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head. “Sorry about what happened earlier. I forgot to tell her about you being here and all. My mind was on alcohol limits and fights. She came back from Denver early.” Tim huffed out a breath, looking up the stairs. “Wished she hadn’t.”
    “Why?”
    Tim stared at nothing, shoved his hands into his pockets, then met Aiden’s gaze. A muscle bunched in his jaw. “She found her friend murdered.”
     
     
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CHAPTER THREE
    Hot water beat down on her. Jesslyn sat on the tiled floor, her head on her knees. The thunder of water against her scalp shoved everything else out of her mind.
    It had to.
    Heat wrapped its steamy arms around her and still she was cold. Cold down to her very soul. Her body was tired, her heart was tired, and she didn’t have the courage right now to face what happened tonight and what it meant. She hated death. It stole happiness, ripped out souls, shattered worlds, and in the end faded memories. Being a widow and childless for the last three years, she should be used to it, but she wasn’t.
    Jesslyn rubbed her hands over her face, mixing her tears with water. Crying helped nothing, only gave her headache. She knew that. She had no idea how long she’d been in here, but it had been awhile. On a sigh, she stood up, surprised at how unsteady her legs were. Maybe she’d give herself a heat stroke, pass out and hit her head on something. Then she could just be in oblivion for awhile.
    Though the idea held a degree of merit, she wasn’t about to throw herself on the floor in hopes it might work.
    She stepped out and wrapped herself in her silk robe. As she tied the towel around her head, a knock at the door startled her.
    God her nerves. She’d love a cigarette, but she’d quit. Hell, she’d even take a Xanax if she had any.
    “What?” she asked.
    “You okay?”
    T.J.
    Sure. I love images of death and murder in my mind, goes great for research .
    “Fine.”
    “We’re out here in your room.”
    “We?”
    “Yeah,” T.J. continued. “Tim, that renter-Kinncaid guy, and me. Hurry up.”
    Kinncaid. That thought stopped her. They were all in her room. Tim, T.J., and Kinncaid.
    “Why?” she asked, straightening.
    Silence. She could picture T.J. tapping her foot. Finally she said, “We just wanted to make sure you were okay. Hurry up and get dressed, there’s tea and coffee downstairs.”
    Now that she was out of the shower, the faint rumble of their voices filtered through her door. She picked up her comb and pulled it through her wet hair.
    Kinncaid. Now there was a man, arrogant though he was. Black hair swept carelessly off his forehead, dark cobalt eyes, strong jaw shadowed with dark stubble. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet if she were guessing. When she’d poked her finger in his chest, she’d had to

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    crane her neck back just to glare at him. Her finger had also been at her eye level. The man probably went for the no-end-legs-size-‘C’-cup-willowy-frame-model-face type.
    Jesslyn stared at herself in the mirror. None of the above fit her in the least. In high school she’d finally given up on long legs when she hadn’t grown in two years. Her face was long, wider across her cheeks, almost an oval. The deep widow’s peak made it more an odd-shaped heart. Her eyes were normal, as far as she could tell, and she’d always thought her mouth was too small. As she shed her robe and put on the camisole and panties, she looked back in the mirror. Size ‘C’? Maybe with toilet paper and in her wildest fantasies. There was a reason the bra termed The Miracle was Victoria’s greatest secret.
    Okay, everyone was in her room. Her clothes were on the bed. On a sigh, she jerked the robe back on and loosely belted it.
    As she walked to the door, she caught herself looking in the mirror again.
    Why?
    She decided not to even answer that one. But, at least the musings kept her from thinking darker thoughts.
    The cold air from her bedroom swept across her as she opened