see clearly that she wasn't nearly as impervious as she wanted him to believe. Her entire body was shaking, from her hands and shoulders all the way down to her knees. He told himself that didn't bother him. But Nick had always had a weakness for vulnerable, troubled women, and this one fit the mold to a T.
''Three years ago my son was murdered," she said in a shaking voice. 'The murderer was never apprehended. Your son drowned under suspicious circumstances a year later."
"The only suspicious circumstance related to my son's death was that my ex-wife was passed out in the house." Even after all this time, the thought twisted him into knots.
"I have nothing to gain by lying to you," she said.
"Yeah, maybe you're having some kind of psychotic episode." Nick wasn't sure why he was still listening to her. The last thing he needed was some woman making wild claims about an incident that had come within an inch of destroying him.
"Do you have any evidence to support anything you've said?" he asked. .
"I have—” She bit off the words abruptly and flushed.
Something niggled at the back of his neck. "You have what?"
When she didn't say anything, he crossed lo her, took her arm, and muscled her down the steps. "You've had your say, chere. Now I want you off my property."
"Mr. Bastille ... "
"For the life of me I can't figure why you'd make up a wild story like this and drive all the way out here."
''The only thing I have to gain is justice for my son."
He could feel her shaking within his grasp, but-he didn't let go. Not for the first time it entered his mind that she was emotionally unstable and in need of some kind of psychiatric care. But Nick didn't care. He'd long since considered himself a compassionate human being.
She put up a fight as he forced her through the high grass, but she was small and he handled her with ease. When they reached the driveway, he released her and shoved her toward her car. "Get in the goddamn car."
"Mr. Bastille ... "
When she made no move to obey, he opened the door. "Get in or I swear to Christ I'll throw you in."
She slid behind the wheel. "What's it going to take to convince you?"
Nick thought about it for a moment. "An eyewitness," he said and slammed the door.
Chapter 4
Nat was still trembling when she parked the Mustang outside the Bellerose Police Department and shut down the engine. For a full minute she sat behind the wheel and tried to convince herself her encounter with Nick Bastille hadn't shaken her badly.
But the ex-con with the dark eyes and snarling mouth bad shaken her up plenty. Nat had expected anger and disbelief from him; she'd been prepared. What she hadn't anticipated was the threat of violence. She'd been looking directly into his eyes when she'd told him about his son. She'd never seen a man look so dangerous and so utterly broken at the same time.
Nick Bastille may not realize it, hut he was still grieving for the loss of his boy, and that grief was as dark and bottomless as the soul of the man who'd killed him.
Shoving thoughts of Nick Bastille aside, she looked through the windshield and studied the red brick facade, telling herself she wasn't terrified of walking inside. Nat hadn't set foot inside the Bellerose Police Department since that terrible night three years ago. She knew there were a host of unpleasant memories waiting for her. Memories made exponentially worse by a hostile police force that believed she'd gotten away with murder.
Her heart knocked hard against her ribs as she got out of the car and started toward the entrance. Shoving open one of the double glass doors, she strode purposefully into the building. The public utilities department where people could walk in and pay their water bill was to the left. Nat took a right and crossed to the reception desk, where a bored-looking strawberry blonde was flipping through a glossy magazine.
"I'd like to see Chief Martin," Nat said.
The strawberry