"Actually," he said, "it's not that you couldn't. It's that you shouldn't. Not on your own, I mean. You don't want to make an enemy of Emil Van Horn."
"So just let him—"
"I don't mean let him get away with whatever he's trying to get away with. Not at all. I just mean if we find something incriminating on this, we'll act on it or turn it overto the authorities. Don't try to use it on your own. Not even to show it to Cassidy. You could tell her eventually, but you have to wait until showing it to her won't put you in danger."
Fresh fear cartwheeled in her stomach. "I . . . I didn't think—"
"Don't worry. You're in good hands with WhiteRock. I get the feeling trust doesn't come easy for you. But my team—Jason, Knox, Allie—they're good people. I promise. We're going to see this through."
Tears threatened to form. She blinked away the moisture before she embarrassed herself. Stupid emotion clogged her throat.
Then, telltale stickiness trickled over her fingers.
Lovely.Ice cream dripped down her hand, Nutmeg happily licking up the overflow.
She tried to mitigate the flood of sugary vanilla with some strategically placed bites, but the warm tropical weather was no match for her efforts. "I'm a mess, sorry."
Nash chuckled. "I'm not doing much better. We should've sat in the air-conditioned area. The ice cream would've lasted longer." He held out his hand. "Here, hand me yours. There's a trash can over here."
He tossed them into a trash can a few feet away.
"Thanks. I think I have some wipes." She opened the bag with Nutmeg's name embroidered on it. "Victoria told me to carry this. She keeps this bag well-stocked for all Nutmeg's needs. Treats, toys, a portable water bowl, you name it. But there's also some wet wipes in here."
She fished out the organic, compostable, lavender-scented wet wipes and handed them to Nash.
"Thanks," he said. His fingers brushed hers. And she completely ignored the warm tingle his touch triggered. Hardly noticed it at all.
They both cleaned their hands and tossed the wipes in the trash.
She took out two more wipes and dabbed a few drops of ice cream off Nutmeg's face.
"So do you have a family? Married?"
The question fell out of her mouth. She winced when she realized she'd said it out loud.
"It's okay," he said. "I don't mind you asking. And to answer your question, no."
"Really?"
His shrug was casual, but she feared she'd treaded on a sensitive topic. "That shouldn't surprise you," he said. "Itold you I'm gone a lot. It's not the kind of life women want to share. And I understand that."
The nonchalant tone was forced. He'd been hurt before. She saw the pain behind his gorgeous blue-gray 'I'm perfectly fine being perpetually single' lying eyes.
"But . . ."
"But what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Never mind." She had no idea what she wanted to say. And now probably wasn't the best time for . . . whatever it was anyway. She leaned her head over the railing. "I think we're almost there. Maybe we should get back in the car."
He checked his watch. All business. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."
She had no idea why she asked if he was married. Or maybe she did, but that was ridiculous. Yes, he was kind, protective, attractive, and . . . and she needed to stop listing his qualities. And she needed to stay miles away from flirting.
The ferry docked, and Nash drove theSUV onto the shore.
There was one more thing she hadn't told him. And that would put an end to the silly infatuation because it would ruin any chance with him. As if she wanted one.
"You might as well know," she said. "Since you mentioned your team can do all that tech stuff. Analyzing video and whatnot—"
