Eliot dreamed of cookies.

He found himself in his mama's kitchen, the one in the old farmhouse they'd lived in before she'd passed away and their father had uprooted the boys and brought them to New York.. Everything about it was familiar, from the potholders on the hook by the stove to the chip in the counter from the time he and Jake had been throwing a baseball back and forth and he'd missed.

A woman stood at the counter with her back to him, and she was stirring something. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the room. Eliot took a deep breath, enjoying the comforting smell.

There was already a plate of cookies made and waiting on the table. He scooped one up silently as he watched the woman. When he took a bite of the cookie, he realized the baker couldn't be his mama. The cookies were delicious, but they were spicier than he was used to. It tickled his tongue, even as the sweetness warmed him. Curious now, he really looked at his mysterious baker. Her hair was thick and dark around her shoulders, and she was wearing a short, black dress that reached mid thigh above her shapely legs.

She must have heard him behind her because she turned suddenly. Eliot's mouth dropped open when he saw Devereaux's face. She was smiling wickedly. The smile was somehow made sexier because of the smudge of flour across her cheek. She was wearing an apron over her dress, but instead of a cooking apron, it was one normally found as an accessory to an adult's French maid costume.

He woke with a start, feeling confused and out of sorts. Damn that vanilla shampoo, and damn authors who wanted real mysteries to solve, he thought as he got ready for work. It made him cranky that he couldn't banish the dream from his mind, and he was glad he wouldn't have to work with her anymore. It was bad enough the she'd invaded his days; it wasn't fair that he had to give her his nights as well.

He was still cranky when he got to work, and the sight of her at his desk going through his stuff made him even crankier.

"What are you doing?" he growled at her.

"Just looking for a story, Detective—and waiting for you, of course."

"You know everything about me that you need to."

She eyed him speculatively. "I don't know. I'm sure there's lots more in there I can coax out if I try hard enough."

He scowled at her, ignoring the part of himself that wanted to react to her teasing smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh." She got to her feet. "I wanted to give you this. Since you're a fan."

"Who said I'm a fan?"

"Just take it," she said in amusement, her eyes twinkling.

She was holding out a small box with a little bow on it. Eliot took it from her curiously and opened the top. Inside was a copy of Storm Fall, Devereaux's new book. It hadn't even been released yet.

"It's an advanced copy. I signed it to you, but you could always give it to Jake if you don't want it."

Eliot flipped open the cover to read, "To my favorite detective, love Sophie Devereaux."

"That was nice of you."

"It was the least I could do after you let me tag along. I appreciate you letting me help."

"I was forced to do that."

Delight danced briefly over her face, and she stepped forward to pat him gently on the cheek. When she did, her scent surrounded him, so much like his dream that it almost made him dizzy.

"You're adorable. I'm so glad I got to meet you."

He didn't know how to answer that, so he just watched her walk away, bemused and a little turned on. When she disappeared down the hallway, he shook his head and sat in his chair. He took the book out of the box and studied the cover, opening it again to read the flap. He got about halfway through when he realized there was something missing from his desk. Forgetting the book, he put it aside and started searching through his stuff. The file for the Devereaux murders was gone.

"Dammit, Devereaux," he cursed.

XXX

Sophie sat at Flynn's kitchen table with the contents of the murder file spread out in front of her. She had studied each piece as it came out, noting the occasional fact she hadn't known in a little rose covered notebook. Flynn had left her to her own devices, and so she was using the quiet to help formulate her thoughts.

She was reading through some of Alison Tisdale's information when there was a disturbance in the other room. She winced as she heard voices, knowing she'd been found a lot sooner than she'd been hoping. Pretending she hadn't heard, she turned her attention back to her notebook.

"Sophie Devereaux." Spencer's gruff voice held anger that she couldn't fault him for.

She looked up, keeping her face perfectly bland. Spencer entered, trailed by two uniforms and a white faced Flynn.

"You are under arrest," Spencer continued, biting out the words, "for Felony Theft and Obstruction of Justice."

"I can explain..." she tried.

"Get to your feet." She obeyed him, carefully putting down her pad and pen. Spencer glared at her as he took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket.

Despite the situation, Sophie felt a flash of amusement. "If you wanted to play with handcuffs, Detective, you just had to ask."

