Still Waters. Debra Webb
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the one-night stands.”
“I don’t do one-night stands, Mr. Douglas. This is not Hollywood.”
“But it is the twenty-first century. Even people in Alabama do one-night stands, Ms. Roberts.”
“Not this person.” Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “And before you jump to that conclusion, I’m not a prude, either.”
“Ex-boyfriends?”
“We talked about this already.”
He exhaled a big breath and reached for patience. “I need more details.”
“There have been three.”
Did she just say three? “Three?” he echoed.
She gave him a sharp look that answered the question. “One in high school. We started dating when we were freshmen. We broke up when we went our separate ways to college. He’s married with three children and lives in Wyoming. My second boyfriend was in college. He decided he wanted to travel the world before settling down. To my knowledge he’s still doing so. Last year I broke up with the man to whom I’d been engaged for two years.”
“Please tell me you dated a few guys in between.”
“A few. Yes. I was very busy with my education and then with building my career, Mr. Douglas.”
“Sean,” he countered. “The Mr. Douglas thing makes me feel old.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to make you feel old, Sean,” she acquiesced.
Like every other ridiculous reaction he’d experienced since coming into her home, the sound of his first name on those pink lips disrupted the rhythm of his pulse again. “The ex-fiancé has no reason to want to cause you trouble?”
She sent him a look. “Killing a man and leaving my panties in his bed is a little more than causing me trouble—wouldn’t you say?”
He nodded. She had him there. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“We broke up because he confessed that he’d never stopped loving his college sweetheart. They’re married with a baby on the way. They live in Mobile. I’m certain I’m the last person on his mind these days.”
The guy must have been a total idiot.
Sean cleared his throat and his head. “That leaves us with strangers.” More often than not, crimes of this nature were committed by an intimate, but not always. Occasionally strangers formed fantasy relationships or attachments with high-profile personalities. Once in a while those bonds led to murder.
“Okay.” She stood, took the lid from the box and set it aside. “I have quite a few letters and cards here.” She reached inside and lifted a mound of envelopes. She placed them on the table. She reached into the box once more and stalled. “What in the world?” Her eyes widened with horror. “Oh, my God.”
Sean moved to her side. In the box, amid the stacks of envelopes addressed to Amber Roberts, was a knife. Nothing elaborate or exotic, just a stock kitchen butcher knife, with an eight-or ten-inch blade covered in dried blood.
It was time to call his boss.
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