The Detective

Chapter Five

Dawn broke just as Lexi finished sketching the Williamses’ kitchen. She stood at the center island, random sheets of discarded sketches strewn around her. Half the night she’d stewed over the color of the kitchen walls until finally, unable to visualize the finished product—something that rarely happened anymore—she’d dragged herself out of bed, grabbed her sketching tools and drove to the house.

Here she’d be able to create a sketch and add the color variations until she found the perfect combination. When all else failed, her artistic ability, her skill in re-creating a room by hand drawing it, always came through. Unfortunately for her, this time it happened at 4:00 a.m. when she’d had next to no sleep. But if sleep wouldn’t come, she’d do what she always did and work.

And with the lost time due to the Hennings & Solomon people—Brodey Hayward specifically—she needed to get moving on this project or risk blowing that forty-five-day deadline.

She glanced at the window above the sink, where morning sun peeped through the wooden blinds. Streaks of burnt orange splashed across the countertop in neat little rows, their perfection beautiful and uniform. Using pencils and charcoal, she shaded the area around the window, then added a touch of tangerine. Instantly the drawing came to life. Excitement bloomed in the pit of her stomach and launched upward as her fingers flew across the sketch, then switching colors, shading, switching colors again and filling in accents. All of it combining to create a visual of a room that would be homey, bright and warm.

Finally, after an hour of discarding sketches, she’d hit on it and now, with the sun rising, she moved faster, trying to capture every nuance, every shadow, every angle, before the light changed.

The long, shrill tone of the alarm sounded—door opening—and Lexi shot upright, pencil still in hand. Someone was here. She’d locked the door, hadn’t she? Sometimes she forgot that little task, but even she wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk into a strange house at four in the morning and not lock the door.

The buhm-buhm of her heart kicked up, a slow-moving panic spreading through her body. Had she locked that damned door?

A second later Brodey stepped into the doorway, his head snapping back at the sight of her. He wore black track pants and a heavy sweatshirt. No jacket in this cold? The man was insane. His sling was gone and he held a manila envelope in his left hand.

Lexi blew out a hard breath and tossed her pencil on the counter. “Goodness’ sake, Brodey. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

His gaze traveled over her cashmere sweater, worn jeans and loafers, then came back up, lingering on her face, making her cheeks fire. My goodness, the man had a way. Had she known she’d be seeing anyone, particularly the intriguing detective, she’d have dressed more appropriately. But at 4:00 a.m. that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “The colors for the kitchen were driving me mad. Where’s your sling?”

“You’re here by yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous for a woman to be driving around a city alone in the middle of the night?”

Prior to her panic a minute ago, she hadn’t even questioned it. Maybe she should have. But that was the trusting part of her. The part that didn’t include the male species and wanted to see pretty things instead of danger. She wasn’t a complete lunatic and understood the world to be a dangerous place, but when it came to her creative process, certain things, like possible danger, couldn’t get in her way. “I live ten minutes from here.”

“A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

Time to get back to work. Arguing with stubborn people never accomplished much. This, she knew. She resumed drawing a roman shade on the kitchen window. Tangerine would work beautifully.

Brodey wandered to the island, where her discarded sketches smothered the top. Immediately, she snatched them up, but he set his hand on one, tilted his head one way, then the other. “You drew these?”

“Yes, but they’re my discards.”

“They’re pretty good to be discards.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but trust me, they’re discards.”

He pointed at the almost-complete sketch on her pad. “That one looks great.”

“Thank you. I was stuck on which colors to use. Sometimes when I put it on paper it helps me work it out. When the sun lit this room—” she swooped one hand “—it was spectacular. I think I need bursts of tangerine in here.”

“Uh, okay.”

Lexi laughed. “You didn’t tell me where your sling was.”

“Home. It annoys me. I’ve been trying to do a few hours each day without it.”

“Maybe you should check with your doctor about that?”

