“No one else looks good?”

“Not yet. We’re checking out Peter Morris. You know, the guy Regan turned down for a grant. We don’t have much on him yet.”

“What about former employees? Maybe someone who got fired is trying to get even.”

“Alec, I know how frustrated you must be because you can’t work on this case, and I’ll call you the second I do have something.”

“Are you looking at the employees?”

“Yes. Her brother Aiden is getting a list together.”

The two detectives continued to talk for another ten minutes. Regan was on the phone, but she’d been placed on hold, and while she waited, she tried to overhear what the men were saying. Alec caught her watching. He didn’t smile or frown, but he did wink before he turned and walked out of the office, and despite all her attempts to remain unaffected, every one of her senses reacted.

She would never ever admit any of this foolishness to her friends. Sophie would start nagging Regan to make a move on him, and that was something Regan wasn’t prepared to do.

Cordie would probably tell her that Alec was safe because he was untouchable, which made him great for a fantasy man. He was someone who had a job to do and would do it well, but when he was finished, he would walk away without a backward glance.

But still, Regan was relieved to find voice mails from each of her friends saying they’d returned to Chicago in time for the dinner dance. Sophie’s message said that she was bringing a date and that she had loads to tell Regan about their investigation.

Cordie had left two messages. The first was to inform Regan that she was going to the country club alone-she’d probably get a cab and catch a ride home with Sophie-and that she would wait for Regan in the reception area just outside the ballroom door. The second message was all about clothes. She described in great detail the sapphire blue gown she was wearing and ended her call with the suggestion that Regan stop being such a wimp and wear the “S” dress.

In the matter of the dress, Regan had no one to blame but herself, she supposed. She never should have let Cordie and Sophie talk her into buying the dress Cordie was referring to in the first place because they weren’t going to let up until she wore the thing. She had to admit, though, it really was a stunning dress, and the silky fabric was a rich, deep burgundy color that even Regan knew looked beautiful against her skin.

It was a simple slip dress, and while the plunge between her breasts wasn’t all that low, it was certainly lower cut than Regan was comfortable with. She usually went to great lengths to downplay what her friends called her assets, and wearing the dress would make her feel so self-conscious she would be tugging and pulling all night.

Regan decided to make up her mind about what she would wear when it was time to get ready. Until then, she had other more important things to do. She turned her computer off. Wincott had been replaced by a uniformed policeman who followed as she headed upstairs to the gym. It took her an hour and a half to get through the regimen of exercises the physical therapist had given her to strengthen the muscles around her knees, and then, because she still had nervous energy to burn, she put on her protective brace and walked the track. She was usually able to block out all her worries and concentrate only on the sound of her breathing and the pounding of her feet against the cushioned floor, but that wasn’t working today.

For the last couple of weeks, her life had been turned upside down. It seemed that everywhere she looked, she saw security guards, and of course Alec or a policeman was always with her.

Everyone was waiting for something to happen. Wincott was as convinced as Alec that the crazy-Alec’s name for the suspect— would try to contact her again, but thus far, that hadn’t happened.

Regan was pretty certain she had fooled everyone, even Henry, into believing she was taking it all in stride, but inside she was a nervous wreck. The only time she felt safe was when she was with Alec.

The wait was taking its toll. Her appetite was gone; she couldn’t sleep, and lately she was having trouble concentrating. She couldn’t stop worrying that the killer had already taken off for parts unknown-or what if he had simply gone to ground, waiting for them to drop their guard? How long would the detectives continue to shadow her before Lieutenant Lewis decided he was wasting valuable manpower? What would happen then?

Maybe Alec would have some answers, and if there was a quiet moment tonight, she would ask him what the next step was.

Wincott stopped by again that evening. He had returned to pick up a couple of employment files from Aiden and decided to sit with Regan until Alec got there. Wincott’s family was out of town, and he didn’t want to go home to an empty house, so he relieved the policeman on duty.

He was lounging on the sofa in her parlor while she took a long hot shower. At her insistence, he’d ordered dinner and was now watching a baseball game while he ate. She had grown accustomed to having someone sitting in the outer room. She hadn’t bothered to lock the French doors separating the bedroom from the parlor, but she was mindful not to walk in front of the windowpanes. There were sheers covering the glass, and he could probably see only her outline, but she still kept her robe on until she was inside the walk-in closet.

She took the “S” dress off the hanger and held it up. It really was lovely. The fabric was as light as air, and when she put it on and zipped up the back, the fabric clung in all the right places and felt wonderful against her skin.

Definitely too racy for tonight, she told herself.

She reluctantly removed the dress, put it back on the hanger, and sorted through her closet several times before settling on what Cordie called her old lady’s mourning dress. The thing was shaped like a sack. Even Regan, who usually didn’t focus very hard on her appearance, was so appalled when she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, she actually took a step back.

Her brothers would definitely approve of this one. “It’s fine,” she said out loud, trying to convince herself that the safe black sheath was better than the I-want-to-sin-tonight dress, which made her feel so sensual and feminine.

“Yes, this is fine,” she repeated. Then she sighed. “If I were eighty.”

Sick and tired of acting like a prude, she put on the sinner dress again. Then she searched through her drawers until she found the black, fringed silk wrap she’d purchased in Italy a couple of years ago. When she draped it around her shoulders just right, her back and chest were nicely covered.

Her only jewelry was a diamond pendant that hung on a platinum chain and a pair of diamond stud earrings.

She folded the wrap on the back of a chair, took a deep breath, and then opened the doors and walked into the parlor. Wincott had picked up a french fry and had it halfway to his mouth when he saw her. He froze, the forgotten french fry dangling in the air from the tips of his fingers.

He gaped at her. She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she asked, “Do you think this dress is okay? It’s… decent enough, isn’t it?”

She’d put him on the spot asking him such a foolish question, and she was sorry she’d said anything. Not that it mattered. And still he gaped. Oh, dear, she thought. He had given her the onceover and was staring at her strappy, high-heeled sandals.

“I’ll go change.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Honest. You just took me by surprise. Your legs…” He realized what he was about to say and stopped in time.

“Yes?” she asked, looking down. Her dress had a ragged hemline, and in places the fabric floated well above her knees. “What about my legs?”

“Long,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, they’re long… I mean tanned. Have you been in the sun?” He cleared his throat, dropped the French fry on his plate, and stammered, “Your dress is pretty.”