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She worked for me now. Gavin’s old file was locked in the field office, and Meredith Stokes was our first lead. Georgia was asleep in the loft above that office, close enough that I could see her windows from my property. I wrapped my hands around the bar again, and this set went better, mostly.

By the time I finished, showered, and changed into dark jeans and a black henley, the eastern sky had turned from black to a bruised gray-blue. Wind rattled the bare branches nearest the house and sent fallen leaves scraping over the drive in dry, restless bursts. The evergreens beyond the property moved more slowly, their tops bending against the dawn while the trunks stayed solid.

The light above the field-office door was still on from the night before, and a second light glowed through one of the lower windows.

I stopped at my kitchen counter with a mug of coffee halfway to my mouth. Georgia was apparently an early riser when work demanded it. Losing her job, starting a new one, a seven-year-old mystery, and two kisses with her new boss qualified.

The woman had been on my property for less than a day, and already I knew exactly which window she was behind. That was probably worth examining later, but for now I carried my coffee outside instead.

The cold bit through my shirt before I crossed the gravel between the house and the converted outbuilding. Rain had moved through sometime after midnight, leaving the ground dark and the rail beside Georgia’s exterior stairs damp beneath my hand. Her upstairs windows were unlit now, but warm light spilled from the office below onto the wet gravel.

When I stepped inside, the space smelled faintly of coffee, paper, and the lemon cleaner Georgia had found in a supply cabinet yesterday.

It also looked different.

It wasn’t transformed; she hadn’t been there long enough for that. But the desk she had claimed was no longer buried under six months of accumulated receipts and field paperwork. Three labeled stacks occupied one side. A shallow box held loose receipts by month. The top drawer of the filing cabinet stood open while Georgia crouched in front of it, comparing two folders.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Her hair was loose this morning, thick chestnut waves falling over a fitted forest-green sweater that made her olive skin look warmer in the gray dawn. Dark jeans hugged her hips before disappearing into brown boots, and gold hoops flashed when she turned fully toward me.

There was nothing tentative in her face.

“Before you tell me what time it is,” she said, “I know.”

I leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “That saves us both some time.”

“I woke up before six, discovered the mattress upstairs is approximately eight thousand times better than Case’s couch, and realized I was lying there thinking about Meredith anyway. Working seemed more useful.”

Her gaze moved over me as she spoke. It took in the damp ends of my hair, the henley, and apparently enough else that the corner of her mouth lifted.

I’d spent most of an hour lifting because of that mouth.

The fact that she seemed perfectly comfortable looking at me afterward almost made me laugh.

“You’ve already been through those files?” I asked.

“Only the expense folders you gave me yesterday. I haven’t touched anything client-related.” She straightened and slid the drawer closed with her hip. “I also found two gas receipts you were missing, one invoice you already paid but never marked paid, and evidence that your relationship with office supplies is hostile.”

“My relationship with office supplies is fine. I don’t staple people.”

“You have four boxes of printer paper and no working stapler.”

Her laugh came easily, filling the small office without feeling forced or careful. “That may be the most bondsman answer you’ve given me so far.”

The normalcy of it settled something in my chest. She hadn’t ignored the previous night, but she hadn’t turned it into an awkward morning-after conversation either. The kisses were simply there between us now, as real as the files and the job and her coffee on the desk.

Easy didn’t mean uncomplicated. I was eighteen years older than Georgia, I was her new employer, and my company was still attached to the debt her family had spent years paying. By any sensible measure, she should have been off-limits. Last night hadn’t changed any of those facts. It had only made wanting her harder to dismiss.

I looked at the mug.

“Have you eaten?”

Georgia followed my glance, then looked back at me. “I had coffee, and I was planning to eat before the morning got much older.”

I took another drink from my mug. “Coffee wasn’t the question. Come up to the house. I’m making eggs.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You cook now? Last night you chopped things under supervision, though I’ll give you credit for cleaning.”