I want to jump some stranger’s bones! I’m going to Hell. God, smite me now before I do something terrible.
He pulled out his badge and showed it to me. “I’m Detective Christian Durante. Since you were involved with the deceased, I may have to have continuous contact with you throughout this investigation. Name?”
I nodded numbly, refusing to acknowledge that some part of me was eagerly grasping at the chance to see him again. “Joan Lyons.”
I watched Detective Durante pull out a pocket-sized notebook. “May I see your driver’s license, please?” I handed it over, and he jotted down the information from it. “Is the following information correct: Joan Lyons, birth date September 3rd, blond hair, blue eyes, fair skin, 125 pounds, 5 feet 7 inches tall?”
“Yes it is detective.” He made a few notations and gave me back my license. Something in Detective Durante’s blue eyes wound my nerves into a tight knot as he looked me over. I felt my cheeks burning again, and he was polite enough to look away for a moment.
“You say you were Mr. Johnson’s girlfriend?”
“Yes, for a little over six years now.” I felt a little nauseous saying it out loud. How did I stay with Peyton that long?
His steady gaze made me squirm as he asked the next question. “Were the two of you sexually involved?” I closed my eyes, but it couldn’t hold back the wave of shame and nausea that drained the color from my face.
“Yes.” I couldn’t stop my jaw from clenching, and I prayed he wouldn’t press that subject any further.
“Did Mr. Johnson have any strange habits? Did you notice any unusual behaviors or recent changes in his demeanor?” The detective frowned as his pencil flew across the page of his notebook.
“No, not really. That’s the thing about Peyton, he is…was normal in almost every way.”
