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  “Wait a minute, Catherine never said that she thinks Jim is the killer,” I disagreed.

  “I heard you tell her, ‘he’s already on bail’, during your conversation,” he countered. “Are you telling me you weren’t talking about Jim?”

  That I could answer. “You are correct that we were talking about Jim.”

  Ryan didn’t like this non-answer. “But you don’t think Derek could be the killer. Is it because of your history with him?”

  “Watch your tone,” I responded without thinking and felt Ryan’s physical reaction to my harsh words. I looked over at him and tried a half-smile. “I agree with you that it is troubling hearing about a woody smell at both murders. But, it doesn’t mean it’s the same woody smell.”

  Ryan actually rolled his eyes. “Please. Are you kidding? What are the odds that there’d be an unusual woody smell at both murders?”

  “I agree it’s interesting,” I placated. “I’m not saying Derek isn’t the killer. I’m not saying he isn’t capable of it. I’m just not seeing a motive.” I shrugged.

  “What is Jim’s motive? At least for this murder, since the police already assumed a motive for Monica’s murder.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “Then why would Catherine say Jim is a suspect?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “What else did she tell you?”

  I ignored the suspicion in his voice.

  He stared out the window, his jaw clenched. Tension rolled off him.

  “I know he’s your friend,” I tried to amend. “I’m not saying he’s the killer. I’m trying to maintain an open mind.”

  Ryan’s posture softened. “I know. Thank you. I appreciate that,” he acknowledged. “This is so hard. I’ve known Jim a long time and I know he’s not the killer.”

  Before I could decide how to respond, Ryan’s phone rang. “It’s Jim!”

  Ryan answered, and I heard Jim already talking to someone in the background. My heart sank. I knew what was coming. “Jim? Jim, are you talking to me?”

  “Ryan, can you hear me? I’ve been arrested again.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Not eavesdropping was impossible in a car, so I started driving away, making a show of staring straight ahead while Ryan spoke with Jim. Of course, I heard every word on both sides.

  “Did you say you’ve been arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you call me? Don’t you need your one call for your attorney?”

  “Apparently, that’s just in the movies. I already spoke to my lawyer and she’s told me I won’t get bail this time.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because I’m already on bail. I’m going to jail.”

  “Do you know why they arrested you?”

  “I haven’t been questioned yet. According to my lawyer, the police think I was having an affair with the victim.”

  “That’s crazy. You would never cheat on Monica.”

  “I know. I don’t even know the poor woman who was killed,” Jim said, voice hitching on the last word. “I mean, I’d seen her before, but I didn’t know her.”

  Ryan’s heart rate jumped, signaling this statement caught him off-guard like it did me.

  “You’d seen her? Where?”

  “I was introduced to her at the theater. Oh my god,” he exhaled loudly. “It was that night. I was introduced to her the night of Monica’s mu- death. Do you think that means anything?”

  “I don’t know,” Ryan responded. My mind was racing. It couldn’t be unrelated. I didn’t believe in coincidences. Certainly not ones looming large like that. Jim, Monica, Sophie, and Derek were all there that night. What did it mean?

  “I can’t believe they think I killed her,” Jim continued, unable to sustain his brief excitement.

  “What evidence do they have?”

  “I have no idea. Lawyer didn’t say.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Ryan asked.

  “Find out who really did it,” he answered softly.

  “We’re working on that.”

  “You and Evie?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. I glanced in his direction in time to see the disappointed look on his face and knew that we were likely going to have a confrontation.

  “God, I hope you come up with something,” Jim finished, his despair wrenching my gut.

  Maybe he wasn’t guilty? If he was, he was one heck of an actor. Could it really be Derek? I refocused on the conversation in time to hear them ending the call. I chanced a quick look at Ryan again, saw that look of disappointment, and returned to watching the road. I almost wished he’d be angry.

  “You knew.” A statement, not a question.

  “I did.”

  “You knew he was going to be arrested and you didn’t tell me.”

  I reached my hand toward his, and replaced it on the steering wheel before giving him the opportunity to withdraw. I glanced back and forth between him and the road while we talked.

  “I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

  “Why would it?”

  “If you knew he was going to be arrested, wouldn’t you want to warn him?”

  No response.

  “I’m sorry it worked out like this. I try to respect and help my friends when I can, just like you’re trying to do.”

  He stared at me a beat.

  “I promised Catherine I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Catherine knew too.” Again, a statement not a question.

  “She told me in the earlier phone call,” I admitted.

  Ryan faced forward and closed his eyes. I heard him trying to manage his heartbeat, trying to maintain control.

  “Ryan, please understand.”

  “Understand what? That you’re willing to throw my friend under the bus for your ex.”

  I recoiled as if slapped. “That’s not what’s going on. You know that. We just talked about it,” I said, a touch of exasperation in my voice. It did not go unnoticed.

