Page 72 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“No way what could be Annie?” she asked as she entered the office.

Both men were silent.

“Well?” she asked, hands on hips.

She was fresh from her shower. Her wet hair was twisted into a knot on the top of her head. Fisher could smell the scent of her shampoo all the way across the room. She wore dark jeans and bright white Keds canvas shoes. A powder-blue knit top that clung in all the right places completed the outfit. She wore no makeup and the spray of freckles on her nose stood out against her pale skin. She didn’t look old enough to drive.

Fisher knew she wasn’t criminal. Now he just had to prove it.

“Our perp deposited a cashier’s check this morning for the sum of ten grand. It looks like he’s getting ready to bail.”

“Tell her the rest,” Brian said. “Or I will.”

Fisher panted out a quick breath. “The cashier’s check was from the Palms.”

“The Palms?” she repeated confused. “But that’s where we were staying.”

“I know,” he said, waiting for her to think it through.

“Then that means he was there when we were there,” she said. “Do you think he followed us? Do you think he knows?” She gestured in between them.

“That we’re married?”

“Yes, maybe that’s why he’s getting ready to bail,” she said.

“If it’s a ‘he’,” Brian said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Don’t you find it the least bit odd that our perp was at the same casino as you?” Brian asked.

Fisher put a steadying hand on Brian’s shoulder. He was using the same tone of voice he used when they badgered information out of suspects. But Annie was no suspect, she was his wife.

“What are you saying?” she asked. “Do you think that I...?”

“No,” Fisher answered for both of them. “We don’t.”

Annie’s blue eyes darkened, and she looked at him as if he’d just kicked her feet out from under her.

“You do, don’t you?” she asked. “After all of this, you still think of me as a criminal.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. He took a step toward her, but she held up a hand, warding him off.

“This whole thing has just been one big lie, hasn’t it?” she asked. “You don’t give half a hoot about me. I’m just part of the game. What did you think? That if you got me to marry you, I would confess all? Isn’t that above and beyond the call of duty even for you?”

Tears dampened her eyes, giving them a sad glitter. Fisher reached for her, but she side-stepped, slamming into the doorjamb.

“And I was actually beginning to believe that you care about me,” she whispered to herself.

“I do care about you,” he protested. “And if ever get out of this mess, I fully intend to ask you to marry me for real. Not only that, but we’re going to have a big wedding at a church. And I don’t give a damn if you do the macarena in the middle of the ceremony or play roulette at the reception.”

Her lips wobbled. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. And then, on a sigh, she said, “I don’t believe you.”

With a sob, she spun on her heel and ran. Fisher heard her footsteps pound up the stairs. A door slammed against its frame and all was quiet.

“My bad,” Brian said. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Fisher said. “It’s my fault. Honestly? There was a part of me that wanted to see her reaction. To gauge how she feels...felt about marrying me for real. It was stupid and selfish.”