His eyes turned darkly serious. “Don’t ever take it back. Say whatever bitchy things come to mind, which, by the way, you’re damn good at doing, but don’t ever take those words back.”
She wanted to close her eyes against the flash of his soul in his gaze, but he thought she was brave. For him, she would be. “I promise I won’t take them back.” She said the words again, her hand to his thumping heart. “I love you.” She kissed his throat. “I’ll probably say I hate you or something, but that’s not saying I don’t love you, okay?”
He nuzzled her nose. “You’re a very complicated woman.”
“Are you going to spend the night? The whole night?” She gulped down her fear. “You can share my bathroom in the morning.”
Witt looked at her single bed, down at his long legs, then widened his eyes. “Bed’s too small for sleeping.”
Max waited a heartbeat, snuggled closer, drew her head back to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to sleep.” Even if she was dog-tired.
“I don’t wanna simply have sex.”
Well, sitting in his lap, she felt something rise beneath her, but, “Sex isn’t what I had in mind.”
His lips thinned. “I won’t accept crumbs just because I’m love with you.”
Crumbs? She’d said he could share her bathroom. “I’m not offering crumbs.” She flattened her hands on his chest, then slid sideways so that she was on her knees beside him. “I’m not offering anything. I’m asking if you’ll make love with me.”
He watched her with those implacable blue eyes.
“Trust me.” God, that was a first, Max Starr asking for trust.
He regarded her for a long moment. A thousand emotions flashed across his face, so fast she couldn’t define them. “Come home with me,” he said. “Sleep in my bed.” His eyelids dropped to half mast. “We’ll see what comes up.”
“Are you playing hard to get?”
His hand fell to his lap. He crossed his legs at the ankle. “Waiting for you to change your mind.” He smiled, real slow and ever so sexy. “Bet you can’t make it all the way home before you jump me.”
“Bet I can.” Bet he was hoping she wouldn’t.
He crossed his arms, cocked his head. “What’s the loser get?”
This time it was her turn to smile, real slow and real sexy. She hoped. “A blowjob.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Don’t think I can lose either way, then, huh?” Still, he didn’t move. His eyes, serious despite the smile, searched her face.
“I’m not doing this to get an alibi,” she told him.
“That didn’t occur to me. But you need one badly.”
Her stomach lurched. “I do?”
“Need a good criminal attorney, too.”
She turned out a joke to hide the fear. “How can you, a cop, say the words good and attorney in the same sentence?”
He didn’t laugh. “You been watching too much TV again.”
“I don’t need a lawyer to answer a few simple questions for the cops.”
“Questions won’t be simple.” He pointed his finger at her chest. “And you’ve got a powerful motive.”
“Doesn’t having a lawyer along make a person look guilty?”
“Better than letting a cop twist your words to mean things you didn’t intend.”
He should know, being one of them. She swallowed despite her dry mouth. “You don’t do that, do you?”
He didn’t answer that one, said instead, “They aren’t your friends, Max, no matter what they try to tell you.”
“But you know them—”
He cut her off. “They aren’t my friends either.”
She gave in. “I don’t know any lawyers.” Not criminal ones anyway.
“I know a few.”
His seriousness made her a little desperate. “You said the cops thought it looked like a frame.”
“Said they were of two minds. That’s before I knew about the gun.”
“But Cameron said it was cold. It can’t be connected to me.” Unless Bud left it somewhere that did point to her.
Instead of agreeing or telling her why it bothered him, Witt asked, “Why’d your husband have a cold gun?”
Would it be betrayal to tell? Did she care if it was? Yes, dammit, she did. She wasn’t like Bud, but she owed Witt the truth on this. “He wanted to threaten Bud with it.”
“A cold gun means he wanted it for more than threatening.”
“Do you want me to say he was thinking of killing Bud?”
“Was he?”
She gave a non-answer. “He had it with him the night he left me.” She ignored the ache in that statement.
Witt did, too. “Had it with him? That wasn’t in the report.”
“It was in his bag in the trunk of his car.”
“His car should have been inventoried, bag included.”
“But everyone thought it was a robbery. Why would they have looked in his car?”
“Damn shoddy work,” he muttered, then looked at her. “A good cop never assumes. He always looks for the hidden motives. He never takes the first or the easiest explanation.”