“Nah.”

As suspected. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those know-it-all stubborn males.”

He gave her one of his cocky grins where one side of his mouth quirked, and she immediately wanted to draw it. “Don’t call me stubborn.”

Once again, that smile, a little devilish, a little charming and a whole lot irresistible, turned her liquid. It had been months since she’d had even a remote interest in a man. Finding your so-called soul mate sprawled across his desk with another woman tended to do that to a girl. Made her a little less inclined to trust males in general and a whole lot more inclined to demand absolute honesty. No secrets. At all.

And now, tough guy Brodey Hayward had released her smothered sexual desire. On the bright side, at least she wasn’t a dead loss and still felt something. Even if it was only lust. “What are you doing here so early?”

He held up the envelope. “My dad got me copies of crime-scene notes. I wasn’t sure if you worked on Saturdays, but figured I’d get here early and get out of your way. Who knew you’d be here at the crack of dawn?”

“You rolled out of bed this early so you didn’t mess up my schedule?”

He shrugged. “You compromised with me yesterday. I owed you one.”

All that female desire inside her whipped into a frenzy and she damn near needed a cold shower. “Please tell me you’re single because I could kiss you smack on the lips.”

“I am most definitely single.”

She snorted, then waved him off. So much for her hoping to make him blush. Huh. How she loved a man participating in a little verbal swordplay. “Brodey Hayward, I think I like you.” She gestured to the laundry room. “I don’t need to be in there yet, so help yourself. I can work around you for an hour or so.”

He held up the file. “Thanks. I read the detective’s notes, but I need to see the room. Something isn’t right.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have the photos yet. Can’t picture the scene. If I set it up, it’ll make sense. Want to be my dead body?”

Ew. “Are you kidding?”

“Actually, I’m not. I brought tape, but it’ll help if I could see an actual body. All I need is for you to lie on the floor.”

She glanced at the sketch desperately waiting for her attention.

He held up his hand. “It’ll take five minutes. Promise.”

“Five minutes?”

“That’s all. I need a visual.”

A visual. Considering her early-dawn sketching, she could relate. “Fine. But only because I understand about visuals.”

“And, uh, after you play the dead guy, I’ll take your place on the floor and maybe you could sketch it for me?”

A frustrated laugh burst free. This man. “What happened to five minutes?”

He grinned. “That’s just for lying on the floor. The sketching is separate. Look at it this way. The faster I know what the scene looked like, the sooner I form opinions and hand this thing over to my sister. Then I’m out of here and you’re free to do your thing.”

Now this boy was talking. And good for him for being intellectually competent enough to figure out how to motivate her.

“If I sketch and lie on the floor, you’ll let me get to work in there? Including tearing up that tile?”

“Assuming we don’t discover evidence that needs to be collected, yes.”

Lexi sighed.

“Hey, I know,” he said. “But I won’t promise that until I know what I’m dealing with. At the very least, it’d be irresponsible.”

For that, she’d give him credit. Some men would lie simply to get their way. Like her cheating ex. Not going there. Thinking about him only aggravated her.

She tore her sketch off the pad, set it aside and grabbed her chalk and a pencil. “I have a house to dismantle. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

BRODEY WATCHED OVER Lexi’s shoulder as she finished her sketch, and the faint smell of her shampoo, something minty, he thought, like spearmint but not really, worked its way into his system and—look out now—relaxed him. He liked it.

Maybe too much.

She angled back, looking up with those greenish-brown eyes, and something in his brain snapped. Something being the male side of him that hadn’t seen any action from a female in a couple of months. Sure there were women he could call, but with the damned arm in a sling, everything—sex included—was way too much work. And it scared the hell out of him because how many men didn’t want sex? None that he knew.

Whatever. Mind snap.

“Are you paying attention?” Lexi asked.

More than you know...

