Deadly Harvest by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

um…to get my purse. And a jacket.”
    She turned away from him and hurried to get her things. She had a nice room. His eye was drawn directly to the huge canopy bed, and he quickly reined in his wayward thoughts. He’d picked her up at the hotel once before, for a promotional appearance, but he hadn’t gone up to her door; he wondered why he had done so tonight.
    With her purse and jacket in hand, she paused, staring at him.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” he asked her.
    She didn’t deny that something was wrong. “I know the detective on your friend’s case,” she told him bluntly.
    Her words startled him. “Pardon?”
    â€œI…I just didn’t want it to be a surprise when you found out. The lead detective on the case is a man named Joe Brentwood. I know him. He’s a…friend of mine.”
    It was the last thing he had expected. He felt a new wall of distrust going up between them. Not her fault. His.
    â€œAnd you know he’s on the case…how?” he asked.
    â€œI called him.”
    â€œI see.” He hesitated for a moment. “But how did you know to call him?” His tone sounded suspicious, even to himself.
    She looked away from him. “I knew you were concerned for your friend. I thought I’d ask him if he knew what was going on, so I gave him a call. Shall we go?” She strode past him, hurrying toward the elevators.
    Was she behaving in a guilty manner, or was it his imagination?
    She didn’t say anything more as they rode down in the elevator. The valet was waiting with his car, and he seated Rowenna and took the wheel before he spoke again. “And what did your friend say?”
    â€œHonestly?” She looked at him.
    He hiked up a brow. “Yeah?”
    She looked forward again. “He isn’t fond of private investigators.”
    He laughed. “The guy likes psychics and he looks down his nose at P.I.s?” He groaned. “This is going to be bad,” he said grimly. “Small town, witches, hostile police department—just great.”
    She didn’t look at him, but he saw her lips tighten. He could have bitten his tongue. He hadn’t meant to be so offensive; he had just spoken without thinking, filled with a sense of dread. Brad had sounded crazy on the phone. He was coming undone, and he badly needed help. The only person up there who seemed to believe him was a beat cop named O’Reilly. The detectives—presumably including Rowenna’s friend—were all treating him with suspicion, even hostility.
    But that was the way it was. When a woman was dead or missing and there was no obvious suspect, suspicion fell on the husband. It was natural, a matter of statistics. Brad was a cop, and he knew that. He and Jeremy had found the bodies of too many wives and girlfriends who had been weighted and tossed overboard by the men who supposedly loved them. It was simple mathematics that told the cops to suspect the husband when his wife disappeared. Especially when he was the last one to have seen her.
    â€œAre you going up there?” she asked him.
    â€œYeah.” He nodded. “Sorry,” he added, his tone stiff. He owed her that apology, but it was hard to give.
    â€œJoe Brentwood is a good man,” she told him.
    â€œI’m sure he is.”
    â€œI’m serious. If you work with him, he’ll work with you.”
    He had a sense she was making a promise she wasn’t sure would be kept—not surprising, given the way most cops responded to what they saw as civilian intervention. But all he said was “I hope so.”
    She fell silent. The atmosphere was strained. He fished in his mind for something to say, but nothing came to him. Strange, they had talked nonstop earlier today. He had discussed Brad’s situation at length, and she had been filled with information, which he had been ready to listen to. But now…
    Then, she had been leaving.