His mouth quirked. “The snake thing?”
Between the question and the glitter in his eyes, she was sure there was a sexual innuendo in there somewhere. “Your detective buddies. Did they pick up Snake and find out the license number of the car that dumped Tiffany’s body?”
“Oh, that Snake thing. Didn’t drop by the bar so I don’t know. Too busy looking for you.”
“Where are your cop instincts on this, Detective Long?”
“My instincts are right where they belong.”
Another step toward her. She remembered the DVD at the same time his gaze fell to her breasts and the disk clutched there.
“Doesn’t look like an ordinary DVD rental.”
She swallowed. “Okay, it’s not.”
“Porno flick you just made?”
The words stabbed despite the smile on his lips. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”
He paused a moment and swept a look from her head to her toes. “The highest. You’re special.”
From the serious line of his lips, he might actually mean it.
He went on. “You’ve seen things, done things, know things. So I wouldn’t peg you as being judgmental. You could be the one woman who might understand me.”
“You make me swoon.”
No joke, he really did, with that strange, backhanded compliment. She almost touched his arm in gratitude, then quickly changed her mind. It would tell him way more than she ever wanted him to know.
“What’s on the DVD?”
She glanced down, then gave him Cameron’s answer. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s watch it together and find out.”
She had the feeling he was talking about far more than the disk. “I don’t have a player.”
His eyes widened as he looked around the room. “You’re joking, right?”
“No.” The DVD player had broken down two years ago. She’d given it to the Salvation Army along with the rest of Cameron’s things and hadn’t bothered to get a new one.
“Then how were you going to watch it?”
“I was going to rent a machine.” Could you even rent players? She hadn’t even thought about it when she’d run out of Traynor’s with the disk.
His gaze returned to the DVD in her hand. “I get the irrational notion there’s more here than meets the eye. You better tell me everything.”
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you solemnly promise not to yell?”
He held his hand to his heart. “I solemnly promise.”
“And not to get mad?”
“You’re pushing it, Max, my love.”
“Quit saying that.” It turned her sort of gushy inside, a ridiculous feeling for a thirty-two-year-old woman. Love didn’t have any part in their relationship. “Now promise.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He drew an X over his chest.
“Well ...” She leaned flush against the wall, putting three more inches between them, although she hated to destroy the relaxed atmosphere. Their banter made her dramatic little scene with Traynor fade into the background. She was afraid her confession would bring it all charging back.
She started again. “Well ... I was doing mailers at the salon.” She stopped to run the tip of her tongue along her lip. Witt watched her mouth. Her next words followed in a rush. “And I fell across Bud Traynor’s name.”
“Shit.”
“So I went to his house tonight.”
“Fuck.”
“I don’t think it warrants that kind of language.” Of course, it did, but she wouldn’t admit it. That would give him too much power.
“What did you do, Max? Tell me quick, or I might break those promises and beat you all at the same time.”
“I searched his house, stole the disk, he came in, he threatened me, sexually harassed me, admitted he might have coerced someone into killing Tiffany, then I ran out, and drove home.” She gasped, trying to catch her breath after the tumultuous barrage of words.
Witt wheeled on his boot heel and presented her his back. He raked a hand through his thick hair in short, stabbing motions. Finally, he turned back to her with fire flashing in his eyes.
“You ought to be locked up for your own safety. What the hell did you think you were doing?” Lips tense and white, eyes narrowed, hands fisted, Witt’s anger was impressive.
Max quaked in her tennies. “You promised you wouldn’t get mad.”
“I lied,” he snapped, all trace of humor gone. “You could have gotten arrested. You could have been raped. He might have killed you.”
She latched onto the last thing he’d said. “So you agree he’s a killer?”
“He could have shot you because he thought you were a burglar, which you damn well were. And he’d have gotten away with it, too. You need a watchdog, Max. I can’t believe you actually broke into his house. How the hell did you get past the alarm?”
Uh-oh, too many full sentences all at once. Witt was perturbed. “All this from a man who breaks into my apartment with sex on his mind?”