She turned. Their eyes met. He sent her a sleepy, pleased smile. "No breaking and entering today?"

She didn't blink. "We need to talk."

"Guess not." Hunter crossed to the door, pushed it open. From the corner of his eye, he saw her bend and scratch Sarah behind the ears. "Come on in. I need coffee."

He headed for the coffeemaker. She didn't wait for him to reach it. "You called Trudy Pruitt the day she was killed. Why?"

Son of a bitch. Not good.

"A little intense for this time of the morning, aren't we, Avery? It's not even eight."

"I asked you a question."

He filled the coffeemaker's carafe with water, then poured it into the reservoir. "Yeah, but you didn't ask it very nicely."

"I'm not playing a game here."

He turned, met her eyes. "She called me. I don't know why because she got my machine. I returned her call. That's it."

He measured dark roast into the filter, slid the basket into place and switched on the machine. That done,

he crossed to stand directly in front of her. "And where, exactly, did you get that information? From Matt? Was he trying to poison your mind against me?"

"You don't need any help in that department."

"And here I thought you'd still respect me in the morning."

Angry color shot into her cheeks. "We talked about her, Hunter. You and I, we talked about her calls to me...that I was there that night. You never said anything. Do you have any idea how damning that looks?"

"I don't really care how it looks, Avery."

She curled her hands into fists. "You don't care, do you? You wear your indifference like some twisted badge of honor."

The coffeemaker gurgled; the scent of the brew filled the air. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me the truth."

"I was writing. She called, left a message. Truthfully, I didn't remember she was Dylan and Donny's

mother. Not until later. I assumed she was calling about legal representation. Why else? Other than a vague recollection of the name, I didn't have a clue who she was. That's the truth, believe it if you want."

"Why didn't you mention she called, when we were talking about her? She was murdered, Hunter!"

He laid his hands on her shoulders. "What would it have brought to the equation? I never even spoke to the woman."

She shrugged off his hands. Took a step away. "You told me to get my proof, Hunter. I went there, to her trailer to look for it."

"When?" he asked, her words, the ramifications of them hitting him like a sledgehammer.

"Last night. Late."

He made a sound of disbelief. "Do you know how stupid that was, Avery? A woman was murdered there. What if the killer had come back? Looking for the same thing you were. Or to relive the kill?"

He pressed his point, seeing that it was having its intended effect-scaring her. "The percentage of killers who do just that is high, so high that police manuals suggest staking out a murder scene as an effective investigative strategy."

She looked shaken, but didn't back down. "I found your message. It's on her machine, okay? The woman saved it."

He thought of Matt. His brother was already hot to pin Elaine St. Claire's murder on him. Why not this murder as well?

He looked at the ceiling. "Shit."

"Care how things look now, Hunter?"

He swung away from her, crossed to the cupboard. He selected a mug, then filled it. Took a sip. He

glanced over his shoulder at her. "Was there anything else you wanted to grill me about this morning?"

She opened her mouth as if to answer, then shut it, turned and started for the door.

He followed her. "I take it you're not staying for coffee."

"Go to hell."

Careening out of control. Children screaming.

"Been there, done that."

Her steps faltered. She stopped but didn't turn.

He stood directly behind her, so close he could hear her breathing, smell the fruity shampoo she used. He

longed to touch her. To coax her back into his arms. Tell her everything, anything that would convince

her to stay.

"And that's supposed to make me feel what?" she asked softly, voice vibrating with emotion. "Sorry for you? You think there's anyone alive who hasn't experienced real pain? Personal tragedy?"

"I wasn't asking for your pity. I was being honest."

"Well, bully for you."

She pushed the screen door open. Stepped out into the alley. And ran smack-dab into Matt.

"Avery!" Matt caught her arm, steadying her. "What are you doing here?"

"Ask your brother." She glanced back at Hunter, standing at the door. "Maybe he'll give you a straight

answer."

"I don't understand."

She shook her head, stood on tiptoe and kissed Matt's cneek. "Call me later, Matt. I've got to go."

CHAPTER 41.

Hunter watched Avery go. She had asked Matt to call her later. Why? To make certain he knew about the call on Trudy Pruitt's answering machine? Or because they were sleeping together?

"What was Avery doing here?"

Hunter faced his brother. "Nothing kinky. Unfortunately."

A muscle in his brother's jaw twitched. "Prick."

"So I've been called on more than one occasion." One corner of his mouth lifted. "This seems to be my

morning for visitors. Lucky me."

Matt moved his gaze over him, taking in the fact he wore nothing but a pair of shorts, that he had obviously not been out of bed long. "What did she mean, about getting a straight answer out of you?"

Hunter leaned against the door frame, mug cradled between his palms. "I haven't a clue."

"Bullshit."

He lifted the mug to his lips, sipped. "Believe what you will. It's a free country."

"How free?"

"I don't follow."

"Maybe you're one of those Americans who believe your personal freedoms entitle you to trample on the

freedoms of others? Maybe even take the law into your own hands? Or take a life?"

Hunter laughed. "I'm a lawyer. I uphold the law."

"Funny, that's what I do, too."

"What can I do for you, Matt?"

"I'm here on official business, Hunter."

"And here I'd thought you might be wanting a brotherly chat. I'm devastated."