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  “That’s right. I remember feeling a little dizzy as I reached my car. I was thinking maybe I shouldn’t be driving either. I considered sharing a cab, but David’s condo was only a few blocks away. I knew I hadn’t had that much beer, and I’d eaten plenty of pizza, so there was no way I could be drunk.”

  “Go on.”

  She touched her forehead, straining to recall more of what had happened. She’d had a headache all morning. The harder she tried to remember, the more her head throbbed.

  “I got in my car and David got into the passenger seat. He was really drunk—or at least that’s the way he seemed. I remember reaching for my seat belt, but I was beginning to feel sluggish and I had trouble clicking the belt into place.”

  She looked up at Wolfe. “I don’t remember starting the car. In fact, trying to fasten my seat belt is the last thing I recall before the police burst into David’s bedroom this morning.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  JONAH TOOK A drink of his coffee, lukewarm now. He studied his newest client over the rim of the cup. “Who called the police?”

  “David’s housekeeper found us and called nine-one-one. We were both...umm...naked.”

  He was careful not to let his mind wander where that image led. He’d always been a sucker for redheads. Those big blue eyes combined with that pretty face really did a job on him. Just his luck she could be a killer.

  “The police hauled me out of bed,” she said. “The sheets were...were covered with blood.” She swallowed and took a shaky breath. “I remember screaming when I saw David. There was a bullet hole in the middle of his chest. I thought I must be dreaming. I couldn’t make myself believe it was real.”

  “What happened then?”

  “One of the officers brought a blanket in from the hall closet and wrapped it around me. They asked me some questions and took me to the hospital to be checked out. From there they took me to the police station. I probably should have asked for an attorney back at the house, but my mind was still fuzzy. I told them what I just told you, but that was all I knew.”

  “All right, that’ll do for now. We’ll need to talk again soon, but I’ve got some preliminary work I need to do first. Anything else you want to tell me?”

  Her eyes slid closed for a moment. “God, I wish there were more I could remember.”

  Jonah stood up from his chair. “Like I said, I’ll have more questions. In the meantime, where can I find you?”

  April rose beside him. “I’m going back home. I just...need to be home.”

  “Give me your address and phone number.”

  “Of course.” She pulled a business card out of her purse, turned it over and wrote her personal information on the back.

  She handed him the card. “Thank you for helping me, Mr....Jonah.”

  “We’ll figure this out, April.” One way or another. He didn’t tell her that if she was guilty, he’d figure that out, too. So far the story didn’t make any sense. If she shot David Dean, why was she still in the house, lying in bed next to him?

  Turning, April walked out of the conference room. Jonah watched her long legs in those five-inch heels and the sexy sway of her hips, and an image of her naked in bed popped into his head.

  If Dean was a straight red-blooded male, there was no question he’d want her.

  Jonah wondered how much of what she’d just told him was the truth, how much she’d left out. How much more she would eventually recall.

  How much the police knew about the incident that April didn’t.

  On the surface, drugs or alcohol had to be part of the equation. Someone could have roofied the beer she was drinking at the Derby. It would explain the lengthy blackout. The cops would have tested her. He needed to know the results, and he needed to know if Dean had been drugged, as well.

  For a number of reasons, he wanted to believe she was telling the truth—at least as far as she remembered. Foremost being she was a friend of Maddie and Ross, who were two of his closest friends.

  Jonah sighed as he returned to his desk. If he wanted to find out what had happened, he had plenty to do. As a PI, he knew his way around the Internet. In the age of information, you could find anything if you looked hard enough.

  Add to that, Maximum Security had its own secret weapon. Chase’s computer guru, Tabitha Love—her real name—was twenty-seven years old, near genius IQ and about half crazy. She’d never gone to college, never had a steady job and never wanted one. She wasn’t your average employee, but if you needed information, Tabby was the one who could find it.

  Jonah didn’t need Tabby’s skills to get the basics on April Vale. It was amazing what a simple Google search could tell you. Taking a seat at his desk, he typed in her name, pulled up several articles about her.

  April Marie Vale was twenty-nine years old, born and raised in Dallas. No siblings. Mother and father divorced, father deceased, mother living in California. April had put herself through college, graduated from the University of Texas with a bachelor’s degree. Never been married.

  Jonah went into Facebook, found her page and a photo of her smiling face, a few freckles on the bridge of her nose. There were photos of her as a kid, and pictures of her as the young woman she had grown into. He had always been attracted to redheads. April’s gorgeous curls had him craving her even more.

  There were pictures of April with Maddie Townsend and one with Maddie and Ross and their new baby. Pictures of her with other friends in Dallas. There were photos of her with Mayor Mark Rydell and a string of local politicians.

  He searched Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, all the social media sites, picked up bits and pieces here and there.

  Once he had the basics on April, he did a thorough search of the murder victim. David Dean was a single man, thirty-nine years old, from an upper-class Dallas family, attractive in the photo on his profile. Sterling reputation, no ex-wives, no current girlfriends. Earned a larger than average campaign manager’s salary working for Rydell.

