The senator fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair in the interview room. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but he would soon. Eric was doing his best to make sure the senator was comfortable, for the time being. Maybe he’d say something that would make this process easier.

He gave a sigh and shook his head. “I guess I can kind of understand how it happened,” he said in a sympathetic tone. “From everything I’ve heard, Carrie Edwards could be hard to get along with.”

“Yes,” Dennison said nervously. “She was.” He glanced toward the closed door. “Is my wife out there? She really shouldn’t be here, but when you called she insisted …”

“Sergeant Garvey is taking care of your wife, Senator. She’s in good hands.” Poor woman. She was about to get the shock of her life. She might’ve suspected that the dirtbag she was married to was unfaithful, but Eric doubted she’d had a clue that he was capable of murder. On the other hand, she was also a strong woman, and this wouldn’t break her. “What did Carrie do? You aren’t the type of man who commits cold-blooded murder.”

“No, of course not!” the senator said, jerking back.

“She had to have done something, something that made you so mad you lost your head for a minute.”

The senator paled. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I’m just going by what Ms. Boyne has told us, so far, but of course she wasn’t there. You were.”

Eric hadn’t thought it was possible for Dennison to get any whiter, but he did. “I don’t know what Taite’s told you, but she’s just as unstable as her friend. You can’t believe a word she says.”

No, but they could definitely believe the smears of blood that had been found in the senator’s car. Someone had cleaned that car well, but not well enough, because Taite hadn’t told them to use bleach—and the tests could even work around bleach. It was harder, but it was possible. A detailer wouldn’t have used bleach on expensive leather, anyway.

“Come on, Senator,” he said softly. “What did she do? Was it blackmail? Did she keep pushing and pushing, wanting more and more?”

The senator must’ve seen the certainty on Eric’s face, because the next words brought the interview to an end. “I want my lawyer.”

Eric sighed and nodded. “I’ll have someone bring you a phone.” It would have been nice to get a confession, but it wasn’t necessary. They had the evidence, and they had Taite’s confession. Other people might have started singing, but Dennison was a politician. He knew all about lawyering up. This was something else that was rarely as easy as it was on television.

Eric left Dennison in the interview room to stew, while he waited for a phone to call his lawyer. He caught sight of Garvey talking to a very distraught Fayre Dennison. He hated that she’d be hurt by all of this. He doubted she was one of those stand-by-your-man types—she was too tough, too realistic—but it would hurt her.

Eric walked toward them, and as he approached Mrs. Dennison’s head snapped around and she stared at his battered face. “Is this really true?”

He nodded once, and that was enough. Mrs. Dennison was going through so many emotions, and they all showed clearly on her face: disbelief, hurt, acceptance, and then rage. She’d loved her husband, once, maybe still did, but that strong streak of realism kicked in fast.

“Did you know?” he asked.

“That he’d killed Carrie? No. I’m still not sure I believe he could do such a thing.” She somehow managed to remain regal, put together in spite of her pain. “About Taite … I knew there was someone. We haven’t had a real marriage in years. But I had no idea he’d taken up with someone so young. Good heavens, Taite’s younger than our son.”

“He’s asked for a lawyer,” Eric said.

“That’s too bad,” Garvey said under his breath.

Fayre seemed to regain some balance. She lifted her chin. “I need to make some phone calls of my own. I’ll be damned if Douglas will use my family lawyers, or my family money to pay his legal fees, or Ms. Boyne’s. My husband doesn’t have much money of his own; he’s always been content to live off mine. I want him to feel every penny he has to pay out for lawyers. By the time he goes to prison, he won’t have a dime left.”

Nope, Eric thought. Not a stand-by-your-man kinda woman at all.

There had been interviews to give and paperwork to fill out, but finally, Jaclyn was home. She turned on the lights as she walked through, since it had been dark for a while. It was late, past her usual bedtime. Nothing made you appreciate home like having it taken away for a couple of days. Her couch, her chair, her kitchen. Her own bathroom. Her bed. Home. Knowing that the woman who’d tried to kill her was locked up added to Jaclyn’s appreciative mood. For the first time in days, she could relax.