Colin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We won’t be needing to ask you any questions now anyway.”

He spoke as if the case was open-and-shut, as if he were utterly confident that nothing Gardner could do would make any difference. It rattled the man, Darien could see it in his face.

“Oh, wait,” Colin said. “I was wrong, there is one more question.”

“I won’t answer anything.”

“That’s okay. I already know the answer, anyway.”

Darien could see he was struggling not to ask. And saw the moment when he gave up. “The answer to what?”

Colin smiled. “To how you knew we were talking about your ring. We never mentioned it.”

The man visibly blanched.

“Lyle Gardner, you are under arrest for the murder of Franklin Gardner,” Colin said with satisfaction.

Darien typed the last line on the jail booking form, hit the enter key with a flourish.

“Voilà,” she said. “The end. Mr. Lyle Gardner is officially booked.”

“Too bad the investigation hasn’t ended. We’ve still got to find that ring.”

Darien sighed. “Don’t rain on my parade just yet, will you? Give me an hour or so to feel some job satisfaction.”

Colin grinned. “Well, since it’s your first time…”

She took a swipe at him, but she was grinning back. It did feel good, even he had to admit it. The case wasn’t a lock, not by a long shot, but he knew in his gut they had the right guy. Not that that would be worth a thing in court.

“Do you need to go back to the office?” he asked.

“No.” She wrinkled her nose. “Besides, I don’t want Palmer to ruin my mood.”

“He was right about one thing.”

“Palmer? Hard to believe. What?”

“The convenience.”

She blinked. “What?” she repeated.

“It’s convenient. If you were to marry me, you wouldn’t have to change your initial.”

Her breath caught audibly, but she recovered quickly. As she always did. “What makes you think I’d change my name anyway?”

“Then I won’t have to change my initial,” he said with a lopsided grin.

She laughed then, warming him anew. Mostly because she hadn’t shut him down outright. He still felt a little bit like he was on an out-of-control train, but to his own surprise, he didn’t want to jump off.

Not as long as his new partner was on board.

With thanks to our editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, who was buried in e-mail during this challenging project

Dear Reader,

It was a privilege to work with two such talented authors on this project, and the three of us were e-mailing back and forth in a frenzy to be certain that our descriptions and details matched.

As Evan and Jennifer became living, breathing people to me, I could feel Evan’s frustration as he waited, and hoped, for the evidence that would convict Lyle Gardner. But despite Evan’s dedication to his career, Jennifer staked a claim on his heart. Beautiful, spunky Jennifer, with her precious secret she feared to share with Evan, and who was also dedicated to her unique career, had the womanly wisdom to know there was room for so much more in her life.

While writing this book, I learned so much about what goes on behind the scenes as each step is taken to ensure that justice will be the victor when a horrendous crime has been committed.

We all owe a heartfelt thanks to the men and women in every area of law enforcement who make these troubled times in our world safer for all of us.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I did writing it. I am very eager to read the first two stories in the collection now that they are completed. As you are curled up in the corner of your sofa turning the pages, know I’m doing the same right along with you.

Once again, I want to thank all of you for your continued support through the years and for the wonderful letters you take the time to write to me.

Warmest regards,

J ennifer Anderson stopped in the hallway on the top floor of the courthouse and turned to look up at the very tall young man who had a camera balanced on his shoulder.

“Take a break, Sticks,” Jennifer said. “I’m going to attempt to make some sense of these notes of mine while I remember what the scribbling means. Meet me in the lounge down the hall in half an hour or so.”

“Yep,” Sticks said, then ambled away.

Jennifer entered the empty lounge and sank onto one of the chairs that surrounded a large rectangular table. She propped one elbow on the top of the table, rested her chin in her hand and closed her eyes.

Oh, gracious, she thought, she was sleepy. She’d like nothing better than to curl up on the lumpy-looking sofa on the back wall of the lounge and take a nap. If she allowed herself to relax for even three seconds she’d nod off. Just one…two…

Jennifer jerked and opened her eyes as she began to drift off. She patted her cheeks, told herself she was wide-awake and looked at the notes.

Next on the agenda, she thought, was to film the final footage of the documentary, which meant it was time to glue herself to District Attorney Evan Stone.

Evan, Evan, Evan.

Dear heaven, what would Evan do, say, if he knew that she…

“Don’t go there, Jennifer,” she mumbled. “Not now.”

Jennifer glanced at her watch, got to her feet, then smoothed the hem of her green sweater over the black slacks she wore with low-heeled, black shoes.

Okay, here I go, she thought. She’d put this meeting with Evan off for as long as she could, had filmed so much footage of police detectives, and secretaries and assistant district attorneys it was ridiculous. She’d been gathering her courage to see Evan again and be able to act pleasant and professional.

“I can do this,” she said, starting across the lounge.

“Do what?” Sticks said, appearing in the doorway.

“Oh. Listen, Sticks, just hang out in here for now. I need to find out if Evan Stone is available, then chat with him a bit about how we’re going to do this.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine. Okay,” she said. “I’m going down the hall to his office now. Yep, that’s what I’m doing. Right now. Bye.” Jennifer didn’t move.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I am not,” she said, indignantly. “I’m…mulling over how to begin my conversation with Evan. He wasn’t exactly receptive to this idea of a documentary on the inner workings of the district attorney’s office, said D.A. being him. We ironed out the wrinkles three months ago, but there’s no telling how he might feel about it weeks later.”

“Ah, go for it.” Sticks set the camera on the table. “Charm the socks off the guy.”

“Right,” Jennifer said, then stepped out of the lounge and into the hallway.

At that exact moment the door to Evan’s office at the end of the corridor opened and a plump young woman emerged, leaving Evan framed in the doorway as she walked away.

Oh, my, Jennifer thought, there he was. There was Evan about a hundred feet down the hall and it appeared as though he was staring directly at her.

Feet. She had to move her feet, put one in front of the other, and produce a nice friendly smile at the same time. She could do this. No, she couldn’t. She was going to turn around and hightail it out of there, never to be seen again.

“Get a grip,” she said, under her breath, and started forward.

There she was, Evan thought, as he watched Jennifer approach very slowly. His heart was beating like a bongo drum, damn it. And was that…? Yes, it was. There was a trickle of sweat running down his chest. Where in the hell was this nonsense coming from?

Evan cleared his throat, causing Belinda Morris, his fifty-two-year-old secretary, to turn and look at him questioningly, then shift her gaze to what he was staring at.