AYBE HE WASN’T SO CONVINCED OF HER INNOCENCE, after all. The thought cooled her down, gave her a bit of much needed mental distance from him. “I know the Judge.... knew him,” she corrected herself. “He never, never left the doors unlocked. I checked the house every night before going to bed and not once did he leave any door unsecured. It was automatic for him; when he came inside, he locked the door behind him. I guess he got in the habit after he got the first death threat, when Mrs. Roberts was still alive. But last night”—God, was it only last night, it felt like a week—“the front door was unlocked.”

“Could be coincidence.”

“That he’d leave the door unlocked on the one night a killer came looking for him?” She threw Cahill a derisive glance. “I don’t think so. I think this person came to the door, and the Judge knew him and let him in. When I found him, the Judge was sitting in his recliner, with the footrest up. He was relaxed. He didn’t feel he was in any danger. So he knew the guy.”

“Why are you so certain it was a man?”

That question gave her pause. “I suppose I’m thinking in general terms. It’s easier than saying ‘the killer’ every time. And the cons who made the death threats were all men, so the idea stuck. Plus the weirdo who sent me the pendant is most likely a man, and my first thought was that he had done it.”

“Hmm.” Cahill scratched his jaw, as if considering that possibility. “Has he contacted you again? Sent anything else? Have you had any hang-ups on the phone, or any other kind of strange call?”

“No, nothing else at all. Just the pendant. One incident doesn’t establish a pattern, does it?”

“You know the saying. Once in a row doesn’t mean shit.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Deftly he steered through the traffic on 280. “Last night, you said you went to the movie so he’d have a chance to approach you, if he was watching.”

She’d been in shock the night before, but she thought that was pretty much verbatim what she’d said. Cahill was sharp, very sharp. “That’s right.”

He glanced at her. “What made you think he’d be watching?”

“Nothing, except the gift made me feel so uneasy. I hadn’t been able to put it out of my mind. Something like that is... It put me on edge. That’s the only way I can describe it.” She shuddered. “Just the thought that he might be following me, watching me, gives me the creeps. And not knowing who he is made it worse, so I thought I’d give him the opportunity to introduce himself. At least then I’d know what he looks like.”

“But no one approached?”

“No one tried to sit next to me, no one spoke to me, no one even looked at me a second time that I could tell.”

“You know, if someone was fixated on you, and crazy enough to start following you around, giving him an opportunity like that wasn’t a great idea.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. “But if he tried anything, I thought I’d be able to take him by surprise.”

“The karate, you mean? What if he’d had training, too?”

“Then I’d be in trouble. I thought the odds were in my favor, though.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t like the idea of you trying to draw anyone out like that. That’s my personal reaction. My reaction as a cop is, don’t ask for trouble.”

“That’s basically the same thing,” she said, amused.

“How about that. Look, if anything strange happens, if you think you’re being followed, if you get another gift, or a funny phone call, let me know. Immediately. Day or night.”

“I don’t think you’d be very thrilled if I called you at threeA.M. to tell you some drunk had just called the wrong number.”

“I said to call me, and I meant it. Who knows? Maybe all you’ll need to do will be to roll over and punch me.”

She rubbed her forehead. Light speed? He was moving at warp speed now. The biggest problem she had was that it didn’t turn her off. No matter how fast he moved, her hormones were keeping pace. For her own sanity, she needed him to again suspect her of murder, so she could pull back. Otherwise... she didn’t want to think about otherwise.

She had always been cautious about dating, about serious relationships. Part of it was because being tied down didn’t fit in with her life plans right now, but another big part of it was something inside herself that was intensely private and self-sufficient. Letting someone in on a romantic level wasn’t easy, because that meant letting go of some of her personal control. She could and did make friends easily, she loved the Judge, liked his family, but there had always been another level of intimacy that she hadn’t let anyone reach. Cahill, she thought, might reach that level.

It was a case of good chemistry, but bad timing. She wasn’t ready to settle down, and Cahill was recovering from a rocky divorce. He might be looking for a relationship, but she seriously doubted he put the word “permanent” in front of it. Rebound romances weren’t a good idea at any time. In another year or so... maybe he’d be a better risk. As for where she would be in another year or so, that was anyone’s guess.

So letting this thing go any further wasn’t a good idea.

He waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you in there?”

She batted his hand away. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s a relief. I was afraid the idea of sleeping with me put you in a catatonic state.”

She was surprised into laughing, an actual, honest laugh. “That happens often, does it?”

“I hadn’t thought so, but looking back, there may have been one or two times—” He grinned and shrugged, and Sarah laughed again.

“It must be your enormous charm.”

“I thought that was my ego.”

“That, too.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what other enormous qualities he had, but she stopped herself in time. Sexy banter was always fun, but with him she sensed the situation could get out of control before she knew it, as fast as he moved. He could take a quip and move her right into bed with it, if she wasn’t on her guard. She was too damned susceptible to him, but at least she knew it.

