Secret Star Read Online Free

“This is my home.”
    He kept his grip firm. “I’m aware of that. Exactly when was the last time you were in it?”
    â€œI’ll give you a damn statement after I’ve seen what’s missing.” She managed another two steps and saw from the disorder in the living area that it hadn’t been a neat or organized robbery. “Well,they did quite a job, didn’t they? My cleaning service is going to be very unhappy.”
    She glanced down to where Seth’s fingers were still curled around her arm. “Are you testing my biceps, Lieutenant? I do like to think they’re firm.”
    â€œYour muscle tone’s fine.” From what he could see of her in the filmy ivory slacks, it appeared more than fine. “I’d like you to answer my question, Ms. Fontaine. When were you home last?”
    â€œHere?” She sighed, shrugged one elegant shoulder. Her mind was flitting around the annoying details that were the backwash of a robbery. Calling her insurance agent, filing a claim, giving statements. “Wednesday afternoon. I went out of town for a few days.” She was more shaken than she cared to admit that her house had been robbed and ransacked in her absence. Her things touched and taken by strangers. But she slid him a smiling glance from under her lashes. “Aren’t you going to take notes?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I am. Shortly. Who was staying in the house in your absence?”
    â€œNo one. I don’t care to have people in my home when I’m away. Now if you’ll excuse me…” She gave her arm a quick, hard jerk and strode through the foyer and under the arch. “Good God.” The anger came first, quick and intense. She wanted to kick something, no matterthat it was broken and ruined already. “Did they have to break what they didn’t cart out?” she muttered. She glanced up, saw the splintered railing and swore again. “And what the devil did they do up there? A lot of good an alarm system does if anyone can just…”
    She stopped her forward motion, her voice trailing off, as she saw the outline on the gleaming chestnut wood of the floor. As she stared at it, unable to tear her eyes away, the blood drained out of her face, leaving it painfully cold and stiff.
    Placing one hand on the back of the stained sofa for balance, she stared down at the outline, the diamond glitter of broken glass that had been her coffee table, and the blood that had dried to a dark pool.
    â€œWhy don’t we go into the dining room?” he said quietly.
    She jerked her shoulders back, though he hadn’t touched her. The pit of her stomach was cased in ice, and the flashes of heat that lanced through her did nothing to melt it. “Who was killed?” she demanded. “Who died here?”
    â€œUp until a few minutes ago, it was assumed you did.”
    She closed her eyes, vaguely concerned that her vision was dimming at the edges. “Excuse me,” she said, quite clearly, and walked across the roomon numb legs. She picked up a bottle of brandy that lay on its side on the floor, fumbled open a display cabinet for a glass. And poured generously.
    She took the first drink as medicine. He could see that in the way she tossed it back, shuddered twice, hard. It didn’t bring the color back to her face, but he imagined it had shocked her system into functioning again.
    â€œMs. Fontaine, I think it would be better if we talked about this in another room.”
    â€œI’m all right.” But her voice was raw. She drank again before turning to him. “Why did you think it was me?”
    â€œThe victim was in your house, dressed in a robe. She met your general description. Her face had been…damaged by the fall. She was your approximate height and weight, your age, your coloring.”
    Her coloring, Grace thought on a wave of staggering relief. Not Bailey or M.J., then. “I had no