Standing several inches over her five-five frame, Jason “Lucky” Lucas was very good-looking. His brown hair was cut short and neat, not even a single strand visibly out of place.
The man’s sharp features were damn near perfect. His strong, square jaw kept clean-shaven and smoothe. And though his body was partially hidden beneath his slightly worn jeans and black, long-sleeve Henley, it was more than obvious the man spent a lot of time in the gym.
Yes, physically, Lucky was perfect in pretty much every way. The man probably had women falling all over themselves to hand the man their numbers. Or invite him into their beds.
Not her.
Cassie looked at Lucky and felt…nothing. There wasn’t any sort of magnetic pull toward the man still holding onto her hand. No spark of electricity from his touch.
Despite his attractive features and confident, commanding presence, she hadn’t struggled to draw in a breath or become lost in those beautiful blue eyes. But when she’d first met Archer—when her palm had slid into his upon meeting him—Cassie had felt…
Everything.
She started to pull away at the exact same moment the screwdriver Archer had been holding appeared close to Lucky’s near-perfect face.
“That new alarm system isn’t going to install itself,” Archer growled.
Low. Throaty. Almost possessive in its creation. But that couldn’t be right.
Like he’d said earlier, before she’d locked herself away from him and the rest of the world…he was here to do a job.
So maybe you should leave him and his friend alone so they can, you know…do it.
Lucky released her hand and yanked the screwdriver out of Archer’s hand. His narrowed, sideways glare at his teammate widened back to the same friendly expression when he met her gaze once more. “Shouldn’t be much longer. An hour, maybe two. Tops.”
“Take your time.” She smiled back at him. To Archer, she said, “I thought about making myself a bite to eat. Are either of you hungry? I could make some sandwiches, or?—”
“Actually, you can’t.”
The odd comment took her off guard. “Why not?”
“Because I threw out all your food.”
Cassie felt her eyes nearly bug right out of her head. “All of it?” she squeaked.
“Anything that wasn’t in a can or verifiably sealed, yeah.” Archer nodded. “I used some big lawn trash bags I found in your garage and put them in the back of Lucky’s truck.”
“I’ll take them by our building after I leave here,” Lucky shared as he screwed what appeared to be a new control panel where her old one used to be. “That way, we can use the dumpsters in the ally out back, rather than stinking up your garage until trash day comes around.”
“Oh. Um…thanks.”I guess?
Sensing the question in her tone, Archer locked his intense stare onto hers. “I called your attorney while you were asleep.She confirmed the police never checked any of the other food or drinks in the house.”
“No, I don’t suppose they would have.” She hugged herself like before. “The police already have their killer, so I’m sure they don’t see a reason to check anything else. After all, I fully admitted to giving Russ the wine that killed him. Admitted thatIwas the one who killed him.” She cleared a knot of emotion from her throat. “Honestly if I were in Detective Knox’s shoes, I’d think I was guilty, too.”
She was guilty. Not of the intent, mind you. But still. Russ had ultimately died by her hand, and that was something Cassie wasn’t sure she’d ever get over.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and while she was busy blinking them away, she almost missed the step Archer had taken to bring himself closer to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders in a firm but gentle hold, his voice was anything but gentle when he spoke to her again.
“You didn’t kill your husband, Cassie.” Another low, masculine growl. “Whoever put those pits in that bottle did. They just used you to do it.”
Yes, because that’s sooo much better.
As the flippant thought rolled through her brain, a dose of guilt seeped deep into her veins. Archer was only trying to help. To offer her the only thing he could to bring her some fraction of peace in the midst of hell and chaos.
His effort to reassure her was very much appreciated, but in the end, Cassie knew it all boiled down to semantics. It had been she who’d poured the glass.Shewas the one who’d willingly handed it to him.
And then, she’d sat there, casually watching while Russ gulped down every last drop of the deadly concoction.