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“Is Stacy okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“Does Ian realize he needs to be careful? She has a broken leg.”
“He’s a trained detective. He noticed the cast.” Immediately, he regretted the sarcasm. The morning was tough enough already. Glancing at her, he noted her stiff posture and felt like an ass. He reached over and covered the tense, white-knuckled fist closest to him.
Her hand relaxed under his, and she rested her head against the seatback. “I wish”—she turned her head until she faced him—“I wish everything was different.”
The words sounded so wrenchingly wistful, he knew with sudden certainty he wasn’t the only one who’d sensed the connection between them, the strange soul-to-soul recognition he’d felt that very first night.
“Ian will make sure Stacy is comfortable. He’s got a knack for putting people at ease.”
She nodded and expelled a slow breath. “Will Ian conduct her interview, then?”
“No.” He pulled into his spot in the station parking lot and stopped the car. “For many reasons, not the least of which is what we did last night, Ian will interview you. I’ll interview her.”
She grabbed his arm. “You need to understand something about Stacy.”
“Kylie, stop.” He pried her hand off his arm and held it for a second. “You can’t do this for her. Everything I need to understand about Stacy, I need to get directly from her.”
“You might not,” she said urgently, “because she’s scared. This is her worst nightmare. She’s terrified you’re going to arrest her for the murders. I’ve told her she’s irrational, but she can’t help it. She’s got an almost inborn distrust of authority. It stems from how she grew up, how people treated her where we grew up.”
Suddenly bone-weary, he stared through the windshield and sighed. “I have some experience dealing with nervous, hostile interviewees. You’re going to have to trust me to ask the right questions and draw the right conclusions. All I want is the truth. I don’t have any interest in hanging these murders on anyone except the actual murderer.”
“I know you don’t.” Her fingers tightened on his arm again. “I’m just trying to explain that she’s scared and defensive.”
Impatient with the whole situation, he asked, “What’s a scared, defensive woman from the backwoods of Tennessee doing working as a Hollywood stripper? And why the hell would you enable her by filling in?”
Kylie let go of him as if he’d stung her. “Besides the fact that if I didn’t fill in, we’d be homeless?”
“You’ve got a home in Tennessee.”
“Stacy’s a dancer. She’s trying to achieve her dreams and become a star. That won’t happen for her in Two Trout.”
“She’s off to a hell of a start.”
Kylie scowled at him. “Sure, plenty of people would say working at Deuces doesn’t qualify as legitimate dancing, and consider it proof she doesn’t have what it takes to succeed, but it’s not true. She’s an amazing entertainer. She’s had lots of auditions and callbacks. Even at Deuces, her artistry stands out. Those routines require more skill and technique than your average bump and grind. For her, dancing encompasses more than mere movement… She embodies a character, tells a story.”
“You’re a fan,” he observed quietly, unable to hold on to his anger.
“I believe in her talent, and in her. She’ll get there.”
“I hope she does. But first, she needs to get through this. The sooner we get started, the sooner we get done.” With that, he exited the car, came around, and opened the passenger door. She hesitated and gave him an uncomfortable look.
“Trevor, I want you to know, you were the only person I danced for like…the way I danced for you.”
Impossibly, he felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, seeing her sitting there, so prim and awkward. “I know,” he said softly, and helped her down. She flashed him a nervous look, and then, because he hadn’t cuffed her, preceded him into the station. He directed her to an interview room. With the recorders on, he recited the Miranda rights and secured her agreement that she understood the rights as they had been explained to her. Doubtful, considering she didn’t immediately request an attorney, but he knew Kylie wanted to cooperate so he didn’t press.
Ian opened the door, stepped in, and said, “Suite B. Recorders are on and ready to go. Miss Roberts declined a lawyer, so she’s all yours.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Standing, he gave Kylie one last look. Huge blue eyes stared back at him from a sheet-white face. Not exactly a confident, trusting expression. With a tight smile, he said, “See you later.” On his way down the hall he hoped her anxious eyes and pale face wouldn’t haunt him through her sister’s interview.
Hours later, he stepped back out into the hall, closed the door, and exhaled a long breath. Equal parts exhausted and relieved, he walked to Kylie’s room to check in with Ian. At his knock, Ian came out, pulled the door shut behind him, and asked, “What did she have to say?”
“Stacy said she had nothing to do with the murders and she doesn’t have the first clue who beat Long and Montenegro to death.”
“And you believe her.” Ian said it more as a conclusion than a question, but Trevor answered anyway.
