DeeDee turned toward the doorway as another group of men wandered in. Cato Laird wasn’t among them. “He played two rounds back to back, starting before seven this morning. If you can believe anybody would voluntarily do that.”

“You’d have to hold a gun to my head.”

“You don’t like golf?”

“Too slow. Too passive. Not enough action.”

“Playing piano isn’t exactly an action sport.”

“I don’t play piano.”

“Right.” She consulted her wristwatch. “The guy at the desk said he should be finishing soon.”

At least Elise hadn’t been lying about her husband’s tee time. She’d said he had an early one.

She’d said a lot of things.

The last thing she’d said was that her husband was going to kill her, and that when he did he would get away with it, and that it would be Duncan ’s fault because he hadn’t believed her.

Then she had squirmed out of his grasp, and with a slam of the front door she was outta there. Her squirming had left him with a doomed erection and respiration more labored than it had been during his five-mile run through the syrupy dawn air. He’d been so angry and frustrated-at her for roping him into her little drama, at himself for allowing her to-he’d actually banged his fist against his front door.

It still hurt. He flexed and contracted his fingers now in an attempt to ease the throbbing ache.

After that burst of temper, he’d gulped a two-liter bottle of water while standing in a cold shower, which had reduced his sweating and deflated his hopeful but disappointed dick. Then he’d called DeeDee as promised.

She had arrived at his town house at the appointed time, bringing with her a selection of breakfast muffins and two cups of carry-out coffee, because, as she said, “Yours sucks.”

She had a plan mapped out for the day. Grouchily, he had reminded her that he was the senior member of the team, the mentor. “You’re the men tee.”

“You want to pull rank, fine. What do you think we should do?”

“I think we should confront the judge with what we learned last night. I’m anxious to see his reaction.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“That’s why I agreed to let you be my partner. You’re smart.” Rummaging in the carry-out sack, he frowned. “Didn’t you get any blueberry?”

He kept up the familiar, squabbling repartee on purpose, because all the while they were in the town house, he’d been afraid that DeeDee would sense that Elise had been there. The moment he’d admitted his partner through the front door, he’d expected her to stop in her tracks and say, “Has Elise Laird been here?” Because to him, the essence of her was that powerful and pervasive. He could feel it, smell it, taste it.

Halfway through his second muffin, he suggested that DeeDee call the Silver Tide Country Club.

“How come?”

“It’s Saturday. I have a hunch the judge is playing golf.”

DeeDee’s call to the club confirmed what Elise had told him. DeeDee was informed that the judge was playing his second round. Their plan was to be waiting for him when he finished, catch him relaxed and unaware, spring on him what they’d learned last night, and gauge his reaction.

They’d been waiting now for more than half an hour. Duncan was about to order another lemonade for lack of anything better to do when the bartender approached them. “The front desk just called, said to tell y’all Judge Laird is having lunch on the terrace.”

He pointed them through a pair of French doors at one end of the bar that opened onto a loggia. At least that’s what the bartender called the open-air walkway enshrouded by leafy wisteria vine. “It’ll lead you straight to the dining terrace.”

“I hope it’s shaded,” Duncan muttered.

The tables set up on the terrace were indeed shaded by white umbrellas as large as parachutes, trimmed in braided cotton fringe. Each table had a pot of vibrant pink geraniums in its center. The judge was seated at one, a cloth napkin folded over his linen trousers, a glass of what looked like scotch at his place setting.

He stood up as they approached. They’d been notified that he was on the terrace, but he’d also been notified that the detectives had been waiting on him in the bar. He wasn’t surprised to see them, but he didn’t appear to be particularly perturbed either.

Of course, he had an audience. Duncan was aware of curious glances cast at them by other diners as the judge shook hands with him and DeeDee in turn and offered them seats at the table.

“I’m about to have lunch. I hope you’ll join me.”

“No, thank you,” DeeDee said. “We had a late breakfast.”

“A drink at least.” He signaled a waiter, who hastened over. DeeDee ordered a Diet Coke. Duncan switched to iced tea.

“How was your game? Games?” DeeDee amended herself, giving the judge her best smile. The women around her were in sun-dresses and halter tops, showing off well-tended tans and pedicured toenails. If she was self-conscious of her dark, tailored suit and sensible walking shoes, she gave no outward sign of it. Duncan admired her for that.

The judge modestly admitted to an eighty on the first round, an eighty-four on the second. While she was commending him, he noticed Duncan whisking a bead of sweat off his forehead.

“I realize it’s warm out here, Detective Hatcher.” He smiled apologetically. “I defer to my wife, who sometimes gets cold in air-conditioning. She prefers the terrace to the sixty-degree thermostat inside.”

Duncan was about to point out the obvious-that his wife wasn’t there-when he experienced a sinking sensation in his gut that coincided with the judge’s brightening smile. “There she is now.”

He stood up, tossed his napkin onto the table, and went to meet Elise as she followed a hostess toward the table. Cato Laird embraced her. She removed her sunglasses to return his hug, and over her husband’s shoulder she spotted Duncan, standing beside his chair at the table, not even realizing that he’d stood up.

Her eyes widened fractionally, but they shifted away from him so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it. As soon as the judge released her, she replaced her dark glasses.

She was dressed in dazzling white, as though to color-coordinate herself with the umbrellas. It was a simple, sleeveless blouse and a loose skirt. The outfit was tasteful. Correct. Unrevealing.

So why did his mind immediately venture to what was underneath?

He felt like he’d just sustained a kick in the balls. For the second time that morning, the unexpected appearance of Elise Laird had left him feeling untethered, which was an alien emotion for him.

Up till now, his involvements with women were dependent on his mood, his level of interest, and time available. The women’s interest was usually guaranteed. He never took undue advantage of his appeal, and had even managed to remain friendly with most of his former girlfriends. On the rare occasion that his interest wasn’t reciprocated, he took it in stride and didn’t look back. No woman had ever broken his heart.

He’d proposed marriage only once: to a childhood friend with whom he remained very close. The catalyst had been the celebration of his thirty-fifth birthday. He pointed out to his friend that they weren’t getting any younger, that both of them had remained single for a reason, and that maybe the reason was that they should be married to each other. He took her “Are you nuts?” as a no, and came to realize what she already knew. They loved each other dearly, but they weren’t in love.

He’d had more women than some men. Much fewer than others. But never a principal in an investigation. And never a married woman. Elise Laird was both. Which made this uncommonly strong attraction to her not only unfortunate but absolutely forbidden.

Tell that to his tingling sensors.

The judge escorted her to the table and held her chair. He sat down and replaced his napkin in his lap, then secured his wife’s hand, holding it clasped between both of his. “I called Elise and asked if she would like to join me for lunch. I thought it would be good for her to get out.” He smiled at her affectionately.