Love Can Be Murder

need to call Melissa, and Nell, and Dad and...Triple-A."
    He nodded. "I guess I need to get on the road myself."
    She hadn't had a one-night stand in so long, she'd forgotten how awkward the morning after could be. After a strained silence, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom—a strategy she'd used herself a few times. Taking her cue, she dressed hurriedly and tamed her hair, then straightened the covers—an unmade bed seemed so... reproachful. Then she called her road-service club and arranged to have Goldie towed to a nearby tire place.
    The call to Melissa was difficult, but since she'd witnessed Frank's death, she felt obligated to tell her. Melissa cried, but Roxann wondered how much of the emotion was relief that she was finally rid of the man.
    And she was talking to her father when Capistrano emerged, shaved and combed. There was something very disconcerting about talking to your father on the phone when there was a naked man in the room.
    She averted her eyes. "So I should be in Baton Rouge by Wednesday."
    "Are you bringing Angora home?"
    "I suspect she'll go home with her parents once we get things wrapped up."
    "Will you be able to stay here for a while?"
    "If you...don't mind."
    "That would be nice," he said. "Now that the case is solved, will you still be seeing that Capistrano fellow?"
    She looked at Capistrano, who had donned jeans and was pulling a T-shirt over his head. She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. "Dad, I was never seeing him."
    "Tell him I said thank you for keeping an eye on my best girl."
    She blinked. "O...kay." Her father had never called her his best anything. "I'll be there in a couple of days, all right?" She hung up the phone, marveling.
    "I'm sure your father's relieved," Capistrano offered, then pulled on a dark green sweatshirt over the T-shirt.
    "He said to give you his thanks for...taking care of me."
    He pursed his mouth and sat down on the opposite bed to pull on socks and athletic shoes. "It was my pleasure," he said without looking up. He finished tying, then stood. "Did you call someone about your van?"
    She bristled at his insinuation that she needed to be reminded. "Contrary to popular belief, Detective, I've been taking care of myself for a long time. And outside of maniacal stalkers, I think I've done pretty well."
    His eyebrows rose. "I'm getting the hint that you don't want anyone to care about you."
    "That's not true."
    "Okay, then you don't want me to care about you."
    She crossed her arms and shook her head. "Don't do this, Detective. Last night was...what it was—two people who needed each other. For last night."
    "Whatever you say." He stuffed clothes into a duffel bag, then zipped it. "Do you need a ride to the hospital?"
    She shook her head. "Thanks, but I have more calls to make."
    "The room is paid for until the end of the week."
    "That's not necessary," she protested.
    "It's already done," he said, exasperated. "Christ, Roxann, why won't you let anyone help you? Are you afraid you might have to get close to someone?"
    She set her jaw. "Don't talk to me like that—you don't know me."
    He slung the duffel to his shoulder and gathered the stack of files. "As you've informed me several times." A small laugh escaped him. "I hope you get past whatever is keeping you from living." He walked to the door and yanked it open. "If you do...you've got my number."

Chapter Thirty-one

    THE CLICK OF THE DOOR closing might as well have been a slam. Roxann sat rigid on the bed, fighting ridiculous tears. She was not about to be goaded into a relationship with no foundation other than sex, because she suspected she could get used to his company. And right now she needed to concentrate on getting her life back together—finding a new job and place to live, reconciling with her father. It was just like a man to expect a woman to make room for him in her life just because he was—how did he put it— interested ? What a crock.
    She sniffed mightily and leaned over to pull the broken Magic 8 Ball out of the junk box on the floor. She smirked, conceding that she was chasing a thrill by asking, "Is Detective Joe Capistrano madly in love with me?" She turned over the toy.
    Don't count on it.
    And there she had it—her love life in a nutshell. She had run out of Yes, definitelys.
    She called the hospital and asked for Angora's room, thinking she'd give her the basics of Mason's deal until she could get there and explain everything fully.
    "Hello?" Angora