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Never could she remember him turning down a sexy invitation. “So you’re going to drink away the rest of the night?” she asked, deflated, an edge in her voice.
“Don’t know.” He poured another stiff shot. Studied the glass. Gave a quick nod. “This is only drink number two. But . . . Yeah.” He nodded. “Maybe.”
“Reed—”
“Let it go, Nikki.” Again he pinned her with his gaze. “I’m dealing, okay? I don’t need judgments. I don’t need lectures. And most of all I don’t need you trying to coddle me or make me feel better.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, thank you,” he said sarcastically. “But right now, I don’t want your help. I think you’ve done enough.”
Her temper ignited. “Wow. As if I don’t feel bad enough.”
“Do you?” He eyed her in disbelief. “ ‘Feel bad?’ ”
“Of course I do. You’re not the only one hurting tonight.”
“You? You’re hurting?” he threw back at her. “Seriously? Geez . . . But then you didn’t see her kids, though, did you? Priscilla and Toby. They’re the ones hurting. They’re the ones who have to live with what you . . . with what happened.”
Stung, she stared at her husband with new eyes. “You were going to say, ‘They have to live with what I’ve done.’ ” She couldn’t believe it. “Admit it. That’s what you were going to say!”
“If the stiletto fits—”
“Oh, my God! Enough! Pierce, just stop! If . . . If you wanted to make me feel guilty, then you’ve done it. Okay? Mission accomplished!” Furious and hurting, she snapped off the range light, leaving him in darkness. “You made your point. Loud and clear.” With that she stormed out of the room. He could drown himself in his sorrows for all she cared, she thought, her housecoat sliding off her shoulder. Angrily she yanked it into place as she started up the stairs, the dog at her heels.
“Well, since you’re listening,” he yelled after her. “Stay the hell away from my case. Leave it alone. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
That stung. Damage—as in causing his partner’s death.
As if she didn’t feel bad enough! She stopped on the fifth step, deciding whether or not to stalk down and give him a piece of her mind. Yeah, she’d made a mistake. A horrible, fatal mistake. And she felt guilty about it. Seriously guilty. It was eating her up inside. But he—her damned husband—didn’t have to pour salt in her already burning, open wound.
And if he thought he could order her to . . . what? Leave it alone?
Fat chance!
Now, more than ever, she was committed to finding out what had happened out there at the Beaumont property. Who were in the graves? Why was there one left empty? How long had the bodies been up there? Again, her mind reeled with dozens of questions.
Reed really thought she would just let it go?
Maybe he didn’t know his wife that well after all.
If he thought he could get away with brooding all night, sulking in the kitchen, drinking himself into oblivion, then he had another think—and probably drink—coming! She was a reporter and had been since they’d met. So he knew how she felt about her job, how writing about crime, even solving cases was a part of her, as it was a part of him.
She spun quickly, determined to have it out with him. As she did, her foot caught in the sagging hem of her robe, the loose material tangling around her ankle.
She slipped on the step.
She scrabbled for the rail, gravity pulling her down swiftly.
Her fingers slid down a baluster.
Her feet slipped to the next step.
Thud!
She landed on her back. Pain ricocheted down her spine. Agony ripped through her shoulder as she tumbled. She let out a yell. “Noooo!” The dog barked and scrambled out of her way. “Reed!” She fell to the base of the step.
“Nikki!” Reed’s voice was sharp. Anxious. Echoing over the sound of a stool scraping backward and running footsteps. “Nikki!”
