Chapter 87 The Passion

Straight to hell, Tommy thought, where he’d been since last Friday night when he’d arrived at the scene of a homicide and found himself drowning in the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

Those same eyes faced him now, holding a fascinating mixture of anger, desire, and fear. Anger and desire he could handle, give back in spades, but the fear clutched at him. Was she afraid of a killer at large? Afraid someone might discover whatever secret she guarded? Or was she afraid of him?

Instead of asking, he gave her directions to his place, and then sat back and let the silence balloon while she drove. Sure, it was a psych 101 tactic, but often effective. People—women particularly—grew uncomfortable with prolonged silence. Discomfort compelled them to fill the void with conversation, and once the words started flowing, revealing monologues often followed.

Not Annabelle. He stared at her profile as the minutes ticked away. Apparently, it would take more than silence to crack her tough little sh