Got Your Number

looked at Capistrano. "Can the police protect her?"
    "Yes."
    "Where is she?" Nell asked Roxann.
    Roxann sprang up. "That's privileged information, Nell."
    "And as a founder of this program, I'm making an executive decision to override policy for the good of everyone concerned." She set Chester down and he scampered away. "Roxann," Nell said, her voice breaking, "I don't want to see you get hurt."
    "I'll...think about it."
    Nell nodded, satisfied.
    "Did Cape leave on his own?" the detective asked.
    "After he made the threat, I was afraid he might hurt me, but there was a knock on the front door, and he went out the back." She turned a sad smile toward Roxann. "It was the university chancellor. He asked if I would help arrange a memorial service for Carl."
    Just like Tammy Paulen. "Does he have family nearby?" If he had ever spoken of his family when they were together, she couldn't recall.
    Nell shook her head. "Carl didn't have any family living. I heard him say several times that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread over the campus. I suggested to the chancellor that it would be best to wait until next week, after Homecoming. Maybe by then the police will have made an arrest." She looked at Roxann. "I know she's your cousin, Roxann, but I don't want to see Angora get away with murder again."
    This morning Roxann had been willing to defend Angora, but now she was beginning to wonder if her cousin teetered on the edge of stability, and if returning to campus on the heels of her jilting simply had been too much for her. She said nothing.
    Capistrano stood. "Dr. Oney, do you have somewhere safe to stay for a few days?"
    She nodded slowly. "My sister lives in Indy. I can take the bus."
    "Pack a bag and we'll take you to the station," he said. "Stay there until I can track down Frank Cape."
    Nell didn't argue—she seemed relieved to be escaping the melee. "What about Roxann?"
    "She'll stay with me."
    Roxann blinked. She would? "I will?"
    "Relax," he said. "My room has two double beds. But at least I can keep an eye on you."
    Relax, he said.

Chapter Twenty-four

    ROXANN RETURNED THE PHONE to its cradle. "Angora is having surgery in the morning." They were sequestered in his hotel room on separate "islands," she on one bed with the phone, Capistrano on the other mulling over a manila file of papers. He'd already blown the fully clothed rule she'd laid down by shucking his shirt, while she, on the other hand, still wore her jacket over the shirt he'd loaned her. Zipped.
    And as far as shirtless went, he didn't look half bad. She'd never been attracted to a man with a hairy chest—not that she was attracted to this one. But it was…curious, all that dark hair lying close to his skin. And the muscles...
    "Roxann?"
    She jerked her head up. "Yes?"
    "I asked how long she'll be in the hospital?"
    Her cheeks warmed. "At least overnight, but I encouraged her attorney to consider a psych consult while she's there."
    "The guy seemed like a greenhorn to me."
    She bit her bottom lip. "I thought so, too, but he's nice. And he's staying with her at the hospital."
    "Racking up those hourly charges."
    "No, he took the case for practically nothing. For the experience, I suppose."
    "Cape hasn't shown up?"
    "No. What are you working on?"
    He scratched his head and leaned back against the headboard. His jean-clad legs extended almost the length of the bed. "Just trying to piece together elements of the murder. Sometimes if I keep going over the details, something new will spring out at me."
    She swung her legs over the side of her bed to face him. "You know, you never once asked if I did it."
    He looked up. "If you did what?"
    "Killed Carl. I admitted that I went to his house that night, and he was found with my scarf around his neck, but you never asked."
    Capistrano shrugged his massive shoulders. "Didn't have to. You're not wired to be dishonest. If you'd done it, you would've confessed, especially since your cousin is being accused." He turned back to his folder.
    It piqued her, his pat psychoanalysis of her, even if it were true. The dishonest pact that she'd made with Angora years ago had eaten at her and she hadn't realized it, not even after her insides were gone. She'd avoided relationships of any kind, pawning it off on her schedule, her obligations, her commitments, when in reality, the Rescue program had been a handy emotional hideout. The sad part was that she still couldn't bring herself to come clean—everyone would