“What’s wrong?” Olivia’s voice was a balm, always had been. Soft and sensual, with a bit of a Southern drawl. Sexy as hell.

Bentz sat on the edge of their bed, felt the mattress beneath the thin quilt sag. He’d tried to enter the bedroom quietly so as not to disturb her, but of course that had been impossible. “A case.”

“Father John.” Not a question.

“Yeah.”

Sighing, she rolled over and hit the bedside lamp. In the soft illumination he saw the concern in her large eyes, the dusting of freckles over her nose. “Want to talk about it?” Yawning, she swept a few blond curls from her face.

“Nah.”

“You never do.”

He chuckled, leaned over, and brushed a kiss across her cheek. God, she was beautiful.

“You’ve had a beer?” No judgment. Just a question asked as she pulled herself onto her elbows and cocked her head to one side.

“Or two.”

“So the case is really bad.”

“I hate that bastard.”

“I know. We all do.” She was wearing an oversized T-shirt but was still incredibly feminine.

He chuckled at her pout, unbuttoned his dress shirt, peeled it off, and became serious again. “This guy, a fake priest of all things. I thought he was dead. I mean . . .” He pulled his T-shirt over his head and yanked off his pants. “What the hell? Couldn’t he have had the decency to die in that damned swamp?” Angrily, he balled the dirty shirt. “I mean, all of my cases are bad. You know that. Hell, I work homicide. But some of them, some of the killers, like this one, make it personal.”

“You’ll get him,” she said, smiling up at him in the shadowed room with its gauzy curtains, huge bed, and coved ceilings. “You always do.”

“I thought I already had,” he muttered, tossing his shirt into a darkened corner where a hamper stood near the closet. He missed, of course, the tee catching on the side of the hamper. Not that he cared. He thought of all the cases that he hadn’t closed, the killers who’d gotten away. There were several where he’d known who the criminal was but hadn’t been able to gather enough evidence to put the bastard away. And there were a few where a criminal was convicted, the case against him sufficient, but still Bentz had wondered if the right man had ended up behind bars. Those, thankfully, were not even a handful.

“Hey, can’t you forget about it for a few hours?” Olivia said. She’d let one long leg slide from beneath the quilt, and reached up to touch his cheek. With a gleam in her eyes and a lift of one already arched brow, she added, “I’m awake, and the baby’s asleep.”