“Did you really kill that man, Miss O’Leary?”

“What?” Joan answered absently. She’d been daydreaming, wondering how she could get the gorgeous lawman in a set of handcuffs. She started. “Oh! Yes. Yes, I killed him. In a fit of passion.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Passion.” Dan looked her over, then shook his head. “Nope. Don’t see it. Not you.”

Joan zeroed in on his insult. “You don’t think I can be passionate? Not that it’s any of your business, but I can be as passionate as the next woman— maybe even more. And don’t you forget it.”

A husky chuckle preceded his words. “I won’t. I’m just glad to know that all that red hair and those green eyes weren’t wasted on someone with no fire.” Dan dug into his pocket and pulled out some keys. “Stand up, please.”

She tensed, breathing shallowly. “Are you cutting me loose?”

Dan shook his head. “No. You’ve been arrested and charged. Only the D.A. can cut you loose.” Pulling the handcuffs off her, Dan asked, “I can trust you not to try to escape, can’t I?”

Joan looked at him sweetly. “As much as you can any other cold-blooded killer.”