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at the thought. That was a start. If someone did see a stranger in the area early in the morning or late at night, the description might be familiar. Maybe the killer was someone she knew. That made her shiver. She prayed she didn't know anyone capable of murder.
    But first things first. She needed to find a way to turn John off. The man had been insistent on nightly dates for the past few days, and he didn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Her temporary buoyancy evaporated. John wouldn't give up too easily. He might even get to the point that forcing her to sleep with him or else would no longer weigh on his conscious.
    "What would you do if a man said sleep with me, or I'll let you get tried for murder?” she asked her reflection. Flicking a last curl in place around her heart-shaped face, she stared into her sad eyes. “I'm not Braveheart. I would sleep with him."
    A wave of nausea hit her, but she swallowed it down and stood. Time to face him whether she liked it or not.
    Just as she reached her bedroom door, the bell rang. Not bothering to hurry, she went down to answer. John stood at the door in dress slacks and a dress shirt. He was half way decent except that he had taken his braids out the day before and didn't bother to cut his hair. She tried not to center on the wild mess that it was. “Hello, John. Where are we going?"
    Instead of an answer, he jerked her into his arms and kissed her, full on the mouth. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, trying to force entry. If she thought about throwing up earlier, she really did now.
    She shoved at him, but his arms were wound like a straight jacket around her waist. When she tried to knee him in the nuts, he closed his legs. Finally, when frustrated tears fell, and he tasted the salt, he released her.
    "Damn, your mouth tastes good.” He grinned, ignoring the fact that she had been fighting his kiss. “Except for that salty part. Let me look at you. My girl's gotta be hot when we go out!"
    At his command, she twirled. His offending gawk was glued to her cleavage. Just as he requested, she wore a lilac-colored top with a button closure at the neck and a teardrop opening below that to show off the swell of her breasts. She hated the stretchy fabric, because it showed off her love handles a little too much. The black jeans she had paired with it hugged her hips and ass enough to make John salivate.
    After he had smacked her rear, squeezed and slid his fingers a little too low back there, she was contemplating killing someone for the first time. They left the house without him telling her where they were going. “It's a surprise.” He grinned.
    The surprise turned out to be dinner at a midlevel restaurant with tasteless entree and questionable dessert, followed by dancing at a new club called Fire ‘n It. A'isha decided to make the best of things and try to have fun.
    Soon A'isha was shaking her thing to the loud music and had even been scooped up to dance with a few other fine-looking brothas to John's fury. Two surrounded her, one in front, one in back. There had to be no more than an inch or two between their groins and her body.
    "Damn, baby,” the taller, older, of the two groaned in her ear. “That ass is doing things to me. Shake it for me."
    She didn't prefer to be spoken to like that, but it was all in fun for the moment. While she shook it a little harder to the guy's howl of delight, she glanced up to see the fire in John's eyes, but she kept her gaze moving before he could demand she get off the floor. Losing her balance, she fell against the man in front of her. He encircled her waist, grinding into her hips, but her concentration had zeroed in on Detective Connor Pierce leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand and his eyes on her.
    A woman with broad shoulders and a pretty face strolled up to his side. She rested a hand with familiarity on his shoulder and grinned up at him. When Connor turned his head to her, their faces were inches