Carla Cassidy - Interrogating the Bride

He also noticed dark storm clouds gathering in the southwest, portending rain in the near future. Micah hated rain. Everything bad that had ever happened in his life had happened during a storm.

He returned to the kitchen where Caylee had poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and had indulged in one of the doughnuts. Her upper lip was dusted with a fine coat of sugar and for just one moment of temporary insanity, Micah wanted to lean across the table and lick it off.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

He grabbed a napkin from the holder in the center of the table and thrust it at her with more force than necessary. Her eyes widened as she quickly ran it across her full lips.

“What happens next is that I learn everything there is to know about you and your life, and we try to figure out who might want you dead.”

It had been a long time since he’d been so acutely conscious of a woman. Even now he was aware of the scent of her, the clean, fresh fragrance of the soap they kept in the bathroom. The smattering of freckles across her nose was now evident without the cover of her makeup, but rather than making her look young and vulnerable, the freckles looked oddly sexy.

At that moment a boom of thunder shook the windows, and the ball of dread that had been inside Micah’s belly since the moment they’d heard about Jason’s murder tightened into a hot pool of fire as he fully realized the danger of the storm around them.

“I HATE STORMS,” Caylee said as she looked out the window where the sunny sky had been usurped by dark, angry clouds. “Especially summer storms.” She looked back at Micah, her eyes darker green than they’d been a moment ago. “When I was eight years old, my mother died of cancer. The night she finally passed there was a terrible storm. My dad came out of the hospital room and told me she was gone. For a long time afterward I thought the storm had taken her away.”

Micah reached in front of her and pulled the legal pad and pen in front of him. “So, your father raised you?”

She smiled. “My father loved me, but for all intents and purposes, he didn’t really raise me, my Aunt Patsy took care of me.”

“What’s Patsy’s legal name?” He picked up the pen and she noticed that his hands were big and looked strong. There wasn’t a single part of the man that seemed soft or vulnerable.

“Surely you don’t think my Aunt Patsy has anything to do with this,” she protested. She couldn’t imagine the plump, loving woman who’d taken her and her cousin to play in the park, the woman who had gone shopping for Caylee’s first bra and had taught her the facts of life, being in any way responsible for the murder.

Another rumble of thunder sounded, and Caylee jumped in her chair. Rain began to pelt the windows and she wasn’t sure if it was the storm that stirred the darkness inside her or the very idea that somebody close to her might want to kill her.

“This has got to be about Jason,” she said fervently. “His killer must have followed him from his suite to mine. I just can’t imagine this has anything to do with me. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” She desperately wanted him to agree with her, to tell her that everything was going to be all right.

Unfortunately platitudes didn’t appear to be a part of Micah Stone. “What’s Patsy’s last name,” he repeated.

“Jackson, Patricia Jackson,” she said and wished her Aunt Patsy was with her right now, and could wrap Caylee up in her plump, loving arms.

“Any other family?”

“Just my cousin, Rick. He’s twenty-eight, two years younger than me. We were raised more like brother and sister than cousins.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a computer and electronics geek and runs a repair shop out of his house.” She sighed with frustration. “Look, there’s no way these people would hurt me. They’re my family. We love each other. We’ve never exchanged a cross word between us.”

“I’m just getting background information,” he said, his voice emotionless and his pale eyes making her want to scream.

“Why don’t you tell me a little of your background,” she said. “For the moment it looks like we’re stuck here together, it would be nice if I knew something about you.”

For just a moment a touch of humor shone from his eyes. “All you need to know about me is that I’ll never take you to an island, buy you a wedding dress and force you to run and hide in the back of a plane.”

“Very funny,” she exclaimed. She knew from his answer that he had no intention of telling her anything meaningful about himself.

“This isn’t about me,” he continued. “I was just there to recover a plane. This is about you and Jason Worthington. Troy and Luke are picking apart his life, and it’s my job to pick apart yours.”

She twisted the napkin between her fingers. She wanted to be angry with Micah for not being reassuring or sympathetic, for not taking her into his arms and holding her until the chill inside her warmed.

But she supposed if he was going to find the killer it was better that he was single-minded, objective and on her side. Of course she couldn’t forget that he was on her side for one reason only. Until he cleared her name, his wouldn’t be cleared either.

“What else do you want to know?” she finally asked, resigned that she had to get through this line of questioning.

“You mentioned that you hadn’t been dating, that Jason was your first boyfriend in a long time.” This time his facial expression was one of disbelief. “A pretty woman like you surely had men interested in a relationship with you.”

A feminine flutter of pleasure swept through her. He thought she was pretty. The flutter lasted only a moment, then halted as she reminded herself she didn’t care what Micah Stone thought of her. He was merely the means to an end.

“Like I told you before, I’ve focused solely on work the last five years. There hasn’t been time for romance or men.” She twisted the napkin around her ring finger. “I’m not one of those women who needs a man in my life to feel complete. A relationship would be a wonderful addition to my life, but it’s not a necessity.” She winced, recognizing she’d given him more information than he’d asked for. “Anyway, the answer is no, there are no crazy boyfriends lurking in my past.”

She got up from the table and grabbed another one of the doughnuts in the box. Sugar. Maybe a taste of sugar would ease the edge of despair that threatened to consume her.

“What about coworkers?” Micah asked, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes as she returned to the table, the doughnut in hand. “Have you fired anyone recently?”

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