She smiled at him sassily and held out her hands. Spencer paused before growling softly under his breath. It was actually rather sexy.

"You have the right to remain silent." He took her arms gently, despite his stormy expression, and snapped the cuffs around them, not bothering to make her turn around. "Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford one, one will be appointed to you..."

Sophie listened patiently as he recited her Miranda Rights. She wondered if he realized his hands were still on her wrists.

When he finished, she said, "The roses were wrong. It wasn't just the dress."

"What?"

"On Alison's body..."

"Stop right there. Here," he turned to the nearest officer, "take her."

"Eliot, listen to me," she protested as she was handed off, and he started scooping up the contents of the file.

It was obvious he had nothing more to say to her; he wouldn't even look at her, so she meekly let the uniforms lead her out as she thought about the things she'd read in the file.

XXX

Parker sat across from Cassie and Detective Jones, watching them interact with interest. Her sister looked happy, and her words came bubbling out. Detective Jones listened attentively, and he seemed nice enough, but Parker couldn't decide whether she liked him or not. There was a bit of hardness in his eyes and a hint of a smirk to his mouth. She'd tried to tell Cassie this when she'd first met him, but Cassie had blown her off, saying that Parker didn't like anybody.

That wasn't true. Parker liked Cassie. And Sophie. And Flynn. Oh, and the woman who'd taught her gymnastics and the woman who ran the shelter where she worked.

"Would you like to go to a movie?" Jones was asking. His accent was like Sophie's but not quite the same. Parker liked his voice.

"That would be fun." Cassie's eyes were shining.

"Can I come?" Parker blurted, though she knew it was inappropriate.

Jones turned to her, but he didn't look annoyed. He studied her for a moment before saying, "Sure."

Cassie's cell rang, and she checked to see who was calling. "It's Sophie."

"Sophie?" They hadn't seen Sophie since that morning. She'd gone out telling them not to expect her back until late.

Cassie answered the call, and Parker watched her anxiously. Something about her expression was off, and it made Parker worry.

Cassie's expression was still strange when she hung up and said, "We've got to go."

"Go where?"

"Sophie's been arrested."

That was the last thing Parker expected to hear. "Arrested?"

"She stole the file for the Alison Tisdale case."

Parker frowned. This had to be that Detective Spencer's fault. Before she met him, Sophie had never been arrested. Parker's feelings on Detective Jones were ambiguous, but she knew she did not like Detective Spencer. "So, we've got to go bail her out?"

"That's probably a good idea."

"You need to go to the station?" Detective Jones got to his feet. "I'll drive you. I was headed there anyway."

The smile Cassie gave him was warm. "Thank you, Ezekiel."

XXX

Eliot's head throbbed as he waited in the bullpen for the uniforms to bring Devereaux up from holding. He was having a very bad day, one that had started with that damned dream and culminated in his arresting Devereaux for Obstruction of Justice. He rubbed his forehead, trying to massage the pain away, as he listened to two young women chattering away with Captain Ford about the nature of Devereaux's crimes. Well, one of them chattered. The blond glared at Eliot silently, animosity coming off her in waves. It was as if, in her eyes, he'd been the one to betray Devereaux's trust instead of the other way around.

"She can't be messing with this case," Ford was saying to the red head.

"I know. Sophie just cares too much. She wants to make things right for everybody."

"Stealing reports..."

"I'll talk to her."

Eliot guessed this must be Cassie, the worrier. That would make the glarer Parker.

For once, Devereaux looked properly subdued when she appeared. She walked meekly between the two uniforms, absently rubbing her wrists. Eliot felt a twinge of concern. Had he put the cuffs on too tight?

"I see you've met my sisters," she said.

"Sophie, what were you thinking?" Cassie scolded. "You stole a case file. You got arrested."

"I think she was framed." Parker scowled at Eliot, and he wondered about her grasp on reality.

"I wasn't framed, Parker. I really took the file." To Ford, she said, "I apologize, Captain, but I had a good reason."

"Around here, we don't just go taking confidential files," he told her sternly. "I'll let your sisters take you home and drop the charges if you promise not to interfere any more in this case."

She looked at him, one of her perfect teeth gnawing her bottom lip.

"Miss Devereaux?"

Her gaze traveled from Parker to Cassie, then to Ford, and finally came to rest on Eliot. Her eyes were troubled, but she just said quietly, "You have the wrong man."