“Cahill—”

“My name’s Thompson. Some people call me Tom, some call me Doc. You can call me sweetheart.”

A sound dangerously close to a giggle bubbled in her throat. “Are you always this sure of yourself?”

“Faint hearts, and all that. If you don’t like me, you’ll slap me down, or just plain slap me. You said the attraction is mutual, so I’m taking you at your word.” He turned into the parking lot and slotted the truck into an empty space, turning off the engine and headlights. The drizzle immediately began to dot the windshield, distorting the lights and images.

“I don’t rush into any relationship, especially not one with a man who’s newly divorced and still carrying around a lot of baggage.”

He shifted, angling his upper body toward her, his left arm draped over the steering wheel and the right one stretched out along the back of the seat, inviting her to slide closer. Why couldn’t the truck have nice, safe bucket seats, instead of a bench seat? She could have sworn the truck tilted to the left, too, because staying on her own side was more difficult than it should have been.

“Baggage is normal,” he said. “It’s what makes us who we are. Granted, I’d rather not be an embittered woman-hater, but—”

He stopped, because she was definitely giggling. “Good,” he said, his expression softening as he used one finger to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You sounded as if you were convincing yourself of something with that baggage argument. Don’t think too much, Sarah. Let’s just see where this goes. We may bore each other to tears within a week.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Stranger things have happened.” That one finger touched her cheek, lightly stroked. Without thinking she turned her face and nestled it against his hand, and just that simple touch made her nipples harden. He smiled, as if he knew the effect he had on her. “Once you get over this weird hang-up you have about having wild monkey sex with a man you barely know, we can have a lot of fun.”

She bailed out of the truck, and was still laughing as she strode into the hotel lobby, sending him off with a backward wave. Laughing felt strange, with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, but it also felt good. Laughter didn’t stop the grief, but it made the weight of it a little easier to bear.

In one fell swoop, Cahill had fed her, distracted her, aroused her, and amused her. Not many men were that versatile, she thought as she rode the elevator upward. His sly sense of humor was astonishing when she remembered how dour he’d seemed the night he interviewed her about the robbery.

Which left her... where?

She really, really wanted to forget caution and common sense, and have a flaming hot affair with him. The sex would be... She couldn’t even begin to imagine the sex, because she’d never before had such a strong physical reaction to anyone. And therein was the big problem. Not the sex, but the way she felt. She could get in over her head before she knew it, and letting herself care too much about him was just asking for a heartache.

The smart thing to do would be to start hunting for a job in another state. Florida, maybe, on one of those huge Palm Beach estates. She’d be closer to her parents, too. There was always California, or the Hamptons; she wasn’t worried about finding another job. She had to update her résumé anyway; she no longer had a job, or a place to live. She hadn’t really absorbed that before, with all her attention focused on what had happened, but the shock had lessened a little and she was beginning to think of all the ramifications.

She probably wouldn’t have the option of having a flaming hot affair with him, unless it was a short one—or a long-distance one. Cahill didn’t strike her as a long-distance-type man. So all of this angst and indecision was a waste of time; she had to deal with reality, and reality dictated she get a job. She had chosen a very specialized field in which to make her living, so that meant she couldn’t find a position just anywhere; she was limited to the moneyed communities, such as Beverly Hills, Buckhead, Mountain Brook.

It was possible she would stay on in Mountain Brook; she’d already had the one job offer, though she doubted it was still open now, after she had so definitely turned it down. That was assuming she would take the position, anyway; the interview process was a two-way street. The employer had to feel comfortable with her, but she also had to feel comfortable with the employer. After all, she would be fitting herself into the home, forming the structure of routine and comfort. If she didn’t like the employer, then the level of dedication she demanded of herself would be difficult to maintain, and she would be miserable.

She felt better now that she was focused on the hard facts, rather than the tantalizing possibilities of a relationship with Cahill; the ground beneath her had solidified. She could deal with him, so long as she kept her head. For the next few days, anyway, she had more serious things to consider.

The rain continued the next day, heavier and colder. The medical examiner released Judge Roberts’s body to his family and they began the task of making the final arrangements. Sarah handled placing the obituary in the newspapers, and she put herself completely at the disposal of the family.

She drove them to the funeral home they’d chosen, to deal with casket selection and the financial matters. The Judge had wanted to be buried beside his wife, had even bought a double tombstone when she died with his name already chiseled on it, so at least they didn’t have to deal with that decision. Selecting a casket, however, shattered them. Randall and Jon held together, but they seemed incapable of making a decision; they kept looking to Barbara, and Barbara began silently crying.

Sarah stepped out of the background and gave Barbara a hug. “I know,” she murmured in sympathy. “But it has to be done.”

