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“Runs a garage about four blocks west. I’ll run it over and walk back.”
“I’ll go with you,” she offered.
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but—”
“No buts.” She cocked her head.
He held up his hand with a chuckle. “Yes, ma’am.”
Fifteen minutes later, Deckard led the way across the newly paved parking lot, the spaces closest to the door still roped off. They both turned and waved to Riley as she roared into the parking lot in her red Miata.
Warm air swirled around them as she waited while he punched a code into the keypad.
The door buzzed open.
“Morning, Deckard” sounded over the intercom.
“Greyson,” he said, holding the door open for Harper. She stepped inside the office building’s foyer, and he followed.
“We’re on the second floor. Are the stairs okay?”
“Sure.” She started up, and he once again followed her.
Reaching the office suite door, Deckard placed his index finger on a fingerprint scanner. The door buzzed open, and they entered. Elation filled her that someone, and someone with the reputation Deckard had, would be working Andi’s case. She had no doubt that the Bureau wouldn’t be happy with them digging around a case that had been closed. But someone had set Andi up; she knew it in her bones. Which meant, they had a criminal to catch. One who, no doubt, wouldn’t be happy with their digging. Whoever set Andi up had higher-ups in their pocket, had power, and certainly wouldn’t relinquish it easily. Andi and Christian were in danger with their case; she felt strangely confident the same would be true of her and Deckard.
THIRTY
ENTERING, DECKARD FOUNDGREYSONat his desk, wearing his pressed pink shirt—which he insisted was salmon every time they teased him about it—a gray tie, and what Deckard assumed but couldn’t see were matching gray dress pants.
“Who do we have here?” Greyson asked, standing and stepping around his desk to greet Harper.
“This is Harper Grace,” Deckard said. “She’s a good friend of Andi’s.” He’d caught him up about Miranda’s ...Andi’scase. He shook his head. That would take a while to get used to.
“Greyson Chadwick. Nice to meet you, Harper.”
“Same,” she said with a smile.
That smile. It could render a man speechless. Shaking himself out of it, Deckard continued with her full introduction. “Harper’s an FBI agent—a forensic botanist in the Albuquerque crime lab.”
“Impressive,” Greyson said.
“Not any more so than being a PI, I imagine,” she said. “It seems like a fascinating profession.”
“It’s definitely interesting,” Greyson said. “Will you be joining us at the round table?”
Her nose crinkled. “Round table?”
“You’ll see.” Greyson smiled. “But first, coffee. Would you like a cup, or I can make a latte or a cappuccino?”
“I’d love a cappuccino,” Harper said. “Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure.” Greyson dipped forward slightly at the waist.
Deckard sighed. Greyson had one of those espresso machines in the lounge, along with accessories to whip up any number of drinks and a full row of syrups in pump bottles. The counter mimicked that of Starbucks.
“Let me guess ...” Harper said, studying Deckard.
Great, the lady was analyzing him. He was curious where this was going.
