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From the opened trunk, the second deputy chortled. “Unless he can come up with a real good alibi, it’s back to jail he goes for dealing.”
“I’m not dealing.”
“Then you must be planning on staying high every day for the rest of your life.”
The deputy frisking him whistled. “I hope you have a good lawyer and a better alibi.”
Ledge dropped his head forward and snorted a bitter laugh.
The deputy jabbed his backbone again. “You think that’s funny?”
No, there was nothing funny about it. But, at the very least, it was ironic.
He had a killer of an alibi.
He’d been stealing half a million dollars.
Chapter 7
In reply to Arden’s question about his criminal history, Ledge was accurate, if not quite truthful. She had asked what crime he’d committed. It wasn’t the one he’d been arrested for.
“A lot of smoke was found in a bag in the trunk of my car. More than one would have on hand for personal use. I was booked for possession with the intention to sell.”
“A more serious offense,” she said.
“And I was two years older. Not quite eighteen, but charged as an adult.”
“Were you guilty?”
“I was set up.”
“Isn’t that what all criminals say?”
“I’m not all criminals. It happens to be the truth.”
Gazing up at him were wide eyes the color of a smooth, expensive bourbon, the kind that warmed the belly. Only a few minutes ago, her eyes had been sparking with anger. Now he saw in them only apprehension.
Small but telling, involuntary, feminine motions—hooking her hair behind her ear, shifting her weight from one foot to another, wetting her lips—were indications of her uneasiness. He made a lot of people uneasy. But usually it didn’t bother him. With her, it did.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Without equivocating, she said, “I haven’t made up my mind.”
“If you’re that unsure, it means you are. I sensed it the minute I darkened the door. You’ve been on edge the whole time I’ve been here. How come?”
“Well,” she said around a mirthless laugh, “because somebody is coming past my house every night, and that’s creepy.”
“I ask again, why would I do that?”
“I can’t come up with a single reason.”
“Then why have you singled me out as a suspect?”
“Because before we had exchanged two sentences yesterday, you treated me with hostility.”
“I wasn’t hostile. Inhospitable, maybe.”
“Why?”
