Lena bobbed her head. "Oh, yes, I will."
Frank lowered his flashlight to Lena's feet. "And introduce yourself quicker. We didn't know who you were."
"Oh, my apologies," she said. "My mistake."
She did a good job groveling. Not that she had done anything wrong, but she was smart to sense apologizing was the quickest way out of the conversation. She successfully appeased Frank and Manny, and they scuttled off to their post at the security shack near the front gate.
Nash crouched beside Nutmeg and rubbed his head. Which the dog took as his cue to throw himself on the ground and roll over on his back—his expectation unmistakable. "You want a belly rub, huh? Okay, boy." Nash rubbed his belly, pretending to be overly interested in the dog until the overzealous guards were out of earshot.
He looked at Lena. “Hello again. You okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Um. Thanks for that. Talking them down, I mean. I really wasn't trying to—"
He held up a hand, keeping the other busy massaging Nutmeg. "Don't explain right now." He inclined his head toward his garage apartment. "Mind if we talk a minute? In my apartment?"
Her eyes widened. She took a step back. "Um, no. I should take Nutmeg back. It's getting—"
He hung his head.That was stupid. You sounded like a creep.He raised his head and looked at Lena again, this time with both hands raised. Much to Nutmeg's disapproval.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to sound inappropriate." He stood and leveled his gaze at her. "But we do need to talk. I know you're LenaAshworth, not Erickson." He let that swing in the tropical breeze for a moment.
Lena stood speechless. Her fear was palpable.
He needed to explain. But he didn't want to do it out here in the open. Manny and Frank might return, wondering why they were still hanging around. "I'm not going to reveal that to the Van Horns. And I'm not going to hurt you. But we need to talk, just not out here. Please come up to my apartment. I'll leave the door open if it makes you feel better."
"Why can't we talk in the main house?"
Logical question. But she might not like the answer. "Because I have my own security in place for the garage apartment, not Emil's security. The apartment is safer."
She took another step backward.
This isn't going well.He shoved a hand through his hair and realized even Nutmeg wasn't as enthused with his presence anymore. "Listen, I know you're probably looking for your cousin, Cassidy, right?"
"How . . . how do you . . . do you know where she is?"
The emotion lacing her words pricked something near his heart. "Not yet. But—" He glanced toward the guard shack. "This really is a conversation we need to have inside. Frank and Manny will come back. When they do, I'll try toconvince them I'm out here flirting with you. But if you keep backing up, I'm not going to be able to sell that."
Her mouth opened, then closed without a word. He watched her consider the situation. Finally, she held up a finger. "If I come up to your apartment, the door stays open. Yes?"
"Yes, ma'am. You have my word. Look, I know we just met today, but I promise I'm trying to help you."
Her silent nod signaled his first small victory. She tugged on the leash, gently prompting Nutmeg, who looked deliriously happy to be moving again.
Their short walk through the salty evening breeze carried no less tension than their poolside conversation. He needed to play this carefully. She'd agreed to talk in private, but just barely. He feared that if she didn't like what he said, she might bolt. But she needed to hear him out. Because her life was in danger.
Chapter 4
Lena followed Nash up the stairs to the apartment entrance, but her stance on the small landing clearly communicated she had no intention of crossing the threshold. Fine. He'd take what he could get. At least they could have a semi-private conversation here. Manny and Frank couldn't see his doorway from their shack or from their security cameras.
He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
She took a half-step toward the doorway.
The kitchen's under-cabinet lighting reflected in her eyes. Intelligent eyes. Scanning his apartment.
Apprehension stiffened her movements, but the dim light from the kitchen softened her features. Wisps of long blonde hair framed her face—and her calculating gaze.
"Does Nutmeg want some water?" he asked.