"That's not the right answer."

She studied him for a few seconds before saying, "I promise to behave and not break the law again."

"All right." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Trust my detectives, Miss Devereaux. They know what they're doing."

"I hope you're right, Captain." She looked at Eliot again, her face more serious than he'd ever seen it, and it began to dawn on him that he'd been wrong—about her and maybe about this case. "Come on, girls, let's go home."

XXX

After Devereaux left with her sisters, Eliot started thinking about what she'd been saying. There had been something niggling at the back of his mind, but he'd been ignoring it because Kyle Cabbot was a good collar.

As he sat there, staring at the murder victims, he thought about Devereaux and the lengths she'd gone through to make him listen to her. Without her meddling, he might not have given the case a second thought, and that bothered him.

"What's going on?" Baird asked, coming to sit down beside him.

Reluctantly, he admitted, "I'm starting to think Devereaux is right."

"That's something I never thought I'd hear you say."

"Things look good on the surface, but..."

"But what? Talk it out."

"Something's been bothering me."

"What?"

"Why would Kyle kill a random person from the diner, then go personal with Alison, and then go back to a random stranger?"

"Convenience?"

"And Devereaux kept harping on the details. An obsessive wouldn't get the details wrong. The dress. The flowers. The murder weapon."

"Murder weapon?"

"In Hell Hath no Fury, the victim was smothered."

"You're right. Kyle, wouldn't get those wrong, would he?"

Eliot shook his head. "Dammit. I was so sure she was full of hot air, I wouldn't listen to what she was saying."

"But you're listening now."

"Yeah."

"If not Kyle, then who?"

"Someone who knew Kyle's history. Someone who knew one of the victims. Alison, probably. She was the one who knew Kyle, and I'm thinking the killer found out about him through her."

"Makes sense."

"We need to find out who wanted to kill Alison so bad he—or she—killed two other people to cover it up?"

"So we start asking questions."

"We start asking questions."

XXX

Knowing she was flirting with getting into some real trouble, Sophie walked into the office on the twelfth floor anyway. It was modern and clean, with simple, hard lines. A young woman, maybe Cassie's age, sat behind a solid, imposing desk. She had a pleasant face and freckles that danced across a pert little nose. As Sophie approached, the secretary looked up and smiled. Sophie automatically smiled back.

"Hello, I'm Ms. Devereaux. I have an appointment with Mr. Tisdale."

"Yes, Ms. Devereaux. He's ready for you."

"How about me?" A voice behind her asked. "Is he ready for me?"

Sophie turned in surprise to see Detective Spencer standing behind her with his badge in his hand. She winced.

"Are you going to arrest me again?"

"Now, who's eager to play with handcuffs?"

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. He winked at her, and she felt suddenly as if she'd fallen down the rabbit hole.

"I'll be going in with Ms. Devereaux," he said to the secretary. "All right?"

"Go ahead, Detective." Then she seemed to remember her duty. "If that's all right with you, Ms. Devereaux."

Sophie mentally shook off her surprise and kept her face expressionless as she said, "That's fine."

Still feeling disconnected from reality, Sophie followed Detective Spencer into the office of Jonathan Tisdale, Alison's father.

His office, in contrast to the main room, was old money. Rich, dark wood and dark green velvet. Antique books in glassed over cases and an old globe in the corner that she was sure was a bar.

The man behind the desk was probably in his sixties, with sad, solemn eyes that had dark smudges around them. Sophie studied his face carefully, willing it to give away all the man's secrets.

"Thanks for seeing us, Mr. Tisdale," Spencer said politely, respect—either for the man or for the dead—in his voice.

He nodded. "I just want my little girl to find justice. She didn't deserve this."

"I understand." Spencer's voice held a gentleness Sophie had never heard before, and her gaze went to him.

"You wanted to ask me some questions."

"Yes, sir. Did Alison ever mention being frightened or threatened? Was there anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

"No." He sounded a little choked up. "People loved her. All she wanted was to a make the world a better place. I told all this to the other detective."

"We're just following up."

Sophie felt sorry for the distraught father, but she had to ask, "Do you know if anyone might have profited from her death?"

Mr. Tisdale frowned at her. "I may be rich, but my daughter was not. She abhorred money. What little she had, she gave to charity."