  No photos of Dean with April Vale. No former relationship with her that he could find. Which didn’t mean she hadn’t gone home with him to have sex that night. They were two adults. If April wanted to screw the guy, there was no law against it.

  Killing the guy was an altogether different matter.

  He spent the rest of the day digging up information. By this time tomorrow, he intended to know everything there was to know about April Vale and David Dean.

  He tried to make sense of her story but so far the puzzle pieces didn’t fit. The cops had to have a working theory. If they knew something April didn’t, he needed to know what it was.

  Late in the afternoon, he called Detective Heath Ford, a friend on the Dallas PD. Jonah had been an undercover cop before he went private. He and Heath had a history and it was a good one, but Heath wasn’t in. Jonah left a message knowing Heath would call him back.

  In the meantime he went to work trying to find a motive for April to kill David Dean.

  Unfortunately, as he worked from his apartment that night, Jonah found one.

  * * *

  SITTING AT THE kitchen table sipping a cup of Cozy Chamomile tea she hoped would help her sleep, April jerked upright at the pounding on her door.

  A memory arose of the police rushing into David’s bedroom, of the man lying dead beside her. Her pulse raced, began to thunder. She pulled her white terry-cloth robe a little tighter and cinched the belt.

  Hurrying across the deep gray carpet in the living room, she peered through the peephole and relaxed at the sight of Jonah Wolfe in worn jeans, a black T-shirt and a pair of black motorcycle boots standing on her porch.

  Her fear receded and she opened the door, but the grim look on his face had a fresh jolt of worry pouring through her.

  “What is it?”

  Wolfe stepped into the house, forcing her backward a couple of paces. He cl
osed the door a little too firmly behind him. “Why didn’t you mention you and Dean were seriously at odds at work?”

  His anger shot up her nerves. She fought not to answer with the same kind of heat. “We disagreed on occasion, mostly about the way we thought the campaign should be run, but it certainly wasn’t anything that would make me want to kill him.”

  “No? That’s not what the tabloids say.” Though she was five foot eight, Jonah towered above her. Few men intimidated her these days but Wolfe was one of them.

  “According to what I read, Dean wanted to fire you and you were furious about it. The papers said you’d do anything to keep that from happening. The implication was you’d trade sex to keep your job—or already had.”

  Fury swept away caution. “That’s complete and utter bull! I never slept with David. And I sure as hell wouldn’t do it to keep my job.” She opened her mouth to say more, but paused. “I mean...unless something happened last night that I can’t recall.”

  Her hand was shaking. She clenched it into a fist to make it stop. “I don’t think I slept with David last night. I wasn’t attracted to him and I would never sleep with a man I didn’t want.”

  Some of the tension drained out of those wide shoulders. In the overhead track lighting in her modern apartment, Jonah’s wavy raven-black hair gleamed. She might not have been attracted to David Dean, but just looking at the man in front of her sent her blood pressure up a notch.

  “You want something to drink?” April asked. “I entertain people here, hold meetings on occasion. I’ve got just about anything you could want.”

  “I don’t drink on the job.”

  “Neither do I.” She glanced at the clock at the end of the breakfast bar in the kitchen. “It’s almost eleven p.m. Surely you’re off work by now.”

  He relaxed even more and the corner of his mouth edged up. The late evening shadow along his jaw and his long hair made him look dangerous, and even more attractive. “Got any scotch?”

  “Of course. It’s in the bar.” He followed her into the living room, over to the wet bar built into the wall. She could feel him behind her, at least six-two, all lean muscle nicely packed together.

  “I like your place,” he said as she took down the bottle of Dewar’s and two cut-crystal glasses.

  “Thank you. Neat?”

  “Please.”

  She filled one of the glasses and handed it over, poured some into a glass for herself. “I was drinking chamomile tea, hoping it would help me sleep, but maybe this is a better idea.”

  Those intriguing chocolate-brown eyes ran over her. As sure as she was standing in her living room he was thinking of a far better way to help her sleep.

  As heat slipped through her body, April didn’t doubt it would work. She hadn’t been to bed with a man in a year. She had simply been too busy, or perhaps she just hadn’t met a man she was attracted to.

  If she weren’t trying to prove herself innocent of murder, maybe she would pursue her attraction to Jonah Wolfe.

  On the other hand, a man like Jonah probably ran through women at the speed of light. She’d had trouble like that before. She didn’t need it again, no matter how attractive the package.

  She led him across the living room and they sat down on the sofa and chairs, dove-gray with black cording, and bright red accent pillows.

  Done in a modern décor, contemporary artwork hung on the walls of her Oaklawn town house, nothing expensive, mostly reproductions of paintings done by famous artists. Miros and Picassos, a Chagall, some lithographs and serigraphs she had picked up at boutique galleries over the years.

  Jonah sipped his drink. “You’ve had some time to think,” he said. “Any idea why you were passed out naked in Dean’s bed?”

  She swallowed as her mind returned to the murder. “Since I can’t remember what happened and assuming I’m not the one who killed him—someone must have drugged me. They must have driven both of us to David’s house, probably in my car, and staged the murder scene. Whoever did it must have taken my gun out of my purse and shot him.”