Barbara turned to her, eyes blinded by tears. “Which one do you like?”

The question floored her. Stunned, Sarah looked around at the caskets, and at Randall and Jon. They were both watching her now with a sort of desperate plea in their expressions. It couldn’t be plainer that they couldn’t handle this.

Sarah took a deep breath. “I like the bronze one.” It was expensive, but they could easily afford it, and they would feel better thinking they’d bought the best for their father.

“I like that one best, too,” Randall said quickly.

Barbara blotted her eyes. “The bronze?” she asked, her voice quivering. She looked at it. “It’s very nice, isn’t it?”

“The best,” the funeral director put in. After all, business was business.

“I like the color.” Barbara took a deep breath and turned to Sarah again. “I think you’re right. We’ll take the bronze.”

From there they visited a florist to order flowers. The service would be at two o’clock on Sunday, at the huge church the Judge had attended. Sarah had already gotten rooms for the rest of Randall’s family, who were driving down that day, Friday, after work and school. Visitation for friends would be at the funeral home on Saturday night, and before that, there was shopping to be done.

Sarah had had the presence of mind to request a charcoal suit and black pumps from her closet, but she needed panty hose and a few other small items. Barbara decided the clothes she’d brought wouldn’t do at all, and Blair tearfully confided she didn’t even own any dark clothes. Julia, Jon’s wife, also decided she needed something different. Only Emily had come fully prepared.

The most logical thing to do was to begin at the Galleria, since it was attached to the hotel, but Blair had already roamed the mall from end to end, both stories, and wasn’t satisfied with anything. Barbara did find some shoes she liked at Parisian, and Sarah quickly picked up the items she needed, including several black umbrellas, since it appeared they would be going back out in the rain after all.

By evening, they had exhausted the contents of the Summit, Brookwood, and Sarah had driven them to all the exclusive boutiques that she knew of in the area. Barbara finally settled on a stylish black suit with a long, slim skirt, which, given the weather forecast, was a good idea. Blair selected a black skirt that ended just above her knees, and a slim-fitting, short jacket in eggplant; she had removed the ring from her eyebrow and washed the colored streaks from her hair. Funerals were serious business, both emotionally and fashionwise. Julia had been much more decisive than the other two, making her selection, a navy blue dress with a matching tunic jacket, at the first department store they visited in the Summit.

Sarah’s feet were so tired she was almost limping by the time she herded her charges back to the hotel. The rain had fallen unceasingly all day long, making shopping even more difficult, as they’d had to juggle umbrellas along with everything else. Her shoes were wet, her pants were damp, and despite the Berber jacket she was cold. All she wanted to do was take a hot shower and sit down with her feet elevated. Her cell phone hadn’t rung all day long, and there were no messages waiting for her when she reached the inn. Maybe, she thought, she could rest now.

The room phone rang as she was peeling off her damp socks. She groaned and flopped back on the bed, considering not answering it. But it might be one of the family, so she picked it up on the sixth ring.

“Ms. Stevens, this is Greg Holbrook with the News. I’d like to interview you about the tragic murder—”

“I’m not giving interviews,” she said firmly. “Good-bye.” She disconnected, then immediately rang the front desk and asked for a different room, booked under a false name. The next hour was spent handling that and getting her things switched to a room four doors down. She should have thought of the press before and taken those same precautions.

Her new room was cold, having been empty all day. She turned the heat on full blast, and when the chill was gone, began stripping for that hot shower that she needed desperately now. Right on cue, her cell phone rang.

At least this wasn’t likely to be the press. But if it was someone in the Judge’s family, then it meant something had come up she needed to handle.

“Where are you?” Cahill demanded irritably. “The front desk said you’d checked out.”

“Bless them,” she said with deep gratitude. “A reporter called my room, so I changed rooms and booked it under a different name.”

“Good. Have you had supper?”

“I’ve eaten today, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It isn’t. I’m asking specifically about supper.”

“Then, no, I haven’t, and you couldn’t blow me out of this room with dynamite. I took three of the ladies shopping. My feet hurt, I’m cold, and I want a hot shower. Period.”

“Poor baby,” he said, and she could tell he was smiling. “What’s your room number?”

“I’m not telling. I don’t want company.”

“I give a great foot massage.”

The thought of having her feet massaged almost made her moan. She had the presence of mind, though, to say, “I’ll take a rain check. I’m exhausted, and dealing with you takes a lot of energy. I’m not up to it tonight.”

“That’s probably the best kiss-off I’ve ever had. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.”

“Tomorrow?” Tomorrow was Saturday. She had... nothing to do. The realization was so strange as to be disorienting. Her Saturdays were always busy. If she took her half day on Saturday, then the mornings were spent getting the Judge’s day arranged and everything taken care of. If she didn’t take her half day on Saturday, that was because something was going on that required her supervision. Either way, Saturdays were busy days.

