Cole’s legs grew as heavy as his shoulders. He moved toward one of the two black leather couches and sank down, lifting his glass to his lips. The alcohol stung his throat as it slid down to his gut, where it burned his insides.
He drank in silence, wishing, and not for the first time, that he’d never laid eyes on Teresa Matthews. One night, that’s all it had taken for him to fall for the woman. Six months later they were married.
A year after that, filing for divorce.
He was just draining his drink when the sound of a car engine drifted in from the open window. Ian was the only other person who had the codes for the steel gate at the end of the driveway, which meant his assistant was coming back. Probably left something behind.
Sighing, Cole set his glass on the coffee table and stood up, frowning when a flash of black crossed his peripheral vision. He turned to the window, and his eyes narrowed as he spotted an unfamiliar SUV emerging from the long dirt driveway on the property.
Damn Ian. This was the second time his assistant had forgotten to arm the gate on his way out. What was the point in paying for an overly expensive security system when his own staff couldn’t lock a damn gate?
The SUV’s windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see the driver, but whoever it was drove up and parked right beside his pickup. The engine shut off, and then the driver’s-side door opened and an exceptionally attractive redhead stepped out. She wore a fitted black business suit that showed off her tall, willowy form, complete with slacks that hugged her long legs and a jacket left unbuttoned to reveal the crisp white-collared shirt beneath it. Very professional, save for the auburn-colored hair casually cascading over her shoulders and resting well below her breasts.
Cole’s breath hitched slightly when the woman started to walk. She had a long, confident gait. She moved with her shoulders straight, her chin high, as if she had no care in the world and should she have a care, she’d just kick its ass.
She disappeared from view as she approached the porch, and Cole immediately banished the brief spark of lust from his groin. He marched to the front hall, ducking into a small room to the right where he swiftly punched in the code to close and lock the front gate, then glanced at the dozen security monitors that displayed various parts of the property. There was nothing out of the ordinary on the screens, save for the gorgeous redhead standing on his porch.
When the doorbell rang, he was back to his current state of wary and pissed off. Chances were, this woman was just another reporter, following in the footsteps of her predecessors and trying to get a juicy interview.
Well, screw that. He was tired of strangers demanding answers, prying into his business.
Back stiff, he yanked open the front door and fixed a deadly scowl at the redhead. “No comment,” he snapped.
She blinked in surprise. Then she smiled. “Did I ask for a comment?”
Cole was momentarily taken aback. That smile…damn, it lit up her whole face. Not only that, but it contained only warmth and sincerity, and none of the smug self-interest most reporters tended to exude.
“Oh, you think I’m a reporter,” she said knowingly. The smile widened, and then her full red lips parted to release a melodic laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. And I apologize for not pressing that little intercom button at the gate. It was open, so I figured it was okay to drive in.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was too mesmerized by her eyes, which he now noticed were a dark shade of violet. She was beautiful, but in an unconventional way. Her eyes were tilted up at the corners, making her seem exotic, but her straight, aristocratic nose and perfectly shaped mouth brought elegance to her features. The sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks made her seem wholesome. Exotic, elegant and wholesome. Definitely a peculiar trio. Add to that the long, smoking hot body and this woman, whoever she was, made for a stunning and interesting package.
“Who are you?” he asked, finally finding his voice.
She flashed another smile. “Jamie Crawford.” Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a small leather ID case and flipped it open. “FBI.”
Well, he didn’t look like a killer, Jamie thought ruefully as she forced herself not to drool over the incredible man standing in front of her. Man? Movie star was more like it. He had olive-toned skin, dark, almost black, eyes, and chocolate-brown hair that curled slightly under his ears. And the blue T-shirt and faded jeans that hung low on his trim hips revealed a lean, muscular body that didn’t seem to suit a powerful real estate mogul.
She’d expected Donald Trump and got Johnny Depp instead.
Along with a spark of unwanted awareness, which she quickly tamped down.
This wasn’t a blind date, for Pete’s sake. She was here to interview a suspect. A murder suspect, to boot.