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Even on a chilly October morning, the nook he’d created in the corner of the garden was inviting. Its vine-covered latticework made a natural windbreak, and the purple canvas chair cushions were thick and comfortable. It had been a long time since she’d had anything as tasty as the fluffy omelet she’d made with the ingredients he’d gathered. She was almost . . . happy.
***
Coop watched her across the table. Pipe didn’t believe in picking at her food, and even though she took small bites, she managed to consume the omelet in record time. When she remembered to eat, she gave it all she had, the same way she did everything. How could someone so tough, so determined, and so ballsy be so intrinsically female?
It was too damp and overcast for comfortable outdoor dining, but he’d been so conscious of the inviting bed above their heads that he hadn’t protested moving out here. It was a good place to cool off. Except all he’d done so far was heat up.
Pipe set her fork on her plate. He’d noticed before how dainty her hands were and made a mental note never to use that word to her face.
Earlier, he’d seen her staring at his chest. He’d initially assumed she was checking out his bruises, but then he remembered her attraction for that particular part of his body and decided something more interesting was going on in her head. But leaving his sweatshirt open on purpose was one of the biggest cheeseball moves he’d ever made. Still, anything that gave him an edge was fair game.
“Annabelle Champion doesn’t seem to think you have any crazed ex-girlfriends lurking around,” she said.
“Now what were you doing talking to Annabelle?”
“Satisfying my curiosity.”
“Well, stop it. You quit, remember? And I’m not hiring you back.”
“Who else do you trust enough to investigate what happened? She also said there’d been a couple of crazies.”
“Most recently? A loony named Esmerelda Crocker.”
“Totally harmless.”
“Are you?” He leaned back in his chair and took her in. Her face was so full of life. Those bright eyes had a whole world going on behind them. And that wide mouth . . . So much he wanted to do with that mouth. So much he wanted that mouth to do to him.
She took too long to look away. He smiled to himself. She wasn’t as detached as she liked to pretend.
She reached for that ratty messenger bag she carried around and pulled out a notebook. “You’ve been in the public eye for years. You have to have gotten your fair share of hate mail.”
“The Stars office still screens my mail. If they’d gotten anything they thought was serious, they’d have let me know.”
“Who do I talk to there?”
“You don’t talk to anybody. And put that notebook away. This was a random attack, and you’re trolling for a job.”
“A job that needs doing.”
“Really? Then why haven’t you brought up the most obvious suspect? My pal, the Prince of Darkness.”
She toyed with the edge of her notebook. “I’m getting there.”
“Very slowly. And I know why.”
She nodded. “Because I feel responsible.”
“You aren’t, but I like your guilt.” He appreciated the way she stepped up to the plate with none of the pretend ignorance so many people hid behind. Pipe was a straight shooter. Except when she chose not to be.
She balled up her napkin. “How was I supposed to know you were going to give Prince Aamuzhir a phony Super Bowl ring? And he’s in London now. Yes, I checked. Not that it means anything. And, yes again, I’m worried. It’s one thing dealing with a disgruntled former employee or a Broncos fan who’s still holding a grudge over that Hail Mary you threw against them on fourth-and-ten. It’s another thing entirely to deal with a foreign dignitary—and I use that word loosely. He could easily have hired that thug.”
“Look, Pipe. I know your heart’s in the right place, but the bottom line is that you’re an investigator without a job, and you’re trying to manufacture one.”
As soon as he’d said it, he wanted to take it back. Her eyes darkened, and her wide mouth collapsed at the corners, if only for a moment. She’d always been impervious, even amused, by the insults he’d enjoyed tossing at her—insults about the way she dressed, her ballsy attitude—but he’d insulted her integrity, and her hurt was painful to watch.
She rose from her chair, back straight. “I gotta go.”
He got up and blocked her way. “Hold on. That didn’t come out the way I meant.”
