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Something to protect her? What a sweet thing to—
“I’ll use you to draw the killer out,” he said, and she deflated a little. “I think anything out of the ordinary will draw undue suspicion.” He slid a piece of paper across the desk. A pamphlet she’d once handed out to drum up business for her tours. “Scheduling a tour like this fits your profile.”
“Like this? A plain ole tour with no theme?” Her shoulders slumped. She’d hoped to do something different. Adventurous. “Where’s the drama? Everyone loves drama. Shouldn’t I give the people what they want?”
“We don’t care about what the people want,” he reminded her. “We care about a killer. When should we ever cater to a killer?”
“Never,” she grumbled.
“Good girl. Now,” he continued, “you can make it seem like you’re capitalizing on the unsolved murder or claim you can prove there’s no hidden gold. Considering what you posted to the Headliner last night, the latter is the most believable. You’ve gotten over fifty comments, each one accusing you of being a liar.”
She didn’t miss the censure in his tone and winced. “My bad.” Yeah, she’d gone over every comment before heading to the city. Apparently only Fiona and Beau believed her. “I’ll go with a gold theme.”
His fingers twitched on the arms of his chair at the same time a muscle jumped in his jaw. “I will attend, of course, and I will—”
“No! Are you kidding? The killer won’t come if a GBH agent is there.”
“Nevertheless. I’ll be buying a ticket.” He offered her a smug smile. “As a paying customer, I’ll have every right to stand by your side, keeping you safe.”
So he would be protecting her. Just as sweet as she’d originally thought. No, more so. But also beyond aggravating. “Beau will be there.” Thinking out loud, she said, “No one will try anything with him around. He’s playing the part of groundskeeper.”
“Then I’ll be playing the part of Conrad, the groundskeeper’s helper. And you’re right. Many will recognize me. I want them to.”
Argh! He wasn’t backing down. He knew everyone would recognize him, no matter what he wore. But she was feeling a little bit petty now. “I can’t wait to see you in the costume I plan to prepare for you.”
“The groundskeeper’s helper doesn’t require a costume.”
“He’s getting one anyway,” she said and humphed. “I’m putting a rush on this tour. Scheduling it for this weekend. You probably have plans—”
“I’ll be there.” Sizzling brown eyes dared her to try and stop him.
The way he was looking at her right now… Special Agent Conrad Ryan clearly had plans for her once the case closed. Do not shiver. Don’t you dare!
“Fine,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. “Come as a paying guest. You’ll not be getting a discount, so don’t ask. Actually, your ticket has an out-of-town processing fee. Add a hundred dollars to it.”
He snorted. “Tell me who you expect to show up.”
She flipped through the pages of her notebook until she reached a dog-eared page in back—her most up-to-date list of suspects. “Emma Miller is my number one. The day of the murder, she found out Dr. Hots was sleeping with other women. Dr. Garcia caught her crying. Of course, he’s on my list as well. As well as Caroline Whittington and everyone else at the clinic. And their significant others.”
“Yes, but who’s second on your list?”
So many! Basically a who’s who of Aurelian Hills. But, if she had to pick from the three-dozen or so remaining names, she’d go with… “Abigail Waynes-Kirkland.”
His head canted to the side as he regarded her more intently. “Why her?”
The infamous tilt. She almost grinned. She’d definitely intrigued him. Was he surprised by the name itself, or by that Jane considered the woman a suspect? “She was close to the doctor. At the wake she seemed bitter about his affairs. She visited Gold Fever! and she refers to Marcus as Mark.”
“Which is suspicious why?”
“She’s the only one who uses such familiarity. They might have had an affair.” But back to the gold. “Have you heard of the Order of Seven?”
A pause. Then, “It may have come up in a meeting.”
“Well, allow me to captivate your imagination with what I know about it. I did some digging.” Both literally and figuratively. “The Order of Seven was a secret society formed during the gold rush. An urban legend usually shared among teenagers. At the exhibit, Abigail studied one paper exclusively. A page referencing the Order. Here, I’ll text you the photos I took of her and the page when I visited the museum against your wishes. It’s the same base symbol that was spray-painted all over town.” Once found, she sent him a series of images.
The more his phone dinged with the shared jpegs, the more irritation he projected. “Why am I just now seeing these photos?”
