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“Oh.” She snorted with laughter. “Poor Mick. Actually, poor Sean. I’m petrified, myself.”
“I wouldn’t get up close and personal with one by choice either, but I don’t make a scene about it.”
“You didn’t join in the girlish screams?” she teased. She toed off her heels and tucked one leg beneath her on the couch. She was wearing her work uniform of black skinny jeans and a plain black tank. Mick was wearing his leather jacket over a basic tee and pants, black on black on black. They looked like the poster children for today’s modern biker couple.
“Tends to be frowned upon in the Army,” he said, grinning before his expression turned more serious. “Sophy, about this car you saw.”
Her smile faded.
“I didn’t really see it,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably against the cushions. “Honestly, Mick, I’m not even sure it was following me. I think I’ve just let everything that’s been happening get to my head.”
“I don’t think we should ignore the possibility. Particularly given the incidents with the gifts.”
“They’re probably harmless. Just someone trying to be nice,” she said, biting her thumbnail as she watched him.
“I agree,” he replied calmly. “There probably is no harm in it and the person in the car was likely looking for a number on a letterbox or waiting to pick someone up. But we can still be cautious. Could you see the colour of the car, any identifying features, any numbers on the license plate?”
Sophy considered, tried to think back to the moments before she’d panicked and hopped away like a spooked rabbit.
“It was dark,” she said doubtfully. “And I was trying not to look too hard, to be honest. I didn’t want to alert the driver if he was watching me.”
“He?” Mick asked quickly.
Sophy shrugged.
“Or she. I assumed it was a man, I suppose. Not really based on anything but assumptions. The car was dark, but I couldn’t say exactly what colour and I wouldn’t have a clue on the make. I don’t know anything about cars. As long as they have four wheels and preferably a cute paint job, I’m good to go.”
“License plate?” He was apparently not to be deflected by the brief diversion into the girly.
“Mick, I really wasn’t looking.”
He had put down his cup of tea to pull out an electronic notebook.
“I know,” he said, “but you’re an artist, Sophy, and you’re one of the most observant people I’ve ever met. You probably pick up details without consciously realising it. Try to think back without forcing it.”
She puffed out her cheeks in a heavy, tired breath. After a few minutes, her lips and nose twisted in a grimace and she shook her head.
“No good,” she said. “Sorry. I just wanted to get out of there. I had visions of guys in black masks leaping out of the back seat.”
“You did everything right,” he assured her again, tucking the device back inside his jacket and briefly touching the pad of his thumb to her chin. It was a casually affectionate gesture that made her heart thump. He sat back and gave her a slightly unreadable look before he picked up his tea again. “What kind of vehicle does Gallagher drive?”
He uttered the question in meticulously bland accents over the rim of his cup and for a moment she entirely missed the implication.
“Dale?” she asked blankly, then: “Dale?”
Mick just watched her, one brow raised.
“Mick, what… Dale?” she asked in disbelief for the third time. She stared at him in astonishment. “Why on earth would you think that Dale was loitering about town at midnight, following me home?”
“Have you considered that he might have sent the gifts?”
Sophy opened her mouth. Closed it again.
“He has a thing for you,” Mick said coolly.
God. Parallel universe. Any minute now, she would wake up or Mick would turn into a tap-dancing donkey or something.
“What? I…what?”
