Page 107 of Brutal Ice

“It was the night I danced with Violet. The charity dance. You were there.”

“Uh, yes, yes, I was.” A bob of Leo’s head. “I donate quite substantially to the ballet in Savannah. My wife was a dancer in her youth, until a bike riding accident ended her career when she was just seventeen. She’d always dreamed of dancing on a stage, with the lights all around her. Since that dream couldn’t come true, Vanessa worked diligently to make sure that dream could be possible for others.” A soft sigh. “We both always supported the arts as much as possible.”

“His wife passed away,” Violet said.

“I know,” Royal returned.

Not really the expected response. He was right at her side now, so she elbowed him. When you hear that someone has lost a loved one, you’re supposed to offer condolences.

After her poke, Royal added, “I heard you talking to the blonde who was at your side the night of the charity dance. She was speaking about your wife.”

“You have a very good memory,” Leo noted.

“I do.”

“And you don’t really care about the polite conventions of society at all, do you?”

“Not at all.”

Violet elbowed him again.

Brows raising, Royal peered at her. “Is that your sign that you’re ready to go?”

Heat flushed in her cheeks. “Sure, yes.” Whatever. “Nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Let me give you my card. In case you change your mind about my help.” He reached into his blazer and pulled out a business card. He extended it toward her.

Violet took the card. Their fingers brushed.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Leo told her. “I can keep your secrets.” His gaze slid to Royal. “I can keep secrets for both of you.” He straightened his already straight blazer. “Be careful when you leave. The reporters just won’t give up, will they? Saw them out front and out back.” He turned on his heel and strode back toward the side of the stage.

“Royal,” she began, voice low, “you’re supposed to say sorry.”

“Why? I didn’t kill his wife.”

Her eyes widened. Her hand flew up—the hand not holding the business card—and she pressed her fingers over his mouth. “Don’t!”

He stared at her.

Then his tongue slid out and licked her palm.

She immediately snatched her hand back. “You…you were doing all that deliberately. Being difficult.”

“Difficult?” Royal seemed to taste the word. “Probably.” A nod. “Definitely.”

“His wife died.”

“I saw him at the charity dance.”

“Yes, you said that already?—”

“I saw him when you first appeared on the staircase that night.”

Something about his tone had her tensing.

“He looked like he could eat you alive.”

Her mouth fell open. Then snapped closed. “You’re wrong.”

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