Sparking His Interest

To talk you had to share pieces of yourself, reveal feelings and ambitions. Too personal. Too close. People she got close to always left her—one way or another.

As the group took their places at the table, she shook off the loneliness. Those days were gone. She made her own decisions, spent time with the people she wanted to.

And she admitted—if only to herself—Wes Kimball was one of those people.

Dammit.

DURING DINNER, Cara put her theory on hold, mentioned the house, and Monica pretty much took care of the conversation. But she couldn’t avoid the stoic Lieutenant Kimball. Probably because he sat right next to her.

His thigh nearly touched hers.

Their hands even brushed once.

He barely spoke. He grunted. And ate. Occasionally he sipped beer.

She’d never been so intensely aware of a man before. (Though she could have done without the grunting.) She smelled his cologne over the steak. She found herself staring at his hand as he brought his fork to his mouth. Even listening to Monica describe paint colors and installing tile, Cara knew the moment he moved his hand.

As they dug into dessert—a multilayered chocolate brownie that Cara nearly had an orgasm over—all thoughts of work flew the coop. She was wondering if Monica had actually produced this incredible culinary creation with her own hands when Ben said, “Wes, you mentioned at the station that Addison wasn’t anxious to solve the case. What did you mean by that?”

Still in the throes of chocolate ecstasy, it took Cara a few moments to realize Ben was speaking of their earlier conversation with the mayor.

Wes set down his fork.

Cara marveled at the willpower of this man.

Wes’s gaze flicked to his brother, then he glanced at Cara—the first time all night, by her estimation. He leaned back. “I think Addison is responsible for these fires. He’s hired someone to set them to collect the insurance money.”

Cara said nothing. She’d known from the moment they’d discussed Addison how Wes had felt about him. And since his theory didn’t completely contradict hers, she felt comfortable waiting for her own moment.

Ben rubbed his chin. “That’s a quick judgment. And it has a big problem—Addison’s loaded.”

“He appears loaded. But I’ve heard people talking about him doing a lot of gambling, taking lots of trips to Vegas. God knows he throws his money around town like crazy.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes blazing as he tapped the table with his finger. “Who knows what we’ll find if we dig deep enough?”

Silence followed this accusation. Cara had investigated enough cases to realize Robert Addison was an untouchable. One of the beautiful, wealthy people who didn’t have to explain their actions or take responsibility for their mistakes. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t go after him if the evidence dictated, but it certainly made things sticky. And she didn’t have to live in this town afterward.

Monica rose. “I’ll start cleaning up and let you—”

Standing, Ben wrapped his hand around her wrist. “It’ll keep. I want to hear your opinion.” He kissed her palm, then pulled her back down into her chair.

Though her mind had managed to move from chocolate to arson, Cara couldn’t help but smile inwardly at their display of affection. She’d heard a lot about Ben from her friend and sensed the love they had for one another, but seeing the reality made even her cynical heart sigh.

Monica ran her finger around the rim of her champagne glass. “Addison is charming enough.”

“But…” Cara added for her.

“I don’t like him,” Monica said flatly, flipping her long hair over her shoulder.

Ben tossed his napkin onto his plate. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

“Sorry, honey.” Monica laid her hand over her husband’s. “Most women adore him, of course. He’s loaded, good-looking, generous. But he’s too cocky. Like everybody should worship at his feet. Always has to be the center of attention. Now I like being the center of attention as much as anybody…”

“But, darling, you don’t have to try,” Ben said, gripping her hand and pulling her closer to him.

“Do you guys need some time alone?” Wes asked dryly. “’Cause Cara and I can go.”

“Sorry.” With obvious effort, Ben let go of his wife. “I guess I’m going to have to take this character assassination of Addison seriously—much as it’s going to cause me grief. I don’t ever remember you and Wes agreeing about anything.

“But,” he continued, “it would certainly make my life easier if Addison was innocent. Cara, I half hope you fall head over heels for the man.”

Cara raised her eyebrows. “Don’t count on it.”

Monica laughed and rose from the table, carrying her plate toward the sink. “Go right on wishing, Chief, honey. Cara isn’t easily moved—especially by men.”

Ben got up from the table, as well. “She’s here to help me with a case, darling, I doubt she wants comments made about her personal life.”

Cara stood to help clear the table. Wes rose, too, and to Cara’s surprise eased Monica out of the way, rolled up his sleeves, then proceeded to rinse the dishes.

Just a few feet from Wes’s broad back, Cara leaned against the island. “Oh, she’s not talking about anything personal.”

Monica smiled at her. “Actually, I was talking about this guy Cara and the police arrested about a month ago. He tried to escape as she was putting him in handcuffs.”