  “The police will be canvassing the neighborhood, trying to find someone who heard something.”

  “I hope they do.”

  “Who would have known the gun was in your purse?” Those dark eyes searched her face, looking for any indication she was lying. In a way she was glad he wasn’t just taking her word. She wanted the truth and she was beginning to trust that Jonah Wolfe would find it.

  “The gun wasn’t a secret,” she said. “In fact, I let it be known I regularly carried a weapon for protection. I figured the more people who knew, the safer I was.”

  “I can see the logic.”

  She glanced away, took a sip of scotch, felt the alcohol slide relaxingly through her limbs. “Didn’t exactly work out the way I thought it would.”

  Jonah sipped his drink. “I talked to a friend of mine this afternoon, a detective with the Dallas PD. They found your fingerprints on the gun. They expect ballistics to confirm it was the murder weapon.”

  “I was expecting that. If someone were trying to set me up, they would have made sure my fingerprints were on the pistol that killed him.”

  “That’s what you think? Someone set you up?”

  She sighed. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what to think. I’m hoping you’re going to help me figure it out.”

  His dark gaze never wavered. “The CSIs found something interesting at the crime scene.”

  He was watching, gauging her reaction. Worry made her pulse speed up. “What...what was it?”

  “There were two glasses on the bar in Dean’s apartment. One had his prints on it, the other had yours. The one with your prints tested positive for Rohypnol. That’s a date-rape drug. They’re waiting for the tox screen of your blood to come back, but they’re pretty sure it’s going to show traces of Rohypnol.”

  “So I was right—I was drugged. What about David?”

  “No sign of it in his glass. Looks like Dean was just drunk. His blood alcohol was two and a half times the legal limit.”

  She frowned. “Wait a minute. The police think I was drugged at David’s house instead of at the bar? That can’t be right. I don’t remember anything after I got into my car. I had to have been drugged at the Derby.”

  “The cops have a working theory. They think you and Dean left the bar together. You drove Dean to his condo, which is only a few blocks away. The two of you went inside together. Maybe you were helping him into the house because he was so drunk.”

  “And?”

  “And he offered you a nightcap and you accepted. They think Dean roofied you. Once you were drugged, he managed to get you into the bedroom. You must have had your purse with you. He got you undressed, but you hadn’t completely passed out. You managed to get your gun out of your purse and you shot him. Then you passed out on the bed.”

  A memory of David’s lifeless body rose in her mind and nausea rolled in her stomach. Her hand started shaking. She set the glass down on the glass-topped coffee table.

  “If that’s what happened, that would mean David was trying to rape me. Wouldn’t...wouldn’t killing him be self-defense?”

  “It could be. You haven’t been officially charged with anything. Your attorney might be able to make a case for self-defense and get the police to close the investigation.”

  She rested her head on the back of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. Had David drugged her to get her in bed? She tried to wrap her head around the notion. He had never really shown that kind of interest in her. In fact, as Jonah had said, they didn’t really get along.

  She started shaking her head, sat up and looked him in the eye. “I don’t believe it. I think someone murdered him. I have no idea why, but whoever did it must have had it planned ahead of time. They were waiting for the right opportunity and they found it that night. Th
ey killed David and now they’re trying to make it look like I’m the one who murdered him—but it wasn’t me.”

  Jonah finished the last of his scotch. “Might be easier if you just accepted the theory and let Temple handle it. The sooner the case is dropped, the less chance something might turn up that could incriminate you.”

  “Are you kidding me? No way am I taking the blame for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  “You’re that sure you didn’t do it? You were drugged. You admit you don’t remember what happened.”

  “David was raving drunk. He could barely get in the car, let alone manage to drug me and try to rape me. And I don’t believe for a minute I’d have had a friendly little drink with him in his condo. We didn’t even like each other. If I accept that version of the story, the real killer is going to get away with murder.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS A HOT, mid-August day in Dallas. Heat radiated up off the sidewalk and the pavement was soft beneath the wheels of the cars on the street.

  Jonah hadn’t slept well last night. He’d lain awake thinking of April Vale and her stubborn insistence that she was innocent of the murder of David Dean.

  Still tired when he got up the next morning, he drank enough coffee to give him a badly needed jolt of energy, then started making phone calls, beginning with a call to Heath Ford for an update on the investigation.

  “Anything new you can tell me?” Jonah asked.

  “Nothing you’re going to want to hear, I’m afraid. To start with, there was no sign of forced entry.”

  “Which means no one broke into Dean’s apartment and shot him. No surprise there.”

  “Ballistics confirmed the bullet that killed Dean matched the S&W .380 found at the crime scene. The gun is registered to April Vale. Her fingerprints were on it.”

  “I figured. Anything on the cameras in the parking lot?”

  “Unfortunately, no cameras out there.”

  “Cell phone calls?”

  “Nothing after Dean left the Derby. Earlier he talked to some of the people in his office, nothing that seemed out of the ordinary.”