Free Tin God by Stacy Green Page B

mouth pressed together so tightly the words were barely audible. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s he doing here? I told you not to bring anyone.”
    “You told me not to bring Detective Charles. I didn’t.”
    “Cute.” She glanced back at Nick. “No offense, but I remember you’re a reporter. I don’t need to be quoted in tomorrow’s paper.”
    “None taken. And I’m not here for a story. At least not one I’m writing about.”
    She chewed on her fingernail. Nick suddenly remembered Jaymee was in his wedding pictures. The bridesmaids’ dresses were some shade of purple. Lilac. That’s what Lana called it.
    “Let me explain,” Cage said. “Nick’s here because we think Rebecca Newton’s murder may be connected to Lana’s.”
    Jaymee stared at him. She blinked once, slowly, and then swallowed as though she were forcing too much food down her throat. “Come in.”
    ###
    Nick Samuels. Jaymee couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds without the pain eating her from the inside out. It had been the same way at the funeral. Jaymee hadn’t wanted her past to affect Lana’s family, and she’d made Lana promise to never tell Nick about Sarah.
    Now he was here, looking as though he’d aged at least ten years since the funeral. Tall and rugged, he was less muscular than Jaymee remembered. Not gaunt, but lean–almost wiry. Shadows under his blue eyes. Gray in his ash-blond hair and deep worry lines in his brow. Broad shouldered and still better looking than most of the men around Roselea. God, she was an asshole, admiring the widower of her dead best friend.
    She retreated across the small space, determined to keep a distance, but her hands refused to be still. She stuffed them into the pockets of her cutoff shorts, Nick’s scrutiny heating her skin the entire time.
    Cage sat down on one of her worn chairs and stretched his long legs in front of him. Nick stood near the door, arms crossed. Jaymee raised an eyebrow.
    “I’m here to observe.” He matched her glare with a challenge in his eyes. “Mostly.”
    “Jay, what did you want to tell me?” Cage rapped his fingers on the old table.
    She hopped onto the countertop. “What do you know about Rebecca’s murder?”
    “Just the basics right now. Looks like she was killed by someone she knew. Husband is suspect number one,” Cage said. “Holding up all right?”
    “Don’t I always?”
    “Strongest person I know. Where’s Mutt?”
    “Running around. Probably chasing girls like a typical adolescent boy.”
    Cage smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was tired.
    “Any suspects?” Jaymee asked.
    “You know I can’t talk about that in detail.”
    “That’s not fair. You’re telling me Lana’s murder might be related to Rebecca’s, yet you can’t tell me how? Bullshit.” Jaymee crossed her arms over her chest and gave Cage the stink-eye.
    Cage grinned. Jaymee hated that little smirk; he never failed to break her defenses with it. “You first.”
    “You piss me off most days.” Jaymee leaned forward. “Fine. I’ll share. Royce Newton’s a client of Crystal’s.”
    “Figures.” Cage rolled his eyes toward Nick. “Jaymee’s neighbor. Known prostitute, although she does most of her work across the river, right?”
    Jaymee nodded. “She saw Royce a few nights before the murder at–” Jaymee caught herself. She didn’t need to reveal all of Crystal’s business. “Their scheduled meeting place. Royce was stressed. Rebecca had busted him on something to do with money, something going on in Jackson.”
    “Money,” Nick said. “Always a good motive.”
    “Yeah, well, he said Rebecca could ruin him.”
    “Why the hell haven’t you told Charles this?” Cage asked. “Or better yet, why didn’t Crystal?”
    “She was afraid she’d get pinched. And I’m telling you because I trust you.” She crossed her legs and rested her head against the cabinets. “Your turn. How could Rebecca’s murder possibly be