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“You’re a black cup of coffee, right?”
“Only way to go,” he replied.
“And, Greyson ... I’m guessing you’re a double espresso kind of guy.”
“Very good.” Greyson smiled and strode through the doorway.
“But he puts that whipped cream gunk on top,” Deckard added.
“Gunk?” Harper said, brows arched. “Did you just call whipped cream gunk?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and winked.
“Then you’re going to have a hard time staying at my place.”
Deck frowned. “Your place?”
“I assume we’ll be investigating in Albuquerque, where everything took place.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then you’re staying at my place.”
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, “but I don’t want to put you out.” Though the thought warmed him. She was beautiful, clearly intelligent, and a bundle of enthusiasm, but he wasn’t looking for a romantic connection. He liked his life as-is. Maybe someday he’d feel different, but for now, he was content, though a woman as vivacious as Harper Grace just might make him change his mind if she was hanging around longer. But, according to Andi, Harper had a two-month humanitarian service trip just around the corner.
“You’re not putting me out,” she countered. “It’s the least I can do for you working Andi’s case. I have an empty guest room.”
He didn’t see how to get out of that one gracefully. “All right. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She winked as she smiled. Not a flirtatious wink. Just the friendly sort, but it did set his insides spinning. She was trouble. He bit his bottom lip, then restructured his thoughts. “While we’re in Albuquerque, Greyson can be working the case with us, just headquartered here. He’s a whiz at all things research.”
“Awesome,” she said.
“Well, let’s get started. I just need to grab something out of my office.”
“I’ll show her the way to the round table,” Greyson said, returning with fancy mugs in hand. “Your cappuccino, madame.”
“Thank you.” She smirked at Deckard. “I’ll take your bitter black coffee with me, if you’d like.”
Determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, he just said, “Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”
In his office, he spun the file cabinet lock, stopping on the numbers that made up his combination, and the A drawer unlocked. He pulled it open, fingered through the files, and foundMitch Abrams, along with a copy of the case file, courtesy of Mitch’s defense lawyer, Clint James. He was old-fashioned, but he didn’t trust keeping everything on a computer that could crash. He liked the hard copy of everything. Greyson, on the other hand, input everything into their computer systems, which gave them a backup should anything happen to his files or vice versa.
Stepping out of his office with files he never thought he’d need again tucked under his arms, he headed for the round table.
He found Riley and Harper chatting up a storm, but no Greyson. He set the files on the literal round conference table. “Where’s Grey?”
“He said he had to grab something, but he’d be right back,” Riley said.
Deckard took his seat and swallowed a swig of his coffee just as Greyson returned.
“Harper’s drink looks scrumptious,” Riley said, shooting Greyson a glare, or at least an attempted one. She was too sweet to pull off angry. Unless it was dealing with a case or offense—then lookout. She became a wildebeest. “I would have loved a drink, should someone have asked.”
Still standing, Greyson pulled a cup from behind his back. “Madame.”
Riley smiled, her freckles spreading across her cheeks. “Thanks, Greyson. I don’t care what Deck says about you and your drinks—you rock!”
Deck shook his head on a sideways grin. “So easily bought.”
