“Celina…” She’s too damned skinny, Creed Cassidy thought. And it’s my fault.

Celina Danse detected the disapproval emanating from Creed and cursed her quickened pulse. He was still too good looking by half and, obviously, as opinionated as ever. Tough! She hadn’t come to River Bend to exchange barbs with this man, hadn’t wanted to see him at all. But his position as police chief and her sister’s violent death made the encounter unavoidable. “Have you caught Lynette’s…the murderer?”

He ignored the question and swept her with another assessing gaze. Was he comparing her to the woman she had been seven years ago?

Celina bristled. Grief, mixed with the long flight from New York and her dread of this confrontation, had drained her innately short supply of patience. Besides, she hadn’t slept the night before, agonizing for hours about what to wear, going through her entire wardrobe, rejecting one outfit after the other. Recalling it now, she wondered at her actions. Had some small part of her actually been intent on showing Creed Cassidy what he’d lost?

Hogwash! She didn’t care what he thought of her, didn’t care that her Levis and tee shirt were wrinkled, didn’t care that her unruly red hair was wisping from the French braid. Struggling to keep her voice level, she said, “I’m in no mood to play games, Creed. I took a cab directly here from the airport, and I want some information. What progress have you made?”

An odd expression flickered across his face. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn it was guilt. An absurd thought.

Creed shook his head, disturbing his stylish, tawny mane that grazed his shirt collar and ears. “I don’t know anything more than I told you six days ago. Lynnette was gunned down at the night deposit at the bank.”

The scant composure she’d maintained to this point fled, sending heat spiking into her cheeks. She slammed her purse on his desktop. “Then get out there and find the son of a—”

“I can’t.” His electric blue eyes seemed dull. And there was that odd flicker again.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

For several seconds the only sound in the cubbyhole office came from the whirr of a dusty fan propped in the open window. Meant to alleviate the stifling heat, it managed only to rustle the few papers on his desk. “Damn it! Explain that remark.”

“As of yesterday, I’m no longer in charge of the case.” There was a terse, frustrated edge to his voice.

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you a one-man police force?”

“Yes.” He looked as though he’d like to hit something. “The County boys took over the case.”

She didn’t understand. “Why does a small town murder/robbery warrant the County Police?”

Creed scraped his chair back and half rose. Planting his palms on the fluttering papers, he returned her hostile gaze. “Because of the access to I-90. Or have you been away so long you’ve forgotten that strangers are a way of life here, that our existence depends on them? The murderer was probably not a local.”

Celina’s eyes widened slightly, her pulse slowing. “Probably not? Are you suggesting that someone who knew Lynette shot her down in cold blood?”

“That’s not what I said.”

But he’d hinted at it. Not certain what to think, Celina slumped into a chair angled in front of the desk.

Creed sighed and dropped into his own chair. “You took your sweet time getting here. Don’t you have an understudy?”

The reprimand had her bristling again. “I realize my job must seem frivolous to you, but I’m acting in a soap opera not a play. I couldn’t just walk off the set for a week or so without making arrangements.” Arrangements he would never find out about.

Her emotions tangled together like the wires on a sound stage floor. Why was she justifying her actions to this man? Especially this man. Hadn’t he made it clear seven years ago how he felt about her? The sooner she could put this town and all its unpleasant memories behind her, the sooner she could head back to New York. “Where is—“ the words caught in Celina’s throat—“Lynette’s body?”

“She’s at Doc Harris’s place.”

“Doc Harris? I don’t—”

“Took over after Doc Logan retired about five years ago. Moonlights as coroner and undertaker.”

“I see.”

“Would you like me to take you there?”

“Uh…” Her skull felt too tight. She supposed she could call Aunt Vi…No. This had to be faced and as much as she dreaded facing it alone, she wanted to say a private goodbye to Lynette. She stood. “Just give me the keys to my sister’s car and directions. I’m sure I can find his place. River Bend hasn’t grown that much.”

“Here’re the keys, but I took the liberty of returning the car to the house—in the garage, actually. If you can stand my company a while longer, I’ll give you a ride home.”