“I’ll be working,” Cahill said. “Checking out some things. But I’ll see you tomorrow night at the funeral home.”

That should be safe enough.

“When will we be able to get into the house?”

“Maybe Sunday. I think we’ve about done everything we can there.”

“Will you let me know ahead of time? I want to have the library cleaned before the family sees it.”

“Of course,” he said gently, and repeated, “Sleep tight,” before hanging up.

The day of the funeral dawned clear and cold, with a wind that sliced through jackets. This was probably winter’s last hurrah, Sarah thought—blackberry winter, the cool spell that came right after the blackberry bushes had bloomed. Indeed, the forecast called for a fast warming trend. On Monday the temperature was supposed to reach sixty-two; on Tuesday, seventy-five. By week’s end it was forecast to be in the low eighties.

At the family’s insistence she sat with them in church. Cahill sat somewhere behind her; he’d said hello when he came in, briefly touched her hand, then pulled back to the fringes to watch. She wasn’t certain exactly what he was watching for, but no detail escaped his attention.

In her mind, she said good-bye to the Judge. She could almost feel his spirit hovering nearby, perhaps taking leave of his loved ones. Her lips trembled as she remembered all the funny things he’d said, the twinkle in his eyes, the joy he’d had in life. Losing him was like losing a grandfather, and there would always be a tiny gap in her heart, in her life, that only he could fill.

The church was filled to overflowing. His old friends were devastated by his loss, and they all looked more frail than they had just a few days before, as if some of their spirit was gone, too. The air was heavy with the scent of flowers, roses and carnations and mums, and hothouse gardenias with their hauntingly sweet smell. There couldn’t be many flowers left in Birmingham, Sarah thought, looking at the huge wall of floral offerings behind the casket.

Southern funerals were maudlin and ultimately comforting, with their ceremony and tradition. Because the Judge was a war veteran, his VFW chapter posted an honor guard. During the funeral procession to the cemetery, all traffic they met stopped, with most people turning on their headlights in sympathy and pulling off the highway if they could. Police cars blocked intersections for the procession to go through unimpeded. Sarah had always been amused by the traffic etiquette for a funeral, but today, now that she was in the procession, she was grateful for the consideration.

There was an additional brief service at the grave; then the family pulled back and the somber work of burial began. After the grave was filled in and covered with the huge array of flowers, Barbara and Blair each selected a perfect rose from one of the arrangements for a keepsake. Randall and Jon looked uncomfortable, as if they, too, wanted a rose; but they were men, so they stood back rather than admit to such sentimentality. Their wives, though, exchanged glances with Barbara and made their own floral selections.

Normally there was food served after a funeral, at the bereaved’s home. With the Judge’s house still off-limits—and having guests there in the house where he had been murdered didn’t seem right, anyway—one of his friends had offered the hospitality of his house. Many of the funeral attendees trooped off for food, drink, and reminiscing, but Sarah slipped away to her SUV. A couple of reporters were in the crowd, and she wanted to get away before they could buttonhole her.

Cahill caught up with her as she got behind the steering wheel. “You can arrange for those cleaners,” he said. “I’ll hold the family off until tomorrow, give you time to take care of things.”

“Thanks.” Now that the funeral was over, she was at a loss. There was nothing else to do, other than handle the cleaning. “Is it okay if I get some of my stuff out?” She was thinking specifically of her laptop, so she could begin updating her résumé.

He looked surprised. “You can stay there, if you want.”

She shuddered at the thought. “Not now. Not until the library is cleaned.”

He nodded in understanding, and gave her a card. “This firm specializes in hard-to-remove stains.” Meaning blood, and brain matter.

She glanced at the name. “Thank you. I’ll call them first thing in the morning.”

“You can call now; that second number is the guy’s home phone. They’re geared for emergencies.”

That couldn’t be a great job, cleaning up after murders. On the other hand, someone had to do it, and in cases like this it was best to hand the chore off to professionals. She knew she couldn’t bear tackling the job herself, even though she was trained to handle all types of stain removal.

“Will you be all right?” Cahill asked, blue eyes very clear and direct as he studied her tired face. He shifted so his shoulders blocked the open door, giving them the illusion of privacy. “I have some things to do, but if you need company, I’ll—”

“No.” She touched his hand, then swiftly withdrew because just that brief touch was sharp temptation. “Thanks, but I’m okay. I have some things to take care of, too.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, then.” He leaned into the SUV and kissed her on the cheek. “Keep your cell phone on so I don’t have to hunt you down.”

“Are you planning to arrest me?”

“We still need to discuss some things, make some decisions. I’ll take you into custody if I have to.” He walked away, and she stared at his broad back, tiny shivers prickling her spine.

If she intended to run, she needed to do it soon. Very soon.