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of friends.”
    She clapped her hands together lightly. “Oh, it’s him. Definitely.” She had no idea if she was right. Her psychic abilities didn’t suddenly give her access to every detail. No, dammit, it only gave her enough to create a mystery she felt compelled to solve.
    Cutting into her rare steak, she popped a small bite into her mouth. God, it was heavenly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had filet. Months. No, years. Dinner out with Cameron. She licked the juice from her lips.
    “What are you doing?”
    Her lids popped open. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. “I’m eating.”
    “Well, quit it.” His pupils dilated. His fist clenched on his knife.
    She stopped, her fork two inches from her mouth. “Quit eating?”
    “Quit making it sound like you’re having sex.” His tone, low and harsh, was meant for her ears only. It gave her chills. Very nice chills.
    She sucked in her breath, remembered the dream and wondered what sex with Witt would be like. Talk about sexual energy, the way he watched her was like ... well, like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that he’d do her fantasy one better, way better.
    Of course, he was right, the steak had been damn near orgasmic. But she’d better stop that line of thinking before things got out of hand, before she got out of hand. “Do all cops have one-track minds?”
    “Only me when I watch you eat. It’s a religious experience.”
    “I’m serious here, Witt. We were talking about motives.”
    “I’ve got one.”
    “Not your motive, you turkey.”
    He tapped the end of his fork on the table before spearing a piece of his steak. Thank God. She’d sidetracked him. Hopefully.
    “Detectives Scagliomotti and Berkowsky—”
    “Scagliomotti? That’s the guy’s real name?”
    He sighed. “Don’t interrupt unless it’s to drag me outside to ravage my body.” He didn’t blink or comment on the fact that her mouth had dropped open, just went on as though he hadn’t made her heart pound. She had a suspicion he knew his effect on her, too. “The boys think it had something to do with the disturbance at the Round Up Saturday night.”
    Max almost choked on a bit of meat. “Disturbance?” she countered. She should have known the cops would put two and two together. Only idiots really believed the police were dumb. And those were the ones who got caught.
    “A woman matching Tiffany Lloyd’s description performed ... er ... was seen ...”
    Poor Witt. His fair skin began to glow. The flush started at the neckline of his pink shirt, then worked its way up. Amazing for a man who made more than his share of sexual innuendoes.
    Max smiled oh so innocently. “Tiffany did what, Detective?” A sip of champagne sizzled down her throat, and she began to enjoy herself in earnest. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the glass across her lower lip.
    Witt tugged on the neck of his T-shirt. “She was observed having ... ahem ... in the public restroom.”
    Max tapped her fingers on the edge of her plate and shot him a quizzical look. “Having ahem ? I don’t believe I’ve heard of that.”
    He put his fork down. “Sex, Max. She had sex in the men’s bathroom,” he said with a straight face.
    She hid her smile behind a broccoli flower. “Oh. And the police think that man killed her?”
    “Him. Or someone who was watching. Helluva fight broke out afterwards. Trashed the place. According to witnesses, Tiffany disappeared. So did the guy.”
    “Did they get a description of him?”
    It was Witt’s turn to smile. “Got fifteen detailed descriptions of the woman. Not one of them could remember what the man looked like.” He pushed his plate away. “Tell me, Max, why so interested in visiting the Round Up? And remember, you said I don’t believe in coincidence. So don’t bother with any crazy stories.”
    Busted. Once again, she’d underestimated the man. “I read about the riot and figured there was a connection.”
    “Riot?”