Lover Beware

wouldn’t get you and the force the accolades you want when—if—you catch this creep. And Charles Damascus couldn’t use that success in his reelection campaign.”
    Jerry stared down into her eyes. “If you were a man, I’d belt you.”
    “If I were a man, Costos, those detectives in that room might have actually listened to me.”
    She slapped the files against his chest. “I’ve seen everything I need to see here for the moment. Now I want to go to the Bobbie Cox crime scene.”
    “Fine,” he said through his teeth. “I’ll speak to Donovan and the captain. They’ll need to come along.”
    “You do that,” Anna said more softly.

Chapter 3
    JERRY INSISTED THAT he ride to the crime scene with Anna. She didn’t like it. Aside from the fact that she needed time alone to prepare herself for what was to come, his close proximity rattled her. She suspected he had more on his mind than her handling of the investigation.
    He had removed his suit coat and tie, rolled his shirtsleeves up his forearms, and slumped comfortably into the car seat. For the first five minutes of their bumper-to-bumper crawl through the French Quarter, he’d said nothing, just stared out the passenger window, fingers drumming on his thigh—a certain indication that he was formulating exactly what he intended to say to her.
    “Hot summer,” he finally said.
    Anna hit the blinkers and made a right on Pauline.
    “The hottest summer in fifty years.” He searched the sidewalks of perspiring tourists.
    Anna’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
    Finally, he looked at her—silent for a long moment. “So how are you, Anna?”
    She nodded. “Great. And you?”
    “I’ll be better once we solve this case.”
    “Have you spoken with J.D. today?”
    “I talked to Beverly. He had a rough night. Spent most of it at the cemetery.” He raked one hand through his dark hair. “Christ, those kids were his world, Anna. He’s blaming himself for this.”
    She frowned. “Why?”
    “He was supposed to have come home the day before the murders, but didn’t. She wanted a divorce. He was into avoidance.”
    “The marriage was never good, Jerry. We both know that. I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”
    “He loved his kids. I loved his kids. You know how I feel about kids.”
    She glanced at him, into his eyes that were blue and searching. “I know.” She smiled. “I expected you to be married by now with kids of your own. What happened?”
    “I keep looking for another Anna Travelli, I guess.” He grinned. “Only one who wants kids.”
    “I never said I didn’t want kids. I just didn’t want them so soon. I had a right to my own dreams. It was your own problem with those dreams that screwed it all up.”
    He looked away again, out the car window, his hand clenching into a fist. “I had no problem with that. I simply didn’t want my wife wearing a shield and possibly staring down the barrel of some nut’s .357. So hang me, why don’t you? What the hell kind of husband wouldn’t worry over burying his wife?”
    There it was. The same old problem. Funny, however, that hearing it now from his lips, she had a hard time dredging up all the old arguments. How could she? Over the last six years she’d attended five funerals for agents killed in the line of duty. Good husbands and fathers who had left grieving wives and children behind.
    Laying his head back against the seat, Jerry closed his eyes. “Maybe I was wrong. I probably was. Maybe if I had it all to do over, I’d do it differently. All I can say, Anna, is I’ve missed you like hell. Once I got over my desperate need to choke you for walking out on me.” He grinned. “So, have you missed me? Have you pined away for me these last years? Are you in love with someone? If you are, I don’t want to know about it. I think it would break my heart.”
    The gentle confession roused the old, recognizable heat in Anna’s heart. A flame that had never burned more hotly for any man since Jerry Costos. And probably never would.
    “There isn’t anyone,” she heard herself admit, knowing even as she did so that she was opening the door to something she wasn’t certain she could handle, or wanted to.
    Ahead, the crime scene had been taped off and barricades erected, blocking the street from pass-through traffic. Reporters and curious bystanders hovered along the verges like vultures drawn to the scent of death. Uniformed cops kept a sharp eye out for anyone