Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [52]
Mike swallowed hard. “You’ve seen the film?”
“Yeah, strictly in the line of duty, of course.” Wainwright chuckled.
Do not lose your cool. This man doesn’t know you were once engaged to Lorie. As far as he’s concerned, this is just guy talk, nothing more and nothing less.
“Yeah, sure.” For the life of him, Mike could not fake a smile.
“It’s a good thing the Powell Agency has assigned a woman to guard Ms. Hammonds. I can see where a guy could easily get personally involved when the client is a woman like Lorie.”
“You’re assuming a great deal about her simply because she made one porno movie.”
Wainwright narrowed his gaze and studied Mike. “The lady’s past had nothing to do with my comment. The fact that she’s gorgeous and vulnerable and a guy could drown in her big brown eyes is what I was talking about. Just interviewing her for half an hour gave me a pretty good idea what kind of person she is.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“You wouldn’t have a personal interest in the lady, would you?”
Did he? Hell yes!
“My only interest in Lorie Hammonds is in my capacity as the sheriff of this county. She’s one of the citizens that I’m sworn to protect.”
Wainwright smiled. “Then the fact that you two were once engaged doesn’t factor into your feelings about her?”
Wham! A two-by-four right between the eyes. That’s how Wainwright’s question affected Mike. Rendered momentarily speechless, he stared at the FBI agent.
“When I’m assigned to a case, I do my research, Sheriff Birkett.”
“Then you know that there has been nothing between Lorie and me since she came back to Dunmore more than nine years ago.”
“Nothing? No feelings whatsoever, huh? I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it.”
“It must have been difficult for you when she came back to Dunmore, knowing every man in town had not only seen her naked in Playboy, but had watched her screw a couple of guys on film.”
It took every ounce of Mike’s self-control not to punch Wainwright in the mouth. With his jaw clenched and his hands balled into tight fists, he glared at the man.
Wainwright looked Mike right in the eye. Neither of them blinked. Neither flinched. Finally, Wainwright asked, “Did you hate her? Do you still hate her?”
A low, guttural growl rose from Mike’s chest and crawled up his throat. Only his clenched teeth diluted the sound from a roar to a rumble. “What are you really asking?”
“Do you hate Lorie Hammonds enough to want to see her dead?”
“You son of a bitch! Are you implying that I’d—?”
“It’s a legitimate question,” Wainwright told him. “And to answer your question—no, I do not think that you’re in any way involved with the murders. But someone could easily use the murders as a smokescreen to hide behind if they wanted Lorie out of the way.”
“You’re talking about a copycat murder? Why would you think I or anyone else in Dunmore could hate Lorie enough to want to see her dead?”
“I like to get the lay of the land where all the players are concerned, and you were the only one on my possible suspects list who had reason to truly hate Lorie Hammonds. Let’s just say that I can mark that particular scenario off my list. It’s obvious that whether you know it or not, you still have some strong feelings for the lady.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? Then why did you turn ten shades of green when I mentioned how it must have felt knowing so many other men had seen your former fiancée in all her naked glory?”
Chapter 11
He was dying. His doctor had delivered his death sentence shortly after Thanksgiving this past year. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. He’d had four long months to learn to accept the reality of his situation. Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. Original prognosis: a few months, a year at most. He knew he was already living on borrowed time.
Travis Dillard smoothed his fingertips over the cold, glossy surface of his mahogany desk, a twenty-five-thousand-dollar antique that his decorator had chosen for his home office ten years ago. He had surrounded himself with only the best money could buy because he could afford it. He had lived in a house