  “Gee, is my being upset bothering you?”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm,” I retorted. “We both want the same thing. The real killer found.”

  “And you believe it’s Jim.”

  “I believe it’s a possibility, yes,” I answered. “We’re talking in circles here, which is entirely unproductive. Do you still want my help?”

  A long silence followed.

  I waited for him to decide. The wait was excruciating.

  “Yes,” he finally answered quietly. “I do.” He gave me his adorable lopsided grin.

  My relief was palpable. I ignored the feeling and what it might mean. We didn’t have time for that. We were trying to catch a killer.

  “We were just given a big piece of information,” I said, clapping my hands, which seemed only slightly out of place, given the circumstances.

  *****

  “There’s no way I’m letting you put yourself in harm’s way.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You’re not letting me?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I smiled because, of course, I knew what he meant. It was fun to watch him squirm. We sat on his living room couch, discussing my idea. Which he clearly didn’t like.

  “At least let me come with you,” he insisted.

  “No,” I answered and watched his jaw tighten.

  “Why not?”

  “If Derek sees you, then he’ll know something’s up,” I explained again.

  “Not if I stay out of sight,” he countered.

  I sighed. “We’re going in circles. We need to either confirm or eliminate Derek as a suspect and the best way to do that is for me to play on his intention to win me back by,” I involuntarily shuddered here, “flirting with him to get him to talk. It’s a classic.”

  This time it was Ryan who arched an eyebrow. “Exactly.”


  “I don’t want you to see that.”

  We stared at each other. His heartbeat increased and his eyes dilated. Now wasn’t the time to deal with our mutual attraction. I broke eye contact as he spoke.

  “I wouldn’t want to see that either, but…”

  “We need our best shot at getting him to confess.”

  “And that’s why I want to be there. If he confesses to murder, you could be in harm’s way.”

  There was no way for me to explain that Derek couldn’t hurt me – not that he wouldn’t, I silently agreed with Ryan – but as a vampire, he had to have permission from our vampire Family to do so. And he didn’t have that. I didn’t think he did anyway.

  “He’s not going to hurt me,” was all I said.

  “I don’t understand how you can be so sure,” Ryan argued stubbornly.

  “I just am. More importantly,” I stressed, “if he sees you, all bets are off. You know that.”

  “Okay, okay. I hear the exasperation in your voice,” he acknowledged with a smile. “I’ll let you do it your way. I mean, let’s do it your way,” he corrected himself and we both laughed, though I was mildly surprised he was finally giving in. Alpha men rarely did so. It was a good thing. The real reason I didn’t want him there was that I didn’t want him to find out Derek and I were vampires. I wasn’t ready to have the conversation yet, if I ever was.

  “I have one condition.”

  “Oh really?”

  Ryan cupped my chin for a moment with gentle fingers, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “Yes. I want full contact info for Derek, just in case. If you don’t check in at a designated time, I want to be able to either contact you myself or provide the information to the authorities.” His jugular vein throbbed in his neck and I knew how worried he was for me. I placed one hand on his knee, heard his heartbeat accelerate further in reaction.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “That sounds reasonable.”

  Ryan placed his hand over mine. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to me, either,” I quipped. Ryan squeezed my hand slightly and released.

  “What next?”

  “Let me text Derek.” I scrolled through my contacts until I found him.

  I assume filming is going to resume? I’d like to discuss my character. Are you free tonight?

  Ryan and I watched my phone, waiting for the response, which seemed to take forever, but really was probably less than a minute.

  Great! Meet at my hotel?

  Ryan frowned and I shook my head at him. “Wait.”

  Hotel lounge? Or bar?

  LOL, sure.

  “Such a punk.”

  “I don’t disagree,” I responded.

  Where?

  Ryan and I waited again and Chandelier Bar popped up. Ryan nodded that he saw.

  Got it. See you at midnight?

  Yep.

  “There. We’re set,” I needlessly stated. I forwarded Derek’s number to Ryan. He nodded when the text arrived.

  “Promise you’ll call as soon as you’re finished?”

  “I promise.”

  “If I don’t hear from you by one, I’m calling. And if I can’t reach you, I’m calling the authorities,” he warned. I was touched by his needless concern.

  “I’ll be fine. Maybe give me until 1:30. In case it takes longer.”

  His eyes darkened and I didn’t need vampire senses to know what he was imagining.

  “I’m not going sleep with him,” I assured him, making a face of disgust.

  “Things don’t always go the way we plan,” he responded.

  My eyes widened in surprise. “Do you think I’d sleep with him?”

  He didn’t answer and my heart sank.

  I placed a hand under his chin, lifted his eyes toward mine. “It’ll never happen,” I assured him.

  I was acutely aware of the increase in his physical response to me.

  Ryan leaned forward as if to kiss me, and then he pulled back. “Good.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Although I grumbled at having to pay for parking on The Strip (really, Las Vegas?), I was glad that Derek at least had the sense to stay at the Cosmopolitan, where the first floor of the Chandelier lounge had the best chocolate martinis ever. Not that I drank them, of course, but they smelled heavenly.

