Capturing Cleo

“I wish I had a guest room so you could stay with me,” Cleo said, not very convincingly.

Thea looked properly horrified. “Oh, we have a suite at the Marriott. We wouldn’t think of putting you out.” She straightened her spine again. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” Cleo said, her voice turning kinder. “But I’m fine. Really.”

Thea held out stiff arms. “Don’t you have a hug for your big sister?”

Sister? Luther digested this information while he watched the women engage in a perfunctory embrace.

When they parted, Thea kept her hands on Cleo’s shoulders. “I won’t leave you to go through this alone,” she said in a strict, schoolteacher-like tone.

“I’m not alone,” Cleo insisted. “I have Edgar, and Eric and Syd…” she looked over her shoulder and a wicked gleam lit her amber eyes. “And Malone.”

Thea cast him a wary glance. “Malone?”

“Detective Luther Malone,” Cleo said with a smile. “He’s a new…friend.”

A woman like Cleo had a way of saying a simple word like friend that gave it all sorts of meaning.

Thea paled. The man who had arrived with her, Palmer, ended his conversation and joined them.

One good look at Palmer was enough for Luther. His gut instinct had served him well over the years, and he never ignored it. He did not like Palmer. Most importantly, he didn’t like the way Palmer looked at Cleo.

The big man opened his arms and offered Cleo a hug and a smile. Cleo extended one hand, signaling that she’d prefer a shake. Palmer moved in for a hug, anyway, and Luther stepped to her side to get in the way.

Palmer’s gaze snapped up. He was no fool. He saw the warning on Luther’s face and dropped one hand. The handshake he pressed on Cleo was brief.

“Palmer, darling,” Thea said tersely, “this is Detective Luther Malone, Cleo’s new friend.”

“Detective,” Palmer muttered, and then he swallowed. Hard.

They had come to their own conclusions, and Cleo was doing nothing to dissuade the notion. Luther figured she must have a reason. So he didn’t move. He stayed beside her. He smiled tightly. And then some demon within him forced him to drape his arm around her shoulder.

He looked down at Cleo. She looked up. “This is your sister?”

“Yes,” Cleo said, not attempting to move away or toss his arm off her shoulder, as she surely would if they were alone. “And her husband, Palmer.”

Luther look back at the couple. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

Palmer went a little pale. Oh, Cleo definitely had some explaining to do!

Cleo glanced up at him. “The funeral’s Friday?”

“Yes. The coroner has promised to release the body by tomorrow afternoon. He expects to be finished with his tests by then. Miss Rayner has made all the arrangements for the funeral.”

“I don’t know if I should go or not,” Cleo said, not sounding nearly as confident as usual.

“I’ll go with you,” Luther said. “It’ll be okay.”

“Wait a minute,” Palmer injected. “If you two are friends, surely you’re not investigating the case. I mean, Cleo is sure to be a suspect.”

Luther gave Palmer his darkest glare. “Why on earth would you say that?”

For a big man, Palmer squirmed too much. “It just seems a little out of the ordinary, that’s all. She was the victim’s ex-wife.”

“Cleo is not a suspect,” Luther said. “My involvement in this case might be considered unusual—” and it was getting more unusual by the minute “—but we haven’t broken any law.” Yet.

Luther glanced around the room. No one was paying what might be called an inordinate amount of attention to their conversation. Not even Russell, who was proving to be damn good at undercover work. But if the secret admirer were here, he’d be incensed to see another man with his arm around Cleo, wouldn’t he?

Luther shifted his arm and settled his hand at the back of Cleo’s neck, beneath a wealth of curling black hair and against her warm skin. She flinched just a little, but not so that anyone would notice her reaction. He felt it, but no one would see.

“I’m taking you home,” he said, sounding possessive and commanding.

“But…” Cleo began.

“No buts. You can’t go back into your office until the crime scene techs are finished, and they won’t even get started until morning.” Luther glanced at Edgar. “There’s crime scene tape across the door to her office. No one goes in.” Russell would see to that, up until closing time, and Luther himself would be here in the morning when the crime scene techs arrived. “The door’s locked,” he added, “and I have the key.”

“Why?” Thea asked brightly. “What happened in there?”

Cleo opened her mouth to answer, but Luther was quicker. “We can’t discuss that. Sorry.”

Again, Cleo looked up at him. Her eyes were so wide, her skin so flawless, her mouth so tempting. He could very easily kiss her, here and now. It would cement this ridiculous charade, and besides…he would never get another chance. God, what a great oral fixation she’d be.

“All right,” she said, oddly subservient. “You can take me home.”

He smiled, but didn’t give in to the urge to kiss her.

“Lunch tomorrow,” Thea said, as Edgar handed Cleo her purse from under the bar. “We’re at the Marriott. Call me in the morning.”

“Sure,” Cleo said lifelessly. “Lunch.” Edgar handed her coat over the bar. They’d cleared everything she might need out of the office when he’d taped it off, and Cleo had locked the door and handed him the key.

Before Cleo could grab her coat, Luther took it and draped the black wool over her shoulders. He even allowed his hands to linger on her shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind. If he didn’t know better, he might even think she liked the way he rested his hands there, just for a moment. He might even think that gentle touch calmed her. The trembling she hid from everyone else seemed to subside.

He led Cleo toward the door. Thea and Palmer followed, slipping on their own coats as they went. “Don’t forget lunch,” Thea said breathlessly.

“We won’t forget,” Luther answered, including himself in the invitation.

Chapter 5

Cleo unlocked her door and stepped inside to be greeted by a prancing Rambo, who was more enthusiastic than usual tonight.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Cleo said lowly, leaning down to gently scratch the top of the dog’s golden head.

Behind her, Malone closed the door soundly. Rambo, the traitor, loped to Malone and lifted those big brown eyes to beg silently for adoration. The detective obediently scratched behind Rambo’s ears.

“Okay,” Malone said as he followed Cleo into the living room, Rambo at his heels. “You have some explaining to do.”

“I told you in the car—”