Mad About You

if the idea of Denise Womack pulling off the heist sounded as ludicrous to everyone else as it did to her. And on top of her other concerns, she found it difficult to keep her eyes off him while he talked. Since they'd left the hotel, she'd tried not to analyze the emotional fallout of their deed, yet stiff muscles had kept the memory of their energetic lovemaking close at hand.
    Shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair, she flicked her gaze to Valmer Getty as James wrapped up with the information Kat had told him about Denise's penchant for Asian lovers. Dressed in outdated, casual clothes, her attorney sat forward on his seat, nodding his head nonstop in support throughout the recitation.
    The assistant district attorney, a middle-aged woman of Hispanic descent, scribbled notes on a pad with an expensive pen. She looked as though she had been on her way to church when summoned to the station. So far, she hadn't asked a single question.
    "So, Agent Donovan." Detective Tenner rose slowly to assume a wide-legged, authoritative stance—incongruous since his fly was down. "How did you discover the Womack woman had that sum of money deposited in her account?"
    James lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I have my sources—it was a matter of a simple phone call."
    Kat nearly smiled at his nonchalance, but Tenner obviously didn't like James having the jump on him. His eyes narrowed. "I thought someone said you were retired."
    "I am," James affirmed, then offered an amiable smile. "Detective, someone is trying to frame Ms. McKray, and in doing so, is endeavoring to trick you. We can get to the root of this matter if we work together."
    "He's right, Tenner," Valmer chimed in, then extended a sweeping, empathetic smile to the detective and to the D.A. "Plus I'm sure neither your department nor Ms. Pena's needs a lawsuit from my client if she's indicted and tried when the police have substantial evidence that someone else might have perpetrated the crime." Kat felt a surge of appreciation toward Val. And a surge of something stronger toward James.
    Ms. Pena pursed her lips, then capped her pen and stood. "Check it out, Detective. Judge Tyler won't appreciate being disturbed on Sunday morning, but I'll handle the search warrant."
    Tenner gave a curt nod of resignation, then grimaced at James. "I suppose you want to go with me, Secret Agent Man?"
    James nodded. "And I think it would be beneficial if Ms. McKray went along as well—after all, she knows the woman better than anyone else."
    Everyone turned their gaze upon her. She wanted to decline, but Val had instructed her not to talk. Sitting there in silence, she hoped Tenner would object.
    The detective frowned sourly in her direction, then withdrew a nugget of five-cent bubble gum from his pocket and unwrapped it. He noticed his open zipper and righted himself without turning away. "We got about an hour before the warrant’s ready, Ms. McKray. What say we give our polygrapher a call?"
    Kat's heart jumped to her throat. "Now?"
    Ms. Pena nodded in agreement, then addressed Val. "My office is not interested in prosecuting the wrong person, Counselor. Give me enough proof, and we'll drop the charges."
    Valmer smiled magnanimously. "Call your technician—my client has nothing to hide."
    Kat felt James's gaze upon her, but she was too busy trying to look innocent to acknowledge him.

    *****

    On the other side of a two-way mirror, James sat with Kat's attorney and watched as she was led to a dingy upholstered chair, then connected to several monitors. Her face looked pinched, and her skin pale. He had a bad feeling about the test, primarily due to the fact that Kat herself had seemed less than enthusiastic each time the polygraph had been mentioned. Still, if she was innocent—and he believed her to be—then the results could help clear her name.
    The polygraph machine hummed to life, its avenging needles sliding across the page in a carefree scribble. Kat's eyes widened and she looked terrified.
    Val clucked. "Poor dear is nervous."
    For her sake, James hoped apprehension was the only cause of her anxiety.
    "Relax, Ms. McKray," the spectacled technician said woodenly. "I'll ask you a series of questions and you are to respond yes or no, is that clear?"
    "Yes," she said, causing the needles to shimmy about a quarter inch, then level out.
    "Is your name Katherine McKray?"
    "Yes."
    "Do you live at One Twenty-four Tangled Vine?"
    "Yes."
    "Is your birthday March