Millionaire's Last Stand

“I like storms,” she said, trying to keep the subject neutral.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No?”

“You seem like the kind of woman who likes the excitement.”

Their gazes locked, and there it was, that rush of heat again. Even as a girl she hadn’t been one to indulge in silly crushes. Boys hadn’t evoked many primal reactions in her, and when she’d felt something for someone, she’d always been guarded, wondering if the boy who showed interest in her did so because he truly liked her or because he thought she was easy since she came from a trailer park. That cautiousness had followed her into adulthood, as had the lack of carnal sexual attraction.

But carnal was the only word to describe her reaction to Cole. Everything about him teased her senses—his silky dark hair, the hard set of his broad shoulders, his delicious scent of spice and musk.

Okay, this definitely needed to stop.

“No, I just like the sound of thunder,” she said lightly, then edged off to the side. “I should get going. Gideon is expecting me—”

“You son of a bitch!”

The shrill female cry came out of nowhere, and Jamie nearly dropped her canvas from the sheer volume of the voice. She turned in time to see a petite woman marching toward them. Toward Cole.

Jamie immediately noticed the resemblance between this woman and the photo she had of Teresa Donovan. Both women had the same pale skin, inky-black hair and gunmetal-gray eyes, only this one looked older thanks to the deep brackets around her mouth and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“You have real nerve!” the woman shrieked, her fair skin taking on an angry flush. “Walking around, shopping, when you should be in jail for what you’ve done!”

“Valerie,” Cole started reluctantly.

“You murdered my sister!” Eyes blazing with hostility, she lifted her hand and sent it flying into Cole’s left cheek.

Jamie winced at the sound of the fierce slap, at the way Cole’s head jerked back from its force. Looking stricken, Cole took a step to the side. “I didn’t kill your sister,” he said in a low voice.

“Tell that to the judge!”

Jamie stifled a sigh. Several passersby had stopped and were staring openmouthed at the commotion. With Cole doing nothing to end the confrontation, Jamie moved between him and Teresa’s sister, softening her tone as she looked at Valerie and said, “This really isn’t the place, ma’am.”

The woman’s jaw dropped. She glanced from Cole to Jamie, then let out a hysterical-sounding laugh. “Already got yourself a new woman, huh, Donovan? You make me sick!”

Cole instinctively moved back, as if expecting another assault, but Valerie just stared at him with daggers in her eyes. She glowered at him for several long moments, before finally storming off.

Jamie watched her go, then turned to Cole. “Not your biggest fan, I see,” she murmured.

He didn’t look amused. “The feeling’s mutual. Valerie Matthews is as nasty as her sister was. In fact, she raised Teresa by herself, so she probably taught her everything she knew about being a terrible person.”

Jamie couldn’t even argue. Valerie hadn’t exactly seemed like the most stable person. She made a mental note to ask Finn about her, and the relationship between the sisters. Had jealousy been a factor there?

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Cole said with a heavy breath, reaching up to rub his red cheek. “As you’ve probably figured out, I’m not the most popular guy in this town at the moment.”

A silence fell over them. Jamie wanted to say a word or two of comfort, but she kept her mouth closed. She wasn’t allowed to reassure this man. She was investigating him, for Pete’s sake.

Evidently taking the lull as a sign of goodbye, Cole cleared his throat. “I should head home and try to fix the generator, in case that storm makes an appearance.”

With an awkward goodbye, he walked off, leaving her standing by the curb. Although she’d promised herself she wasn’t allowed to view Cole Donovan as anything other than a suspect, his parting sentence stayed in her mind. He was going to fix a generator. So he did work with his hands. She found herself wondering what else he did on his own. Was he involved in the actual building of any of his properties?

She shoved the questions aside, a sigh rising in her chest. She really needed to exorcise this ridiculous urge to get to know him.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamie pulled up in front of Joe Gideon’s cabin, her mind on the impending interview. The structure was a far cry from Cole’s luxurious house. It was nothing but a small one-story shack made of logs that seemed to be rotting in several places, with a splintered door, two boarded-up windows and a weathered porch with a gaping hole in it. Jamie carefully climbed the unstable steps and knocked on the ripped screen door, then waited.

A few seconds later, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard appeared in the doorway. His too-close-together brown eyes narrowed, thin lips curling into a frown as he barked, “What do you want?”

She pasted on a bright smile. “Mr. Gideon? I’m Special Agent Jamie Crawford. We spoke on the phone this morning.”

“Oh, it’s you. Come in, I guess.”

Not the warmest of welcomes, but Jamie would take it. She followed Gideon into the house, immediately overcome by the odor of stale beer, mothballs and spoiled food. Jeez, Finn hadn’t been kidding when he said Gideon’s life had taken a downward spiral. Just looking at the man, she could tell he was a heavy drinker. A beer gut spilled over the waistband of his jeans and his cheeks boasted a ruddy flush that made her wonder just how much he’d already drunk today.

“You can sit wherever,” he said brusquely as he flopped down into a large recliner with tattered plaid upholstery.

Jamie swallowed down her disgust and finally sat on the stained brown sofa, choosing the end that wasn’t covered with wet newspapers and an empty carton of beer bottles.

“Do you mind if I record this?” she asked pleasantly, already pulling out the mini recorder from her purse.

Suspicion clouded his eyes. “Why?”

“Just so I make sure to get everything right when I type up your statement.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Jamie turned on the recorder and placed it on the stained coffee table. “All right, Mr. Gideon, why don’t we start with what you did the morning of July 15.”

As the man recited everything he’d done, throwing the phrase “Had a cold one” after each task he outlined, Jamie finally had to cut him off. “Why don’t you just give me a ballpark amount of the drinks you had?”

“Ten, fifteen.” He shrugged. “I have a high tolerance for the stuff.”

Congratulations, she almost bit out.

“Okay, so after you finished the construction job—”

“Carpentry,” he interrupted impatiently. “I was helping a buddy of mine sand some chairs.”

She fought a wave of impatience of her own. “After you finished that, you came straight home?”

“Sure did.”

“And you were here for the rest of the evening. Didn’t leave the house until the next morning?”

“Didn’t go nowhere,” he muttered.

“So you didn’t run into Cole Donovan about a half a mile from here at around two in the morning?”

“I already said I didn’t go nowhere!”