“Yeah. I’m thinking.” He brought one arm around her so he could point at the sketch and brushed her shoulder along the way. Immediately, he regretted it. Even that meaningless interaction brought his body—very male body—into the red zone. Only thing to do here would be to put his growing erection out of his mind. Maybe today would be the one time that trick worked, but not likely. Considering it had never worked before. “The body needs to be closer to the door.”

“Well, Brodey, this is not to scale. You have to allow for some wiggle room.”

“I know. It still needs to be closer.”

She flipped her pencil to the eraser side and scrubbed it across the paper. A minute later, she’d busted off the outline of the body in the exact place he wanted. “Perfect,” he said. “You know, you’re really good at this. You should work for the PD.”

“No. Thank you, though. What was he wearing that night?”

“Black pants.”

She filled in some shading to reflect the slacks the victim wore. “That’s better.”

“Why not?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, her perfect lips slightly puckered, her eyes zeroed in as if she’d read his every X-rated thought. Only the hum from the furnace below could be heard in the quiet house, and Brodey’s pulse knocked harder. All he had to do was bend down a few inches and those perfect lush lips would be his.

“Wow,” he said.

She stepped away, putting distance between them. “It wouldn’t work for me. I generally don’t sketch people. I do furniture. Furniture is easy. Even if I had the level of skill it requires, I’m not sure I could handle that type of work. I have a friend whose mom was a sketch artist, and it’s emotionally draining. What you do—a homicide detective—is a gift. Whether you realize it or not, the average citizen couldn’t face the horrors you see every day. I’m one of those people. I like serenity and homey environments. It’s what I’m good at.”

Good observation since he was already counting down the years—fourteen and a half—until he reached retirement. Not that he didn’t have a passion for the job, a passion for righting a wrong, a passion for justice. That justice was what got him out of bed every morning, but studying mangled bodies for thirty years, like some of the guys on the job, didn’t seem like a banner way to stay sane. Twenty years would be plenty. Like his dad.

After shading the body, Lexi scratched her cheek, leaving a dark smudge trailing down her face, and he itched to run his fingers across the spot, over the delicate curve of her jaw, and wipe it away. Just to put his hands on her.

She held the sketch out. “What do you think?”

I’d like to tell you what I think. Back to business here. He took the sketch. “It’s good. Let’s put it on the floor so I can look at.”

“Okay. You’re all set, then? You don’t need me?”

And, hell, if she wasn’t the cutest damn thing with that smudge on her cheek. “I’m all set. Except...” Against his better judgment—considering his partial erection might go full-blown—he gently ran the pad of his thumb where the remnants of her sketching marred her creamy skin. Major mistake because now his body went haywire, every nerve snapping.

More.

That was what he wanted. More of her skin under his hands.

She didn’t flinch, but locked her gaze on his, and the message was clear. She knew what he wanted. And she wasn’t running.

“Smudge?”

“Yep.”

“I do that all the time. You’d think I’d learn by now. Thanks for telling me. I’d have been walking around like that.”

“No problem,” he said. “If touching a beautiful woman’s face is the worst thing I do today, I’d say I hit the jackpot.”

For a good twenty seconds, she stood in silence, clearly deciding whether to take the bait. Come on, Lexi, let’s play. But, nope. She broke eye contact and headed to the kitchen, where she’d left her sketches. She turned back to him, casually leaning against the island, but her folded arms and fingers digging into the sleeves of her sweater screamed confusion.

“You know,” she said, “you’re quite charming when you want to be. I like that about you.”

Charming. He’d take it. There were a lot of things he liked about her, too—her confidence, her skill, her ability to shut down an uncomfortable conversation without making a big deal about it. The woman had a way about her.

“I do try.”

She nodded toward the laundry room. “How long until you’re finished?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll read the ME’s report and the crime-scene notes again. The angle of the body is weird.” He shifted in the doorway. “Unless he was standing like this, facing the wall. Or maybe the killer moved the body. I don’t know. I need to study it.”

