Love on Trial by Diana Palmer Page A

landlady was rousted out of bed at three in the morning to open the door to Devolg’s room for that ‘concerned friend’?”
    â€œThe one who mysteriously disappeared when the landlady got the door open and found Devolg, lying on his bed stabbed to death?” she replied.
    â€œThe same.”
    â€œHawke, is that who we’re looking for?” she asked excitedly.
    â€œLet’s just say I’ve got a hunch whothe man was, and I’ve a contact here who may be able to unravel the mystery for me,” he said solemnly. He took another draw from his cigarette. “If I’m right,” he mused with a dark smile, “it’s going to blow one big hole in the prosecution’s case.”
    â€œYou think the boy is innocent?” she asked.
    â€œMy God, Siri, would I have taken the case if I thought he wasn’t?” he asked harshly.
    â€œI never try to second-guess you,” she replied. “It’s not worth the wear and tear on my nerves. Are you going to give me a name?”
    â€œWhat do you think, honey?” he asked nonchalantly.
    â€œI think hell will freeze over first.”
    â€œShrewd perception.”
    â€œIf you’re not going to tell me anything, why did you agree to let me come along?” she asked, peering at him over the top of her pad.
    His head turned toward her, but she couldn’t see his eyes through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He didn’t say a word, but she felt vaguely uneasy.
    â€œHawke, what will you do if the prosecution gets to your mystery man first?”
    Both dark eyebrows went up. “What do you think they’d do, bump him off? Honest to God, Jared needs to take those detective novels away from you.”
    She shrugged. “James Bond…” she began.
    â€œâ€¦is a remarkable piece of fiction, but fiction, nevertheless. Why,” he asked himself, “ did I bring you along?”
    â€œBecause you promised Dad.” A mischievous smile touched her pink bow of a mouth. “Hawke, can I play in the sand now? Will you buy me a bucket and a shovel?”
    His chiseled lips made a thin line as his head turned once again in her direction. “Aren’t you a little old for these kind of games?” he asked shortly.
    She felt whipped. “Can’t I even tease you, for Pete’s sake?” she asked irritably.
    â€œNot that kind of teasing, no!” he growled.
    â€œYou’re as touchy as a sunburned water moccasin,” she grumbled.
    â€œI thought you came out here to sunbathe,” he remarked.
    She stretched out on her towel with an irritated sigh. “So I did,” she murmured, but she was talking to herself.
    Â 
    Supper in the hotel restaurant was the best she’d ever had, perhaps because her swim in the Gulf had whetted her appetite, or maybe because Hawke was in a better mood. He seemed more relaxed, as if the delicious meal had taken the edge off the black humor he’d been in most of the day.
    She liked the way he looked in his cinnamon colored silk shirt, worn with a lightweight beige suit that made himstand out from the crowd. He was, she thought miserably, such a handsome man; not in the conventional sense, but in a rugged, very masculine way that made her fingers want to reach out and touch him. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before. It puzzled and frightened her, all at once.
    She concentrated on her coffee. “When do we go to the bar?” she asked.
    â€œIn,” he studied the watch strapped in the curling dark hair on his wrist, “ten minutes. I contacted my informant by phone.” His dark eyes met hers across the table. “You’ll have to pretend to be invisible, sparrow. I don’t want anyone in that bar, especially the man I’m meeting there, to believe you’re anything other than my date. It’s a dangerous game, hunting a murderer. In that respect, your precious mystery writers