It gave Beau time to think about Maggie, the way her voice got inside his head, her body against his, and the unexpected discovery that he’d rather believe the plot theory than believe she was guilty of setting that fire. Obviously, his objectivity was shot. He was thinking with the brain about three feet from his head. If he had any sense at all, he’d assign the case to Russell first thing in the morning. If. Beau swung his car off Highland Road into an upscale south Baton Rouge neighborhood and accepted the fact that he must not have any sense because he wasn’t giving the case or Maggie to anyone. Over the last five days, she’d become his responsibility. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why—only that she was. And because of that he was suddenly walking a fine professional line he’d never had to walk before, wondering where it led. Technically he didn’t have to do anything about the barn fire. It was out of Baton Rouge proper, and his customary jurisdiction ended at the city limits.
