Best Kept Secrets(41)

coat.

He looked her up and down. "Expecting someone?"

Alex crossed her arms over her middle, a gesture meant

to convey her annoyance. "If this is a social call--"

"It isn't." He caught his finger between his teeth and

pulled off one leather glove, then the other. He slapped the

felt cowboy hat against his thigh to shake off the sleet, then

ran a hand through his hair.

He tossed the gloves into the crown of his hat, set the hat

down on the table and lowered himself into a chair. He eyed



the remains of her supper, then took a bite out of an untouched

drumstick. Munching, he asked, "You don't like our fried

chicken?''

He was slouched in the chair, looking like he had settled

in for the night. Alex remained standing. She felt absurdly

exposed in the robe, even though it covered her from jaw to

ankles. Having a motel towel wrapped around her head didn't

help boost her self-confidence.

She tried to appear indifferent to him and her own dishabille.

"No, I didn't like the fried chicken, but it was convenient.

I didn't want to go out to eat."

"Smart decision on a night like this. The roads are getting

treacherous."

"You could have told me that over the phone."

Ignoring that, he leaned far to one side and looked past

her at the television screen, where an unclothed couple were

carnally involved. The camera moved in for a close-up of the

man's lips against the woman's breast.

"No wonder you're mad that I interrupted."

She smacked the power button with her palm. The screen

went blank. "I wasn't watching."

When she turned back around, he was looking up at her,

smiling. "Do you always open your door to any man who

knocks on it?"

"I didn't open my door until you swore at me."

"Is that all a man has to do, talk dirty?"

"You're the highest-ranking law enforcement officer in

this county. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" She was

thinking she would trust a used car salesman in a green polyester

suit before she would trust Reede Lambert. "And was

it really necessary to strap that on when you came calling?"

He followed the direction of her gaze down to the holster

riding just below his belt. He stretched his booted feet far

out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. Templing

his fingers, he peered at her over their tips. "I never know

when I might have to use it."

"Is it always loaded?"



He hesitated, his eyes lowering to the vicinity of her

breasts. "Always."

They were no longer talking about the pistol in his holster.

But more than what was actually being said, the tone of the

conversation made her distinctly uncomfortable. She shifted

her weight from one bare foot to the other and dampened her

lips, only then realizing that she had already removed her

makeup. Somehow, that made her feel even more vulnerable.

That, and his motionless, broody stare.

"Why did you come here tonight? What couldn't wait until

morning?"

"An urge."

"An urge?" she repeated huskily.

He languidly got up out of the chair and moved forward

until he stood only inches in front of her. He slipped his rough

hand into the parting of her robe and encircled her neck with

it. "Yeah, an urge," he whispered. "An urge to throttle

you."

Uttering a frustrated grunt Alex removed his hand and

stepped aside. By choice, he let her go. "Judge Wallace

called me tonight and told me about the court order you asked

him for."

Her heart, which had been beating furiously, slowed down,

but she muttered a curse of aggravation. "Isn't anything

private in this town?"

"Not much, no."

"I don't think I could sneeze without everybody within

the city limits offering me a Kleenex."

"You're in the spotlight, all right. What do you expect,

going around asking to dig up a body?"

"You make it sound so whimsical."

"Well, isn't it?"

"Do you think I'd disturb my mother's grave if I didn't

think it was a vital step toward solving her murder?" she

asked heatedly. "My God, do you think it was easy for me

to even voice the request? And why did the judge feel it

necessary to consult you, you, of all people?"



"Why not me? Because I'm a suspect?"

"Yes!" she cried. "Discussing this case with you is highly

unethical."

"I'm the sheriff, remember?"

"I never forget it. That's still no excuse for Judge Wallace

to go behind my back. Why is he so nervous about having

the body exhumed? Is he afraid a forensic investigation will