Page 45 of K-9 in Pursuit

She could have lied and made up a name. Or said she was with one of the stylists at her salon. But lying wasn’t her default mode. “I’m with Brian.”

“Brian who?”

“Brian Weeks.”

Darinda’s shriek forced Chloe to hold the phone away from her ear. “What are you doing staying with your sister’s murderer?”

“Brian didn’t kill Sharee.”

“And you know better than the sheriff? They arrested him.”

“And they released him,” she said. “They don’t have any evidence against him.”

“They found his glove next to your sister’s body. I can’t believe you would betray your sister this way. I can’t believe you would be this horrible.”

She held the phone away from her face as Darinda ranted on. Brian emerged from the bedroom, dressed in knit joggers and a T-shirt. He studied her, forehead creased with worry. It’s Darinda, she mouthed.

He nodded, listened for a moment, then gently took the phone from her hand and ended the call. He set the phone aside, settled on the sofa beside her, and gathered her close. “Whatever she’s saying isn’t true,” he said. “And you don’t have to listen to it.”

Chapter Thirteen

The tears Chloe had been holding back came pouring out. She shook with sobs and couldn’t stop, ugly-crying into his chest. He stroked her back and murmured soothing phrases until she could bring her emotions under control again. Then she realized he was kissing the top of her head, the gentlest brush of his mouth against her hair, bestowing a blessing. The tenderness of the moment melted her last reserve, and she pulled back enough to find his mouth with her own.

Then they kissed in earnest, her hands cradling his face, his fingers twined in her hair. Heat spread through her, burning away the anger and fear and replacing it with raw need. She pressed closer, craving the sensation of his body against hers.

Then he pulled away, gently. He stroked one thumb across her cheek. “We should stop now,” he said, his voice husky. “Let me make you some soup. And tea or coffee.”

She wanted to protest that wasn’t what she was hungry for, but he was right. She had been through too much the last few hours to make any kind of sensible decision about him. About them. “Tea would be good,” she said. “Let me help.”

“Sure. You can set the table.”

She followed him into the kitchen and pulled bowls from the cabinet he indicated while he heated canned soup and took crackers from the trailer’s tiny pantry. “Darinda blames me for what happened to Sharee.” She folded paper towels for napkins and arranged spoons beside the bowls on the small table. “And she’s right—Sharee was my responsibility. And she was still so young. I never should have let her wander around town at night. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder and she met his eyes. So dark and earnest. “What happened to Sharee wasn’t your fault.”

“She wouldn’t have died if I had made her stay home at night.”

“Could you have done that? From what I know about Sharee, she made up her own mind about things. And it seemed like she was used to getting her own way.”

“That’s true.” She sank into a chair at the table. “The first night she was here she told me she hadn’t had a curfew since she was thirteen and she wasn’t going to put up with one now. Short of tying her to a chair I don’t think I could have made her stay home.”

“The only person to blame here is whoever killed her.” He brought the pan to the table and poured soup into the bowls, then sat across from her. “Try not to pay attention to Darinda,” he said.

“What about that detective—Renfro? He thinks we’re up to something.”

“We can’t help what he thinks.” He sipped his soup. They ate quietly for a few minutes, then he said, “I’m not trying to scare you, but I’m concerned that the person who trashed your apartment might be connected with Sharee’s murder.”

“Because of the key.” She nodded. “I’m worried about that, too. But how does that link up with the woman who scheduled all those appointments with me, then didn’t show up?”

“Bunny. And you think she was wearing a disguise?”

“Or maybe she’s simply someone who likes a lot of makeup and wigs.”

“Did she look at all familiar to you?” he asked.

“Not at all. And why would she want to trash my apartment?”

“Maybe she’s working with the killer. An accomplice.”