Sophie nodded her head. "Fortune Magazine estimated your net worth at almost a hundred million dollars."

"That sounds right. Why?"

Sophie felt Spencer looking at her curiously, but she ignored him. "I was just wondering what happens to your money if something happens to you."

"Devereaux..." It was a soft warning from Spencer.

Her eyes were still on Tisdale's. She saw the tick before he spoke, and it verified what she'd been thinking.

"Half of my estate goes to my charitable foundation, and the rest to my chil..." He cleared his throat. "My son. The rest goes to my son."

"Thank you, Mr. Tisdale. We're sorry to have bothered you. Are you coming, Eliot?"

Detective Spencer jerked as if she'd pinched him, and Sophie kept her amusement out of her features. She swayed her hips just a little bit as she walked from the room, not looking back to see if he would follow.

XXX

"Spill it, Devereaux," Eliot growled as soon as they were out of the building.

She was smiling slyly, her eyes smug. It was a sexy look but not when she was messing with his head.

"A writer, much like a detective, sees things other people miss. A good writer watches people and can see things they try to hide."

"What the hell does that mean?" His hair was down, and he ran a hand through it in frustration.

"Did you notice the pictures in his office?"

"Of him and his kids? Sure."

"He's lost a lot of weight."

"People lose weight."

She shook her head. "I think he's sick, Eliot. Really sick. He kept touching his hair."

Eliot remembered the last time he discounted her words. "A piece?"

"A good one but new. And he was wearing make up."

He nodded slowly. "Trying to look healthy."

"I think so. It might cause problems if his shareholders found out too soon."

"Good catch." Eliot rubbed his jaw and added, "You think we should question the brother, don't you?"

"Half of a hundred million dollars is a pretty big motive."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. He'd been thinking the same thing.

She was so excited, she was almost bouncing. Normally, her every gesture was restrained, even when she was smiling or teasing. Now, she'd loosened. He wondered if this is how she looked when she was writing.

"Then what are we waiting for? " she asked, "Where's your car?"

XXX

Harrison Tisdale's office was nothing like his father's. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall that was crowded with just a desk and some filing cabinets. A calendar featuring nude women hung on the wall, and the desk was covered in paper.

Tisdale himself was young and dressed well, but his hair was long and shaggy, and he was slightly untidy.

"We can talk more privately in here," he said as he led Sophie and Detective Spencer into the room. Closing the door, he muted the sounds of the work being performed on the other side.

Sophie felt a bit uneasy being in the room with him despite the fact that he looked completely innocuous. He reminded her a bit of Todd. She casually took a step closer to Detective Spencer.

"You were asking about the last time I saw her?" Tisdale asked, leaning against his desk. "It was about a month ago. At Dad's. You know, I still can't believe she's gone."

"Were you close?" Sophie asked, watching his face as she had his father's.

He dropped his eyes. "Everybody loved her. My sister, she just wanted to see the best in people. Even that kid who killed her. You know, she did everything she could to help that guy; she even brought him around here once to see if I'd give him a job."

"Did you?" Spencer asked. His eyes were cold.

"I couldn't afford to, all right? My employees mess up, I lose my bond. I don't know...Maybe if I'd helped him, things'd be different."

If he were the killer, his mask was very good. Sophie wondered what it would take to crack it. "How did your sister deal with the news that your father was dying?"

"What?" He looked startled but quickly smoothed his features. "She was upset. We both were."

She felt satisfaction settle in her belly. She was right about that, at least.

"With her dead, you are in line to inherit an awful lot of money." Spencer's voice was as cold as his eyes.

Tisdale frowned. "What are you trying to say? I thought you caught the killer."

"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Tisdale. I have to eliminate all doubt. If I don't, a killer could walk. Do you want your sister's killer to walk?"

"Of course not."

"Where were you when your sister died?"

Tisdale pushed himself upright and walked around the desk. Opening one of the drawers, he answered, "I was traveling on business. Actually, I was out of the country for all three murders."

He pulled out a passport and handed it to Spencer. Sophie frowned when the detective flipped it open to reveal the stamps.

"See? I was nowhere near New York when any of them died."

Sophie felt herself deflate. She'd been so sure.

"Mind if I hang on to this?" Detective Spencer asked.

Tisdale shrugged. "No. Go ahead."

"Thanks. We won't take up any more of your time."