She closed her eyes and did as he asked. He couldn’t say that sweet word to her in that loving tone if he’d changed his mind. “Okay.” A deep breath, and she opened her eyes again.

“There was another murder last night.”

“Oh, Alexi.” Instantly the image of Crystal LaRue’s mangled body flashed behind her eyes. “Oh, God.” She caught his hand in hers and squeezed. “Last night?”

“The desk clerk found her this morning. They had an arrangement. She only used that room for work, and he was ticked that she hadn’t checked out and slipped him his usual tip.” He was taking it slow, deliberately, so that the general horror would pass before he hit her with the specifics. Again he tipped the brandy up to her lips. “She’d rented the room three times last night. He caught a glimpse of the third john when they went up, so we’ve had him looking over mug shots most of the day.”

“You’ll catch him.”

“Oh, yeah. There’s no doubt about it this time. He didn’t find the guy in the books, but he gave the police artist a fair description. We’ll be broadcasting it. This time we should have his blood type, too. DNA. Couple of other things.”

“You’ll have him soon.”

“Not soon enough. Bess, the woman…” His fingers tightened on hers, but he told her the worst as gently a she knew how. “It was Rosalie.”

She only stared, and he watched, helpless, as the color simply slid out of her face. “No.” She was tugging her hand from his, but he only held tighter. “You’re wrong. You made a mistake. I just saw her. I just talked to her a couple of days ago.”

“There’s no mistake.” His voice toughened, for her sake. “I ID’d her myself. Rechecked that with prints, and the desk clerk’s ID. Bess, it was Rosalie.”

The moan came out brokenly as she wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. “Don’t,” she said when he tried to gather her close. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

She sprang up, needing the distance, desperate to find something to do with the helpless rage that was building inside her. “She didn’t have to die. It isn’t right. It isn’t right for her to die like that.”

“It’s never right.”

It was his tone, the cool detachment of it, that had her whirling on him. “But she was just a hooker. Don’t get involved, right? Don’t feel anything. Isn’t that what you told me?”

He went very still, as if she’d pulled a gun and taken aim. “I guess I did.”

“I wanted to help her, but you told me I couldn’t. You told me it was a waste of my time and energy. And you were right, weren’t you, Alexi? How fine it must be to always be so right.”

He took the blow. What else could he do? “Why don’t you sit down, Bess? You’ll make yourself sick.”

She wanted to break something, to smash it—but nothing was precious enough. “I cared, damn you. I cared about her. She wasn’t just a story line to me. She was a person. All she wanted was to go south, buy a trailer.” When her breath began to hitch, she covered her mouth with her hands. “She shouldn’t have died like that.”