"So? He doesn't look a thing like Jared. And I keep telling you that you need to get laid. Here's the perfect opportunity."
A renewed flush of scalding heat washed over Emily, because what Tia suggested was Emily's wildest and most forbidden fantasy. "That's not why he's here. He's a police officer, protecting me."
"I know! Isn't that sexy?"
"Had several glasses of wine today, have you?" Emily asked, trying her best to tamp down her own enthusiasm for Nick.
"No, none. You've got to forget about Jared and how he made you feel like shit. I know he's dead, and I'm sorry, but he was a bastard."
Emily nodded. "Nick might be, too."
"You've been with him for several hours. Is he?"
"Not so far. He's actually nice." And knows exactly how to touch me with those skilled hands. But who knew if he would change tomorrow or next week and become more like his brother?
"A gentleman?" Tia inquired with mock sophistication.
Emily shrugged. Was she already picking up Nick's body language? "As much as a bad boy can be, I suppose. He seems concerned about me, wants to keep me safe."
"God, that's hot. You've got to tell me what happens."
"With the stalker or with Nick?"
"Both. Besides, I'm not worried about the stalker with Nick around. He'll kick that lunatic's ass."
"I sure hope so. He has two guns and plenty of bullets." She'd seen the smaller second pistol when he'd strapped it to his ankle that morning.
"A man who can handle weapons is hot. I am so jealous right now." Tia had been going on a lot of first dates recently, trying to find Mr. Right or at least a man she was strongly attracted to, but wasn't having much luck.
"You'll find the right guy, Tia. Don't worry."
"Maybe." She gave a tiny, sharp shrug, a hint of sadness entering her usual upbeat expression. "Who knows? I at least want to experience a sizzling fling vicariously. I want to know every detail of what happens."
"Nothing interesting is going to happen." Emily definitely wasn't telling her that something interesting had already happened in bed that morning.
* * * *
"What do we know about this guy—the killer?" Nick asked.
Seated at the kitchen table in the breakfast nook overlooking historic Savannah, Emily and Nick ate dinner. Emily had asked Tia to join them, but she'd refused and left fifteen minutes earlier. Emily was relaxing, enjoying the soft, early evening light, fresh Caesar salad and cheesy lasagna—but most of all, Nick's company—until his cryptic words squashed her appetite.
"Not much." Emily put down her fork and poured a second glass of merlot for herself and topped off Nick's. She shouldn't drink another glass, but maybe the food would keep the alcohol from affecting her too much. Besides, she needed it for courage. And if she focused on the discussion of the killer stalking her, maybe she could ignore the electricity between her and Nick.
"Thanks." He took a sip. "My guess is he's someone who knew Jared. Maybe a business associate or someone he had contact with on occasion. Maybe a rival. They probably shared a common interest in antiquities. How else would he know about the object in question?"
"But why would he kill Jared over it? Why didn't he blackmail him instead? He should've known that if he killed Jared, he'd never get the object from him."
"I haven't figured out that part yet."
Considering the way Nick stared out the window for several distracted moments while he ate, his mind must have been working furiously on the problem. Though she was tempted to study him and his square-jawed, alpha-male profile, she decided focusing on the danger surrounding them might be a smarter choice.
"Did the local police tell you anything more about Jared's death or the accident?" she asked.
"Officially, he drank too much, ran off the bridge into the river and drowned."
The part about drinking too much didn't surprise her. "But what did you see in your psychic vision?"
Nick observed her for a long moment, his sharp cop's gaze delving into hers. Was he speculating whether or not he could trust her? Or was he visualizing the tragedy of his brother's death? "The killer was in the car with him for a while, talking about this damned object."
"How did he orchestrate that without leaving clues?"
"Any clues or DNA were likely washed away in the water. He would've known not to leave fingerprints. If he was someone close to Jared or someone who knew him, maybe they went out drinking together and he agreed to drive him home. He headed the car toward the edge of the bridge and jumped out before it crashed and flipped over the side. They did say the driver's door was ajar and one window open which allowed the car to fill up faster. Jared wasn't buckled in and, judging by his blood alcohol level, he was too intoxicated to swim to the bank."