Without moving, Mr. Cambridge curled his lip and shot a disgusted sneer Cord’s way, as if judging him to be inadequate for his inability to keep his female partner in line. When he stared back down at her, his eyes narrowed to a razor edge. ‘This is my house. Who’s going to make me step back? You?’

Alyssa didn’t blink, didn’t telegraph her intent in any way before she moved in, crowding him now. ‘Yeah, me. Would you like to test that fact?’

Even though she had to tilt her head back to see his face as he towered above her – Mr. Cambridge was taller even than Cord – she knew by the shadows that passed over his face that he was considering how far he could, or should, push her. The wrong choice would find him on the ground in nothing flat, bested by a woman a foot shorter than him. If nothing else did, that would certainly get his attention.

Finally, his face flushed a mottled red, he took two steps backwards into the foyer. His wife stood to the side, eyes wide, lips trembling, hands twisting an enormous sapphire ring around and around on her finger. Near her in an open archway, Beau Cambridge stood with his legs spread and arms crossed over his beefy chest, an amused smile on his face. Alyssa could understand why neither Mrs. Andrews nor Jersey’s friends liked him. Without ever having heard him speak, she found him highly unlikeable.

‘You have five minutes, Detective, and then you need to leave. And if any of your questions seem accusatory, I’ll have you fired for harassment.’ Mr. Cambridge adopted his son’s posture and crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes shot daggers through her.

Alyssa didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was rolling her eyes at his dramatics. You can try, she thought, but refrained from stoking that fire. Instead she raised her steady gaze to his and countered with, ‘If your son has nothing to hide, then he has no reason to fear any of the questions we choose to ask.’ She let her stare carry over to Beau. ‘Beau Cambridge?’

His eyes shifted toward his father’s before he dropped his head in a brief nod.

‘What happened to your face?’ Two red scratches zigzagged across his right cheek and stretched down his neck where they disappeared beneath his shirt collar.

Again, his gaze flickered toward his father. ‘Why? What’s it to you?’

Before Alyssa could respond, Beau turned to his mother and snapped out an order, punctuating it with a pointed finger. ‘Go get me a Coke.’

She half expected a military salute before Mrs. Cambridge immediately retreated to obey, and it took yet another layer of Alyssa’s willpower not to stop her and demand the spoiled brat get his own damn drink. Forcing him to show a little respect is not why you’re here.

As soon as Mrs. Cambridge was out of sight, Cord pushed further into the foyer, edging closer to the two men, his stance indicating a hyper sense of awareness, the expression on his face unfamiliar to her. His nostrils flared, and the tendons in his neck stood out, as he leveled both men with a fiery stare.