  The mass of humanity swarming around me as I approached bombarded me with their physical reactions to the scene. When I was a younger vampire, this would have overwhelmed me; luckily, over time, I’d learned the ability to block or at least filter out some of that noise. The hundreds of beaded chandelier strings around the lounge sparkled and reflected the light – almost everywhere. I zeroed in on a dead spot near the bar. Derek. He absorbed the light and energy around him like a, well, vampire. I shook my head at my own silliness.

  He sensed me when I ascended the few lighted steps and turned left to the nearest circular couch. He was seated alone, his energy keeping the humans away. Even while I watched, a drunk couple approached, started to enter the enclosed area, and abruptly veered off. I chuckled. It was a good location, facing the bar, our backs to the room. We’d pitch our voices below human perception and use Derek’s glamour to mask sounds, but it was still best to take precautions. Some people had been known to read lips and I had a vampire friend called out that way once. Awkward.

  Derek was as spectacular as ever, his tall frame folded into the seat, one foot resting on the knee of his other leg. Tonight, he wore all black: tight black jeans, gleaming black leather boots, fitted black button-down shirt with the first three buttons again undone. Had this become his signature style? His dark eyes followed me while I walked toward him and entered the seating area. His skin practically glowed in the mood lighting. He smirked when I carefully sat several feet from him. He smelled like the woods.

  “Good evening, Evie. You look like candy,” he said, his eyes sliding up and down my figure. “Good enough to eat.” I was glad I didn’t bother to change into something more seductive from my daisy blouse and yellow pants I wore to set earlier in the evening. I squirmed under his gaze and needlessly adjusted my beret. His smile widened. Thank goodness, he’d mistaken my reaction as a positive, when really, I wanted to hurl.

  “Hi, Derek,” I responded, trying a smile, hoping it wasn’t as fake as it felt. “You look…nice.” I faltered. I noticed that he ordered a chocolate martini for me to pretend to drink and I picked it up, inhaling deeply. I set the drink back on the table and raised my eyes to his.

  We stared at each other, neither able to read the other. Derek slowly smiled. “You called this meeting,” he reminded me.

  “Right,” I agreed. “I wanted to discuss filming. I assume the shoot is still happening.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any idea when that might be?”

  “No.”

  “Any changes to the cast and crew?”

  “No.”

  Ugh, this was going nowhere fast. His monosyllabic answers allowed for zero chance at expansion. I frowned.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You just frowned. But, isn’t this what you wanted? To talk about filming,” he elaborated.

  “I – well, yes.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Now I’m confused,” I admitted, not following his train of thought.

  Derek scooted closer. I stiffened. He laughed low and sexy. “You know that’s not why you wanted to meet.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did I want to meet?” He surely didn’t know I suspected him of murder.

  “I saw your reaction when I told you I wanted you back.”

  My revulsion? I stayed silent.

  “You want me back, too,” he explained.

 
Ah, narcissism. There you were. I shook my head in a non-response.

  “It’s okay. I know this was unexpected.”

  “Yes?” I asked this, unsure what response he expected.

  Derek reached for my hand and I allowed him to hold it. He stroked my palm. One hundred years ago, this might have worked. Tonight, not so much. At least I had my opening.

  “I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, honestly. Not him, of course. But, Ryan? That was another story.

  “We can take it slow,” he whispered, sidling even closer so that I could feel the chill coming off him. He placed his other hand on my knee, rubbing lightly. I forced myself not to withdraw and smiled instead. “I’ve changed, Evie. I can be the man you need me to be. The man you fell in love with. The man I was before you married me. In the beginning.”

  “Reset to one?” I asked sadly, as if that were even possible after everything we’d been through.

  Derek laughed at my movie production humor. “Exactly. Reset to one – go back to the beginning.”

  “I’m worried about everything going on,” I said, to try for a redirect. His hands stopped their movement but remained in position.

  “What are you worried about, kitten?”

  That I reacted to. He hadn’t called me by his nickname for me in decades. I smiled quickly to cover my discomfort and glanced away. A tall guy walking past our couch glanced briefly at me. Something about him seemed familiar. Who could tell with his backwards baseball cap and sunglasses? Inside. How pretentious. I refocused on Derek.

  “I’m worried about the murders.”

  Derek’s fingers tightened on my knee before releasing. I saw the tension in his face but his response was light.

  “Murders? What are you talking about?”

  I pulled away completely from him with the question, aghast, and only partly pretending. “What do you mean, what murders am I talking about?”

  Derek shrugged. “I know a friend of the crew was killed. Was there another murder?”

  I eyed him carefully. This could be a moment of truth. “Monica? Monica Freeman? We talked about her murder,” I reminded him pointedly.

  “Oh, that,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “Wasn’t her husband arrested for that?”