make our case?”
The mention of Noah’s mother, Emmaline, did the trick. Landry’s open, almost pleading gaze faded, replaced with stoic resolve. “You think she’s guilty?”
“I think we need to evaluate on our own before making suppositions or rushing to judgment.”
Her long, slender fingers fisted at her sides. “And you haven’t?”
“An investigation based on facts isn’t judgment. It’s what I do. What I know how to do. If you can’t accept that, then maybe my initial thought to work this alone was a better idea.”
“Threats, Derek?”
A retort rose up but he held it back, the urge to defend himself fading in memory of the clear hurt in her eyes when she leaped off her horse to confront him earlier.
She
had
been hurt. While he wouldn’t have done anything differently, even if given the chance, he wasn’t immune to the disappointment he’d seen in the set of her slim shoulders.
Landry Adair was used to being let down. He wasn’t sure how he knew that with such bone-deep certainty, but he did. And he’d be damned if he wanted to be yet another person who did the same.
“I don’t make threats. And I’m not apologizing again. But now that I’ve met Noah on my own terms, I have no interest in continuing to work this on my own.”
“Oh.” The admission was enough to knock the wind from her arguments, and Landry shot him a stoic gaze over her shoulder before picking up a delicate pot of creamer on the sideboard. The dollop she dropped in her cup barely colored the black coffee, and an image of a woman in fierce control of herself struck him with swift fists.
No muffin the day before over breakfast. A spot of cream that was so small as to be invisible. And a fierce battle of wills over her family that she was obviously desperate to win.
Perhaps he’d misjudged the woman who appeared to have everything.
From his vantage point, he was beginning to wonder if she had nothing.
* * *
Landry dropped her purse in the backseat of her SUV before she reached for the driver’s door. Derek had kept a low profile through the rest of the morning, simply asking her to be ready to take off at lunchtime.
She’d wanted to ask where they were going, but sheer stubborn pride had kept her mouth closed. As a result, she had no idea if the light sweater set and cream-colored slacks were appropriate for their outing or not.
Especially when Derek Winchester sauntered out of the house in another one of his T-shirts—black this time—and low-slung jeans. That same heavy throb from their morning in the alfalfa pasture gripped her stomach and she fought it back, slipping her dark sunglasses quickly over her eyes.
She wouldn’t let him see the irrepressible response of her body, which no doubt filled her gaze with ripe appreciation.
And she’d be damned if she worried she was overdressed for whatever outing the infuriating man had planned that he couldn’t bother to share with her.
Partners.
The word stuck bitterly in her throat as she climbed into the car.
They were no more partners than her parents had been. Those two loveless souls who’d drifted over Adair Acres, perfectly content to lead vastly separate lives. Reginald and Patsy had known how to turn on the charm and lay it on thick when the social situation warranted it, but the rest of the time they seemed equally happy to ignore each other.
Functional. Cold. And devoid of any sense of passion or need or that bone-deep craving that bonded lovers together.
Was she destined for the same?
Images of her morning kiss with Derek flooded her mind’s eye, the thought so vivid she could once again taste him on her tongue. Masculine, with a hint of something smoky like whiskey, tinged with dark coffee overtones. She fought the shiver that gripped her and tightened her hands on the wheel.
Derek climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door, oblivious to her discomfort.
Damn man.
The walls of the spacious SUV grew tight as his scent surrounded
Learning to Kill: Stories