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Fiona dashed toward the office, her dark eyes wide. When she spotted Jane, she winced in apology. “I got distracted by his tush and had to race into the elevator with him,” she whispered, rushing over. “There was no stopping him. But don’t worry, hon. There’s a way out of this, I’m sure of it.”
Oh no, no, no. But there was nowhere to hide. Thumping footsteps sounded as Sheriff Moore appeared. He tilted back his Stetson and hooked his thumbs in the waist of his pants.
“Ladies,” he said, looking from one to the other. “A neighbor called to let me know there’s someone impersonating Ana’s sister.”
Well. Thank goodness all of Jane’s neighbors were dead. The living ones sucked.
“Would you believe me if I lied and said I only hoped to grab the photos Ana borrowed from me and never returned?” Jane asked with a grimace. She’d hoped to prove Conrad wrong; looked like she was about to prove him right.
“No, ma’am.” He freed a pair of cuffs from his belt.
“Did you bring only one pair, Sheriff?” Fiona sounded genuinely intrigued as she held out her wrists. “And are you taking suggestions for who gets to wear them?”
He drew in a deep breath, then exhaled heavily. “You both have the right to remain silent, and I suggest you utilize it.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Speak and Spark!”
Valentine, New Jersey - Instant Connection Reception
25 Matches Made
Using her hip, Jane pressed the button to trigger the automatic door to Conrad’s condo. She stepped off the sidewalk and through the glass entrance, balancing a foil casserole dish in her arms. She’d had no idea he lived in the Montgomery. Once an opulent five-story department store built in the 1920s, it had fallen into disrepair until developers restored the building to its former glory a few years back, even keeping the fun art deco style.
As she strolled to the concierge desk, her high heels clicked on the parquet floors, which appeared original to the building. Sleek geometric murals decorated the walls of a circular lobby, with rounded columns painted a deep yellow. Dramatic chandeliers filled the space with muted light and hung from a ceiling that must be at least twenty feet high.
“How may I help you?” asked a man stationed at an imposing mahogany desk. Behind him were black and white tile inlays and gold accents. Stunning. Intimidating. So not Jane.
She eyed the elevator, then the exit. The scent of made-from-scratch grits and sausage casserole infused the air. So at odds with the fragrance of cleaners layering her every inhalation.
Should she just go home?
“Ma’am?” he prompted.
“I’m here to see Conrad Ryan, but I think I’ll—”
“It will be my honor to announce you,” he said, already picking up the phone.
The words had been framed oh, so politely, but the man’s tone rang firm. She glanced at the exit one last time. Making a break for it would be ridiculous now.
“Are you Ms. Ladling?” he asked, covering the receiver.
She nodded, grateful and relieved that Conrad hadn’t expected a different woman. That would have been humiliating.
Why run, anyway? Surely this culinary masterpiece would make up for all the trouble she’d caused the agent—her boyfriend—yesterday. If not the dish, then Jane’s attire. She’d worn her “apology dress.” A pink beauty with a corset top and flared, calf-length skirt, the soft fabric covered in darker hearts.
Sheriff Moore hadn’t freed Jane and her cohort until after he’d called the agent.
Uh… Maybe she should return to the cottage, after all. If Conrad had wanted to see her, he would have driven to Aurelian Hills. Right? He hadn’t even called or texted to gloat. Meaning...
He’d probably washed his hands of her for real this time and hoped for a clean break. Coming here was dumb.
Her stomach twisted, and she stepped back, preparing to pivot. That exit looked better and better. The elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. Too late. Conrad emerged, entering the lobby with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Her breath caught, and her heart thudded. He looked good. Really good. Like, really, really, really good. His dark hair was messy, his gorgeous amber irises bright. A plain black T-shirt with the GBH logo molded to sculpted muscles, displayed many of his arm tattoos, and went well with totally indecent gray sweatpants. Curse? What curse?
He tilted his head, roving his gaze over her as he closed the distance with a long-legged stride. His eyes heated. She could smell his spice, and her mind fogged.
“Um. Hi.” Then she winced and mouthed, “Sorry. You’re on the phone.” As if he didn’t know that already.
“I’m on hold,” he said, stuffing his free hand in the pocket of his sweats. No Rolex graced his wrist today. “This is a surprise.”
“Yes!” Tone it down a notch. “I just came by to say thank you for helping get me out of prison.”
