Free Chasing Venus by Diana Dempsey Page B

his
direction.   Simpson edged closer to
the open door.   “Gardner …” he
growled.
    Reid raised his hands,
all innocence.   “I just want to make
sure she understands her Fourth Amendment rights.”
    Simpson pointed in
Reid’s direction.   “We are not attempting
to take advantage of this woman and you should know better than to suggest that
we are.”
    “You’re talking about
me again,” she said, “and I understand my rights without your help, thank
you.”   She shot a look at Reid.   “I know all about warrantless searches
and I know that I don’t have to consent to one.”
    Simpson raised his brow
as if to say, See? I told you so .
    “That’s good,” Reid
said.   “That puts you ahead of most
people.”   He sensed a softening in
her demeanor and took it as an opening.   He motioned toward her still open door.   “Then may I join you?”
    “I don’t see that as
necessary,” Simpson put in, but Annette Rowell ignored him and kept her gaze
steadily on Reid.   She’s nobody’s fool , he thought.   After Donna’s murder, he’d found himself
often feeling a surge of protectiveness where women were concerned.   But, he reminded himself now, some
needed it more than others.
    “If you use this
incident on your show,” she said, “and thereby impugn my reputation in any way,
I will sue you for slander.”
    “I don’t doubt it.   But nothing that happens here today will
appear on my program.   As I said
before, I didn’t bring a crew with me.”
    She considered that for
a second, then relented.   Simpson,
too savvy to fight over a point he’d lost, just shook his head.   Reid nodded at Higuchi and the two
uniformed sheriff’s deputies in the living room, both of whom sported the
excited REID GARDNER! CRIMEWATCH HOST! expression.
    Simpson did get in an
aside.   He edged close to Reid and
kept his voice low.   “Interesting
you came all the way up here without a crew, Gardner.   Safe to say you’re taking a personal
interest in this case?”
    “I take a personal
interest in all the cases that appear on my show.”
    “Yeah.   Right.”
    Reid knew Simpson
wasn’t taken in for a second.   He
hadn’t achieved his rank within the FBI by lacking insight into human
behavior.   In addition, he was a
man, with a good set of eyes.
    “Don’t get in my way on
this,” Simpson added.
    “I don’t intend
to.”   Simpson was only doing his
job.   Reid understood that.   The agent had gotten a tip concerning a
woman he already had reason to be suspicious of and he’d be derelict in his
duty if he didn’t follow up.   The
person who really ticked Reid off was Sheila.   Sure, she claimed she was only “doing
what was right.”   But when was the
last time she’d picked up the phone to hand-deliver an anonymous tip to the
feds?   She’d circumvented the normal
process for reasons that had nothing to do with the moral high ground.
    Simpson moved
away.   Reid made himself at home on
a slightly tattered wing chair and took a look around.
    If Annette Rowell was
raking in the bucks, it wasn’t evident.   The house had seen better days and so had the furniture.   But there were feminine touches which
prettied the place and gave it character.   White draperies at the window.   An elegant piece of yellow glassware lit golden by a ray of
sunlight.   Tulips artfully arranged
in a porcelain bowl.
    Should he be reluctant
to follow up on his attraction to her? he wondered.   He saw no reason to be.   He was single, she was single—as
far as he knew—and if she felt anything toward him, too, they might have
a good time together.   He was in no
position to promise more but he was no monk, either.
    No part of him believed
she was a murderer.   True, he
couldn’t explain the tip that had come in to the hotline.   But he’d met killers.   He'd seen the shark-like coldness in
their eyes; he’d heard the twisted logic of their confessions.   Annette Rowell might have her