and get my life back. She’d want that for me.” He wondered if the lies about Millie sounded as lame as he thought they did. He wondered if Lucy had worn that sweater to distract him.
“She’d want you to date as many women as you can possibly meet via the Internet?”
Quinn didn’t point out that Lucy was meeting men via the Internet. Possibly killing them too. Instead he said, “Millie would want me to do whatever makes me happy.”
Lucy pushed her sweater back up. “I imagine a lot of women would want their husbands to pine away for them a little longer than six months.”
“Millie is different from a lot of women.” If Lucy continued to do battle with her clothes, it was going to be a very long night. Watching her was like watching a slow striptease.
“Don’t you mean was different?”
“What?” He raised his gaze to hers as desire, hot and unwelcome as hell, twisted and tugged and gave a little kick to the pit of his stomach. The woman looking back at him over the flickering candle might be innocent. Might be a mystery writer and nothing more. A victim of circumstance. Or she might be responsible for the murder of three men.
“You said, ‘Millie is different’ as if she were still alive,” Lucy said.
Shit. He’d let himself get distracted by her sweater. She was sharp, and he was going to have to be even sharper. Which meant he was going to have to pay more attention to doing his job and less attention to the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders. “I meant was, of course.”
A tiny crease appeared between her brows. “Perhaps it’s too soon for you to date.”
“No.” He shook his head and gave her his best “trust me” smile. One he’d used many times to put murder suspects and drug dealers at ease. “Sometimes I still refer to my father in the present tense, too,” he lied as easily as he smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know he’s gone. Just like I know Millie’s gone and she’s never coming back. I will always feel the loss of her, but that doesn’t mean I have to stand in one place and feel the pain of it every day. For the rest of my life.”
Her brow smoothed, and he knew the second she decided to believe him. Yeah, she was smart and very perceptive. If she wasn’t a murder suspect, she was just the sort of woman he usually went for. But she was a suspect, and it would be a cold day in hell before a suspect outsmarted Detective Quinn McIntyre. No matter how smart and gorgeous. No matter how hot she was or how hot she made him.
Chapter 4
Skeptic: Seeks Lady in Red…
The cocktail waitress returned with their drinks, and Lucy sat back in her chair, the alarm bell in her head fading beneath his charming smile, which she didn’t quite trust. He’d used the present tense regarding his wife. Perhaps it had been just an innocent slip as he’d explained. Or maybe he was using the whole widowed thing as a con. Yeah, maybe.
“What are your hobbies?” he asked.
“I really don’t have any hobbies,” she answered as she reached for her mojito. Or maybe she should believe him. Just because she was telling a few little lies about who she was didn’t make him a liar, too. He could be telling the truth and really did want to move on with his life.
“Not one?” he persisted, as if he was really interested in getting to know her and not just making conversation. “There has to be something you do for fun.”
Perhaps she was looking for trouble where none existed. Deflecting her guilt onto him. She decided to believe him for now. “I’m not very crafty.” She took a drink and let memories of past mojitos fill her head. The sweet rum and mint drink always reminded Lucy of sitting in a cabana somewhere in Mexico. Or sitting on a beach in the Bahamas with her friends. “I can’t draw or sew or glue,” she added. She took another drink, then told him about the time she’d tried to make a Christmas wreath and had burned her fingers with hot glue. She