CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Riley stood staring at the portrait for a moment, studying that expression.
It was certainly troubling.
The truth was, this voluptuous woman bore almost no resemblance to the thin and waiflike Morgan Farrell …
Except for those eyes, Riley thought.
The look in those eyes was exactly the same—pleading, desperate, terrified.
Someone had deliberately decided to preserve those frightened eyes in an expensive portrait—someone who actually took pleasure in the woman’s look of fear.
Probably not a whim of the artist, she thought.
Surely that expression had to be required or at least approved by whoever commissioned that portrait.
And Riley knew who that person must be—the man who had been murdered beside his swimming pool.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Ro
