“A little,” she lied. She’d thrown up the English muffin she forced down for breakfast. As for the carafe of coffee that had been on the tray, she couldn’t bear the smell of it and had poured it down the bathroom sink. So far, no one knew about her morning sickness.

She and Kay descended the sweeping staircase. Rodarte was waiting at the bottom of it, leaning against the carved newel post, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a pocketknife that he should have been using to pare them.

“Ready?” He closed the knife and slipped it into his pants pocket, pushed himself away from the banister, and headed for the front door. There was a squad car waiting just beyond the entrance.

When Laura saw it, she drew up short. “I’m driving myself.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mrs. Speakman? The DPD would like to extend you the courtesy of-”

“Thank you, but I prefer taking my own car.”

“You won’t be needing it,” Rodarte argued. “You’ll be driven wherever you want to go.”

“Are you placing me under arrest, Detective?” It was the first direct challenge she’d issued him.

“Nothing of the sort.”

“Because if that’s your intention, do it properly. I want to be read my rights, and then I want to call my attorney.” Probably she should have sought legal counsel already, but doing so would have implied guilt. At least she feared that’s how Rodarte would see it. It was equally possible that by not calling in an attorney she was playing right into the detective’s hands. The car issue was a means of testing the nature of the “protection” he insisted on extending her.

Rodarte looked over at Kay and shook his head with regret, as though to say that Laura was becoming hysterical and that under the circumstances her fraying nerves were understandable. Looking back at Laura, he spoke to her as though she were mentally unstable. “These measures are for your protection, Mrs. Speakman.”

“I’m taking my car,” she declared, enunciating each word.

He tried to stare her down, but she didn’t budge. Finally he heaved a theatrical sigh and said to one of the uniformed policemen loitering near the patrol car, “Go get her car.”

Laura passed the policeman her keys. No one said anything until he returned driving the car. He climbed out, and Laura took his place behind the wheel. Before she shut the door, Kay leaned in.

“I’ll finish here and help Mrs. Dobbins lock up. After that, you can reach me at home.” She scanned Laura’s face, looking worried about what she saw. “Order room service. Take a long bath. Promise me you’ll get some rest.”

“I promise. Don’t forget to schedule the meeting. You should call everyone tonight.”

“I will.”

Laura closed the car door and reached for her seat belt.

Rodarte opened the passenger door and got in. Smiling, he said, “I thought you might want company.”

Certainly not yours, she thought. But she said nothing as she started the car, drove down the long drive, and passed through the gate. A squad car that had been parked on the street pulled out in front of her. Rodarte’s partner, Carter, was driving the green sedan, riding her rear bumper. The other squad car followed him.

She complained of the police escort. “We look like a parade.”

Rodarte merely harrumphed, flipped open his cell phone, and reported to whomever he called that they were under way.

Their destination turned out to be a luxury downtown hotel where he’d registered her under an assumed name. Accompanied by Carter and two uniformed policemen, they went in through the service entrance and used the service elevator to reach the top floor.

“You have it all to yourself,” Rodarte told her as they alighted from the elevator. Two policemen were waiting outside a room at the far end of a long hallway. Rodarte unlocked the door to the room and ushered her in. Carter remained outside.

It was a well-appointed, spacious room. Rodarte placed her suitcase on the luggage rack inside the closet, poked his head into the bathroom, checked the view of the Dallas skyline beyond the wide windows, then let the sheer drape fall back into place as he turned to face her. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

“It’s very nice.”

“There’ll be a policeman stationed outside your door, whether you’re in the room or not. Another will be at the end of the hall, where he can monitor the stairwell and both elevators. They’ll be in radio contact with guards at various posts downstairs, inside and outside the building.”

“Is all this precaution necessary?”

“I’m making sure that nobody gets in.”

And that I don’t get out.

As though underscoring her thought, he extended his hand. “Can I have your car keys, please?”

“What for?”

“Safekeeping. We’ll be watching your car, too.”

Despite everything he’d said, this room was essentially a holding cell. Until he was convinced that Burkett had acted alone in killing her husband, she would remain under suspicion and, it appeared, under lock and key.

She folded her arms across her chest and assumed a stance. “I’d be interested to hear what my attorney has to say about your authority to confiscate my car keys.”

He grinned, and with a wide sweep of his arm motioned toward the nightstand. “There’s the phone.”

His smirk, the challenge in his expression, said he knew she was bluffing.

“What if I need to go somewhere?”

“Oh, I’ll leave the keys with the cop outside your door here. If you need to go somewhere, just ask him. He’ll clear it with the cops downstairs. You’ll be either accompanied in your car or followed.” He touched her arm with the backs of his fingers, almost like a caress. “Your safety is our top priority.”

She pulled her arm away from his touch, which made her skin crawl. “I feel well protected.”

“Good.”

She hoped he would go then. Instead, he sat down on the end of the bed. She remained standing.

He grinned, as though knowing how repulsed she was by his sitting on the bed she would sleep in. Then his smile inverted into a frown. He said, “You’ve been so busy with all the funeral arrangements I haven’t wanted to bother you with the investigation. But just to give you an update, there’s been no trace of Manuelo Ruiz. No leads, even.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, meaning it. “I’d like to learn what Manuelo knows about that night.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever know what he saw or heard. I think Burkett made sure of that.”

She turned away and moved to the window. Lights were just beginning to come on against a twilight sky. There was a lot of traffic on the expressway, moving in both directions. People were going about their lives. Having dinner out. Attending baseball games. Grilling burgers in the backyard with friends. She envied that normalcy. It had been missing from her life since the night of the car accident.

That fateful crash was the pivotal event of her life, even more so than she had realized at the time. If not for it, Foster and she might be going to a movie tonight. They would have conceived their children naturally, out of love for each other. There would have been no need to seek alternative methods. They wouldn’t have met Griff Burkett. He wouldn’t be a fugitive, Foster would be alive, and she wouldn’t be wishing that this loathsome detective would go away and leave her in peace.

“So far, I’ve been able to keep your affair with Burkett out of the press.”

She hadn’t heard him move up behind her. He was standing so close she could smell his aftershave and feel his humid breath on the back of her neck.

“But I don’t know how long I can keep it under wraps, Laura.”

It was inappropriate and unprofessional for him to use her first name. Yet to correct him would only call more attention to it, and she preferred to appear indifferent. He wanted her edgy and uneasy, even fearful of him. So she let it pass and kept her back to him.