The man’s posture said it all. God help the person dumb enough to ever lay a finger on Savannah Dubrinsky. Johnson had been worried about some San Francisco nutcase trying to get to the famous magician while she was in town, but now that he had met her husband, he figured anyone trying to touch her would have to be suicidal.

He stepped back to allow Savannah entrance to his office and was not a bit surprised when her husband somehow managed to insert his solid frame between his body and Savannah’s. Johnson closed the door firmly and refrained from giving in to the impulse to pull the blinds. The entire squad was staring through the dingy glass, ogling her.

Johnson had never noticed how filthy his office was, the layers of dust and grime, the greasy, leftover, empty boxes of Chinese food and pizza. The pale woman with her haunting beauty made him all too aware of his grim surroundings. He wanted to sweep the debris off his desk into the wastebasket and out of her sight. To his horror, he actually felt faint color stealing up his neck. He was known throughout the precinct as a cop married to the department, completely cynical, no feelings whatsoever. But his hormones had kicked into high gear and seemed to be working overtime.

Johnson cleared his throat twice, trying not to make an ass of himself. “We appreciate your coming in like this to help us out. Thank you for identifying the body; I know it must have been difficult for you.” He waited, but when neither spoke, he went on. “We’d like to clear up a few things concerning that night. We already have statements from security and the drivers who loaded the truck. You both seem to have an airtight alibi, Ms. Dubrinsky. Security saw you leave and saw Peter on the loading dock. Peter never drove out. When was the last time you saw Peter Sanders alive?”

Savannah knew that Gregori had planted the scene in the minds of the security personnel as they had left the stadium that horrible night. “Detective Johnson,” she began.

Her voice was every bit as beautiful as she was. “Call me David,” he found himself saying to his complete astonishment.

Her husband stirred, a slight rippling of muscles, a suggestion of danger. Those brilliant, slashing eyes settled on Johnson’s face, touching him with cold air, the vision of an empty grave, a shiver of death. He swallowed nervously, suddenly glad it was not one of his new detectives assigned to this bizarre case. Johnson could almost believe that this man was perfectly capable of killing someone. What was a woman like Savannah Dubrinsky doing with such a man?

“I picked Savannah up an hour or so after her performance,” Gregori informed him softly while Savannah sat with her head bowed, twisting her fingers together. Anguish radiated from her, turning Gregori’s heart of stone to mush. He was fully aware of the detective’s thoughts and purposely dropped his voice an octave lower. Anyone with half a brain would see he was dangerous; it wasn’t easy to hide that kind of thing, and Gregori didn’t particularly feel like doing so. “The props were being loaded into the trucks, and most of the workers had already left,” he said softly.

Johnson found himself hanging on to every word, listening to the pitch and cadence of the voice. It was like a running brook. This man, this Gregori, was honest, had integrity. Johnson shifted position, leaning across the desk toward the man. He couldn’t help himself; it was almost as if he was mesmerized.

“Peter was alive and well at that point,” Gregori went on softly. “We talked for a few minutes, perhaps as long as half an hour. The truck with the props was pulling away just as we decided to leave. Peter walked to his car but called back to us that he had left his keys on the loading platform.”

Savannah ducked her head, feeling a shudder run through her. She was pale but composed. Inside, she could hear herself screaming in outrage, in sorrow. Gregori appeared not to move, yet his body was touching hers so that his warmth could seep into her skin. It amazed her, the perfectly acceptable tale he wove in his beautiful voice. No one would ever question him. How could they, when he controlled all within hearing of his voice?

“That was the last you saw of him alive?” Johnson asked.

Savannah nodded. Gregori laced his fingers through hers. “Peter was our friend as well as our business associate. He handled everything for Savannah. Without Peter, there is no show. I have many businesses that keep me extremely busy. Peter took care of every detail of the magic shows for us. As you can imagine, this is devastating for my wife. For both of us. We should have waited until he was safe in his car, but I had been away from Savannah for some time, and we were anxious to be off together. The security personnel were still within sight, so we didn’t think anything about it.”

“You didn’t go to the hotel.” Johnson made it a statement.

Again it was Gregori who answered smoothly, his voice soft and hypnotic. “No, we went to property we own outside of the city. It was not until this evening that we heard the news.”

“Why didn’t you check out of the hotel, Savannah?” Johnson asked her directly. It was difficult not to stare at her entrancing beauty.

“We thought we would be meeting Peter back there in a couple of days when we returned to the city, so we kept the room.” Her voice was so low, Johnson could barely catch her words. She sounded so sad, he felt a stone weighing on his chest. Johnson pressed a hand to his heart.

Gregori stirred slightly, stroking Savannah’s hair and neck, his fingers moving in a soothing massage. She was broadcasting her inner sorrow too loudly, and the detective was becoming affected. Breathe deeply,mon amour. We cannot afford to have the policeman suffer a heart attack in our presence. He is very susceptible to you.

I can’t stand lying like this.There were tears in her voice, in her mind. She was clinging to Gregori’s mind as an anchor, and it made him feel the connection with her was real and solid. Perhaps even unbreakable. Peter deserved better.

That is so,bébé, but we cannot very well tell this man the truth. We would both be locked up as insane.Gregori leaned forward and stared directly into Johnson’s eyes. You will seek attention for your heart problem after we leave this place. For now you will cease to question Savannah and direct your queries solely to me.

Johnson blinked, his eyes slightly glazed. Had he fallen asleep? He wasn’t feeling very well. He wiped perspiration from his forehead. Perhaps he would make a quick trip to the hospital and have those tests he had been putting off. Meanwhile, Savannah looked so distressed that he focused on Gregori. There was something about the man’s voice that enthralled him. He could listen to it forever. “No one seems to know of your marriage. We found no record of it,” he ventured.

Gregori nodded. “Savannah’s career demanded she appear—how should I put this?—available. A single woman is much more of a draw than a married one. We have been husband and wife for nearly five years. The marriage took place in our country. Savannah’s mother is from the United States, but her father’s homeland is in the Carpathian Mountains. We were married there.”

Johnson refrained from saying she looked far too young and innocent for a man as powerful as Gregori. It was nearly impossible to tell his age. “Mr. Sanders was fine with the marriage?”

The silver eyes slashed like steel. “Of course he was.” Gregori could see that that question upset Savannah even more. He leaned close to the detective again. You will cease this line of inquiry.

Johnson shook his head. “We’re getting off the subject here. Do you know of any enemies Mr. Sanders may have had?”

Gregori took his time answering, looking very thoughtful. Eventually he shook his head. “I wish we could help you more, Detective, but everyone liked Peter. Well, with the exception of the reporters—he was very good at protecting Savannah’s privacy and thereby preserving the mystique of the show. I do not think you will find anyone who would speak ill of Peter.”