Cuff Me(42)

“Okay?”

He breathed out a sigh of irritation. “We’ve been looking at her lovers, and lovers of her lovers. But the Lenora we keep hearing about would have been indifferent if she were talking about a husband or a boyfriend, and nobody pushes an indifferent person to their death.”

“Not entirely true,” Jill said, holding up a finger. “For some people there might be no more trigger quite as hot as being ignored by someone you love.”

He shook his head. “Lenora was nearly seventy. The people in her life would have learned not to love her that deeply. They would have been used to it.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we’ve been trying to figure out the murder’s trigger, when what we really should have been looking for is Lenora’s. What would have set her off enough to say something that would drive another person to murder her. She’s not a woman that inspires great passion because she doesn’t feel great passion. Except when talking about—”

“Her career,” Jill said, finally understanding what he was getting out. “Lenora Birch cared about her career—her legacy—more than anything.”

He nodded. “Someone that threatened that—challenged that—it would have pissed her off. She would have been—”

“Cruel,” Jill finished for him. “Her agent said that Lenora could be cruel when she felt her legacy as an actress was threatened.”

“We’ve been looking at people that Lenora’s wronged on the personal front, but it’s the professional one we need to pay attention to. It didn’t dawn on me before, because she’s retired, but then I thought of my dad. He’s retired, but so much of his self-worth still stems from his identity as a cop.”

Jill wandered closer to his board, feeling both elated and overwhelmed. “The woman’s been in acting since she was fifteen. There are literally decades of old rivalries. Holly Adams was just the tip of the iceberg…”

“So we start with her,” Vincent said. “Something tells me the woman will be all too happy to provide a list of all her and Lenora’s old acting buddies that might be holding a grudge.”

“Yes, she will,” Jill said slowly, as everything began to settle around her. She felt both the most calm she’d been in weeks—months—and the most invigorated.

She turned back toward Vincent and saw that he was feeling the same things as her. Elation. Relief.

“We did it,” he said, sounding slightly awestruck. “We f*cking did it.”

Vincent lifted his hands to his sides as a wide grin spread over his face, and then he looked at his hands in surprise, as though not sure what to do with them—not sure what to do with the unfamiliar sensation of happiness.

And then he apparently figured it out. Vincent’s hands found their way to either side of her face, and he bent his head to hers.

And kissed her.

The kiss was over before Jill even realized it had begun.

Nothing but a firm meeting of lips.

A victory kiss, if you will. The type of kiss a friend gives another friend in an impulsive moment of triumph.

There was nothing romantic.

Nothing sexual.

Vincent had already moved away from her, his attention shifted back to his precious board.

Jill lifted her fingers to her lips.

It was nothing. It meant nothing.

But if it was nothing… why was her hand shaking? Why were her lips tingling?

If it was nothing…

Why did she want him to do it again?





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Vin helped himself to yet another piece of pizza and tried not to stare at Jill’s profile as she chewed absently on the end of a pencil.

She looked completely unperturbed. As though an hour earlier their lips hadn’t collided in a careless, casual victory kiss.

He took a sip of beer. Casual my ass.

That kiss had been…

There were at least half a dozen reasons he shouldn’t have done it. The fact that she belonged to another man being number one.

But reason number two was a very close second.

He shouldn’t have done it, because now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop wanting to do it again.

Except longer this time—he would linger. Let his hands explore her curves as his tongue slipped into her mouth, learning what she liked…

“Fuck,” he muttered.

She glanced up from her notebook. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

Jill reached out and grabbed the neck of her own beer bottle, twisting it between her fingers before taking a sip and staring at him all the while.

“What?” he asked, irritated.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly.

He glared. “Are you mocking me right now?”

“Only because you’re so cute when you’re riled.”

“You’re a nightmare,” he muttered.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “I think I’ve been pretty good lately. I haven’t played the ‘what’s your favorite color’ game, or tried to set you up with that cute barista at the Times Square Starbucks. I haven’t forced any Abba sing-along, or…”

“What, you, like, want a medal for not driving me nuts?”