Duncan remained silent and skeptical.

“Tony Esteban is a fraud and a liar,” she said with emphasis. “Even if he weren’t homosexual, or bi, or whatever he is, I would never be attracted to him. He’s obnoxious. An egomaniac. I had nothing to do with him that night or any other time.”

“Are you accusing him of the same thing he accused you of? Are you saying he told me all this stuff just to get back at you for rejecting his advances?”

“I don’t give a damn what his motives are. I care even less what he thinks of me,” she said. “But he’s lying about his relationship with Coleman. Tony broke my friend’s heart. He was afraid they were going to be found out, so he refused to see Coleman alone anymore.

“Coleman anguished over the breakup for months. That’s when he and I were meeting often. He was in pain and needed someone he could talk to openly about the love affair, someone he trusted implicitly. He was devastated by Tony Esteban’s rejection and eventually killed himself over it. That is the truth. I swear it.”

Duncan took off his jacket and used his shirt sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead. He was hot and agitated, and dangerously close to believing her, so he argued vehemently against it. “Esteban has got a redheaded bombshell for a fiancée. She performs for him like a trained seal. He bought her a boob job and a diamond ring, and it’s a tie which is bigger. They’re getting married this fall.”

“Of course he has a girl like her. He always does. That was a point of contention between him and Coleman. Whenever Tony boasted of his sexual conquests to their teammates, or squired around his latest squeeze, it wounded Coleman.

“But all Tony’s machismo swagger is for show, Duncan. The marriage will be a sham. Don’t you see that he’s putting on this act as a cover? The redhead is a smoke screen. Within a year she’ll probably be having a child. He’ll make certain of it.”

Duncan had thought along a similar track, but he wasn’t yet ready to concede it.

“Tony treated Coleman horribly,” she said. “He would lavish him with affection one day, ignore him the next. He ran hot and cold and made Coleman miserable.”

“Then why was Coleman so blindly in love with him?”

She didn’t speak for a moment, then said quietly, “I don’t believe we get to choose who we fall in love with. Do you?”

Suddenly it seemed the room became darker, smaller, airless. Duncan ’s skin was clammy; his body was humming like a tuning fork. He looked away from her.

He said, “I don’t know who’s gay, who’s straight, or who was screwing who, and frankly it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Meyer Napoli had something on you. The judge paid him off, but Napoli is an enterprising man and saw a way to make another buck.

“He came to you and threatened to make public whatever your dirty little secret was unless you paid him off. You agreed, and told him to meet you in your husband’s study late one night. Napoli said okay, whatever, but he’s no fool. To protect his own ass, he subcontracted dumb, hapless Gary Ray Trotter to be his drop man just in case you weren’t playing straight with him.

“By the way, what did Trotter bring with him that night? Photos, tape recordings, X-rated videos? Maybe you truly weren’t screwing Coleman Greer. Maybe you were actually protecting your best friend’s privacy and public image.

“That doesn’t matter, either. Whatever Napoli had on you, it was damaging not only to you, but to your friend, and-most importantly-to your husband. And above all else, you wanted to safeguard your position as Mrs. Cato Laird.

“You go into the study, as prearranged, expecting Napoli. But there’s Trotter. He said something to you. I know goddamn well he did, although you’ve denied it. After you shot him, you secured the goods, then made it look like you caught a burglar. You may have even planted that tire iron, you may have broken the window yourself.

“Enter Cato. Weak at the thought of how close he came to losing his beloved. You’ve got him coddling you like he’s never coddled you before. He swallows the self-defense story whole, and Trotter ain’t talking.” His eyes narrowed on her. “What must really be haunting you now is, where’s Meyer Napoli? Except for him, you’re clear. He’s the only person who can ruin this for you.”

Her shoulders slumped forward and she bowed her head.

Duncan strode over to her, placed his hand beneath her chin, and yanked her head up. “Isn’t that the way it went down?”

“Yes.” Surprising him, she surged to her feet and thrust her hands toward him, the insides of her wrists pressed together. “Handcuff me. Arrest me. Put me in jail. At least there I’ll be safe.”

“From your husband?”

“Yes!”

“Because he’s going to kill you?”

“Yes! No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not him. He wouldn’t do it himself. He’s not that foolish. He had his chance the other night in the swimming pool. I thought he might drown me and be done with it. But he didn’t kill me then, and he won’t. He’ll just make certain that I die.”

“Why?” Duncan fired at her.

“He…”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you why.”

“Because there is no why.”

She shook her head violently. “Just please trust me.”

“Trust you?” He laughed. “Not on a bet.”

“What do I have to do for you to believe me? Turn up dead?”

“That would be a start.”

She drew in a shocked breath and fell back a step.

“In the meantime,” he continued in the same cold voice, “I’ll see you at the Barracks. Tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”

He turned away from her and headed for the center hall. She came after him, caught his arm, and brought him around. “I don’t have anyone else who can or will help me. I’m afraid. Cato knows…”

“What?”

“He knows, or at least suspects, that I know what he’s trying to do. That’s why he told you about Napoli. So he would look like the cuckolded husband, win your sympathy against the unfaithful wife. He let you draw the connection between Napoli and Trotter and ultimately to Coleman to make me look guilty. It’s all a part of his grand scheme.”

“All right,” Duncan said. “If that’s the way it is, make that your official statement. Go on the record with it tomorrow during the interrogation.”

“I can’t. How could I? I would be as good as dead for sure.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Please, Duncan.”

“What is it exactly you’re asking me to do?”

“Stop investigating me. Start investigating Cato, and why Trotter came to our house that night.”

“Which was to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“How would a bungler like Trotter know that you wander around the house in the middle of the night?”

“Cato would have told him. He would have told Trotter to wait in the study until I came downstairs, which was inevitable.”

“Cato kept you in bed so the alarm wouldn’t be set and Trotter could get in.”

“Doesn’t that sound plausible?”

It did, yes. He saw the hopefulness in her expression, and it tempted him to believe her. “Tell me why your husband wants you dead.”

“I can’t,” she said in an anguished whisper. “Not until I know, without doubt, that you believe me. Completely.”

“Then you’re shit out of luck.”

Before he could turn away, she placed her hands on his shoulders and moved in close. “You want to believe me.”

He reached up to remove her hands. “Don’t,” he said, but her hands stayed on his shoulders and his hands stayed on hers.

“I know you do.” She came up on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his, breathing against them. “Believe me, Duncan. Please.”

Groaning with anger and frustrated desire, he dropped his jacket and pistol to the floor and grabbed a handful of her hair. He yanked her head back. He might have released her and walked out if only she had returned his glare, if her eyes had held even a trace of triumph or defiance. Instead, they closed.

“Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn me.”