“So, what you’re telling me is I won’t be able to get into this room again today?”

Here we go again. All that light banter from twenty seconds ago? Gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. “Lexi, I don’t know. Trust me, I’d love to tell you it’ll be today. It might be. I need to study these notes more. Sorry if it’s ripping into your forty-five days, but the guy is dead.”

“Oh, don’t even go there. Do not try to make me feel like I’m being unreasonable for wanting to get this project done. I have been nothing but cooperative. I want to give this woman peace as much as anyone. Part of that will come from unloading this house before she’s forced into bankruptcy. So, spare me your lecture.” She scooped up her pad and shoved the loose sketches into it. “Call me when you’re through holding up my work.”

Great. Mad. How the hell had this become his fault? He moved to the island, where she’d already left skid marks on her way to the front door, and held his arms wide. For once, the elbow didn’t holler, but the gesture was useless since she couldn’t see him. Well, fine. His whole point of getting here early was to work alone. All she did was distract him. Between her looks and the way she smelled, his body responded to her. Couple that with her insistence that he rush through his investigation, and Alexis Vanderbilt snatched his energy. Just sucked him dry.

The front door slammed and he shook his head, pondering whether or not to chase after her. Let her go. He’d get more done without her.

Even if she smelled good.

* * *

LEXI TROMPED DOWN the Williamses’ walkway, sketch pad in hand, coat flapping and the wrath of a winter day descending on anyone fool enough to venture outside. Mere breathing brought the wind—frigid, bone-shattering wind—burning down her throat.

“I need to be a snowbird,” she muttered.

“Morning.”

She halted a second before slamming into a man walking his Yorkie. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I see that.”

The man wore a long wool coat over a suit. His close-cropped, graying hair gave him an edge of sophistication that topped off the whole “I have money” vibe. By the looks of him and the adorable dog, he was a neighbor. He held a mug in one hand, and the aroma of hazelnut reminded Lexi she hadn’t put anything into her system in nearly twelve hours. On the way home, she’d stop at the coffee shop and load up on caffeine and sugar. A chocolate croissant might do the trick. The man eyed her, then glanced back at the house. “Are you the real-estate agent?”

On the surface, the question seemed harmless, but Lexi had worked with enough gossipmongers to know her words could storm this community. “No. Not the real-estate agent.”

“Ah. The designer, then.” Mug in hand, he gestured down the block. “Phillips. We live two doors down. We heard Brenda hired someone to stage the house. It’s a rotten situation.”

The gossip trail. How she despised it. “It is indeed.”

But wait. He was a neighbor, presumably questioned by the police. Perhaps he saw or heard something that could help Brodey’s investigation along.

And get her back on schedule.

“Mr. Phillips, were you home the night Mr. Williams died?”

The tiny Yorkie nudged the leash and Phillips took three steps closer to the tree. “I was. The police talked to my wife and me.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No. Didn’t hear anything, either. With the increased security, we’re usually aware of problems, but it was quiet that night. Perplexing.”

Perplexing. Interesting word choice. And the cadence, so direct, pegged him as a lawyer or maybe an executive with a lot of authority.

“I see. Thank you.”

“Of course. When your work is complete, do you mind if my wife and I take a look? She wants to redo the kitchen.”

Lexi smiled. Crabby and dressed like a coed but somehow she might gain a client from this. “That would be up to Mrs. Williams, but I’d be happy to ask her if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

Once tucked into her car, Lexi jotted Mr. Phillips’s address and a note to herself to ask Brenda about him. Maybe she’d even be nice and share her conversation with Brodey. Maybe. For now, she needed food and a shower before her appointment in Lincoln Park. A quasi-appointment. Her college roommate, thanks to her new job as an on-air anchor for a local cable news station, had finally taken the plunge and bought a house. If it could be called a house. Sucked from the clutches of foreclosure, the three-story monstrosity needed loads of work.