himself to a cup of coffee. He seemed in no hurry to bring this session to an end, despite his claim to the contrary.
Hallie could feel Jackson’s unrest. He appeared coiled and ready to spring. It was going to be an effort for him to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking. She sensed right off that the detective and Jackson would tangle if there was no one to referee.
She would have to keep Jackson on a short leash; words said in frustration in a detective’s office had a way of taking on more meaning in the courtroom, and she did not want her client hanging himself because he got angry.
Silence. Two, then three minutes, without a word. Gomez sat across the desk from them, sipping coffee and watching Jackson. When he finally spoke, it jolted Hallie out of her reverie.
“So, were you sleeping with the dead woman, Mr. Cole?”
“No, I was not. And I didn’t kill her, either.”
More silence. Although Hallie didn’t want to look at Jackson, didn’t want to see his face, she had no choice. This was a murder investigation, and no matter how difficult this line of questioning was for her personally, she couldn’t back down. Better to get the ugly question out in the open early.
Jackson’s face had darkened, and he muttered an obscenity. Hallie reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It was hard and rigid, but her touch seemed to calm him immediately.
Another minute passed before Gomez spoke again. “So, tell me about Roberta Klein, Mr. Jackson.”
Jackson looked at Hallie and she gave him a nod, indicating that he was free to answer.
“We are…were…lifelong friends,” Jackson said.
“Then, you saw her often?”
“Not really, at least not in the last year.”
“Oh? Lover’s spat, and she moved out?”
Hallie spoke up. “I think my client has answered that already, Detective. He told you they were not…intimate.”
“For one thing, she didn’t live in Memphis,” Jackson said. “As you know.”
“So she just showed up on your doorstep like some baby wrapped in a blanket, so to speak?” Gomez made no effort to hide his smirk.
Jackson nodded. “That’s exactly what she did.”
“Was she in the habit of doing that? Just showing up at any old time she pleased?”
“In the past, yes.”
“So she felt comfortable—completely at ease—just dropping by out of the blue?”
“One has to assume so.”
“We’re discussing you, Cole.” Gomez’s tone was sharp. “Did she assume so, too?”
“What’s your question, Detective?” Hallie asked in a cold, firm voice, her patience wearing thin.
As if he sensed that, Gomez said, “I understand you took her home.”
“That’s right. I dropped her off rather early, then I left.”
“How was she?” Gomez paused. “When you left.”
Jackson ignored the rich sarcasm in the detective’s voice and asked, “What do you mean?”
Another smirk at the double entendre. “Had she been drinking?”
“A little. Some.”
“Did anything…unusual happen?”
“No,” Jackson said.
More silence. Hallie sensed Jackson’s desire to fill the time with words, but when she laid her hand on his arm a second time, he remained quiet. After two minutes, Gomez got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, his eyes still on Jackson.
Finally, he sat back down, took a slurping sip and set the cup down. “Are you sure, Cole, that the two of you weren’t making it? Doin’ the deed? Wrinklin’ the sheets? Swappin’—”
“Enough, Detective,” Hallie said, already on her feet. “We’re out of here this minute.” She knew a fishing expedition when she heard one. “Do you have any evidence against my client, Gomez? It’s neither a crime nor a sin to be the last person to see someone alive.”
“But I’m not through questioning Mr. Cole.”
“Yes, you are. If you intend to scrape a case together, Gomez, you’ll have to do it without our help.”
Gomez’s already dark features darkened further as he focused his attention on Jackson, who was standing so close to Hallie that she could hear his labored breathing.
“I was hoping for more cooperation from you, Mr. Cole.”
“He’s been more than cooperative, Detective. You chose the low road, but we’re not taking it. If you want to see Mr. Cole again, bring some evidence—a warrant. And just for the record, he will answer no more questions for you.”
“Oh, I’ll bring my warrant, all right, Ms. Hunter. But all in good time. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
Hallie fastened the middle button of the jacket of her pants outfit. “You have your job, Detective. Go to it. Mine is to see that you don’t violate my client’s rights, and I take that just as seriously as you do.”
“No doubt the three of us will meet again,” Gomez said.
“Possibly, but there won’t be any questions the next time.”
“So you’re absolutely refusing to allow Mr. Cole to talk to me again?”
“I never say never, Detective,” Hallie said. “If you brought a fresh attitude and a smattering of knowledge about the Bill of Rights to our next session, I might reconsider.” Then, turning to Jackson, she added, “Are you ready?”
Together they left the building. Outside, the late afternoon air had turned chilly, but it was a lovely evening. A perfect night to spend with a lover next to a smoldering fire sipping on a glass of wine, Hallie thought.
Although mortified at the sudden image, Hallie knew the reason for it. Jackson. He had awakened old and buried yearnings. During the time they were engaged, they had done that very thing more times than she could count. The result had always been a sweet but fiery tumble between the sheets.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he commented in a husky voice.
“I wouldn’t know,” she snapped.
“Hallie?”
“What?”
Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you angry at me? Did I say something wrong in there?”
“No. It’s just been a long day and I’m tired.”
His lips thinned.
“Be in my office first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “I want you to meet Nathan.”
“Then, you’re not interested in joining me for a cup of coffee?”
She faced him then and their eyes met. Tension, hot and heavy, leapt between them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”
His sigh was deep and ragged. “You’re probably right. It isn’t.”
“Just take me back to my car. Please.”
Four
Jackson parked at the rear of the club and slipped in through his private back entrance. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone—which was not his usual modus operandi.
As much as he trusted and looked to Terrance for help and guidance, Elan was his baby and he made it a point