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When she paraphrased Mary Chapin Carpenter, she was feeling sassy and confident, but when she didn’t hear Slade’s footsteps on the stairs, she began to fret, and the façade began to crumble. He seemed attracted to her. Certainly, in her dreams he was, but he was gorgeous—like step-off-the-pages-of-a-men’s-magazine gorgeous. And while Fiona felt she was attractive, she was playing way out of her league.
On the other hand, even if he wasn’t interested in having sex with her—which would completely kill her buzz—having him here for the night wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. The two bricks being thrown through her window and the continued way some people she’d known for years were treating her had been, at best, unsettling. The brick through her storefront window could be written off as vandalism or somebody trying to let her know what they thought of her. The brick through the window of her loft was something else again. For one thing, it had taken considerably more power and accuracy to throw it up there, and for another, it told her that whoever it was wanted to hurt her.
She doubted one long lunch that had turned into dinner at Seraphim with the guy who had arrested her was going to change anyone’s opinion.
“If you’ve changed your mind…” he said.
Fiona realized her musings must have taken longer than she’d realized.
“No; it’s not that. It’s just that I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I mean, you’re the investigator…”
Slade took the key out of her hand, unlocked the door to her loft, and gave her a gentle nudge to enter before closing and locking the door behind her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned and backed her into the corner by the front door.
“You stay here. I just want to walk through your loft and make sure nothing is out of place.”
“Won’t you need me to tell you that?”
“Not necessarily. But once I’ve walked through, we’ll walk through together,” he said, lowering his head to brush her lips with his. “Stay put.”
He didn’t draw either of his guns, but Fiona was well aware that he could get to them quickly. Slade moved around the room with a predacious grace that was part panther and part ballet dancer. The way he moved was mesmerizing and Fiona tried to catalog in her mind the words to describe it and him. There was something about Slade that made her think of a predator—fierce and feral—and yet there was also an elegance and grace that seemed to soften the sharper edges.
He checked under the kitchen sink, all of her lower cabinets and her island—her kitchen had no upper cabinets, just open shelving—before moving to other various pieces of furniture. She was beginning to believe he was looking for something like a bomb. Finally, he checked her bathroom and under her bed.
“Looks like we’re good,” he said striding across the floor back to her. “Why don’t you take a look to make sure nothing’s missing?”
“You were looking for a bomb, weren’t you?”
She could see him thinking about how to answer her. “I was looking for anything that might harm you in any way: a bomb, a camera, a listening device. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Somebody throwing a brick through your second-floor loft when you’re home is, in my mind, a greater threat than the person who just chucks one through your store’s front window.”
“But why would someone be trying to hurt me?”
“Is there any way someone who was at the party could think you or Daniel was responsible?”
“No. I know I was never near that part of the cliff, and I don’t think Daniel was.”
“You seem awfully sure about that for something that happened a long time ago.”
Fiona nodded. “Yes, but I am. Because the kid who fell was with his buddies, and they were horsing around by the edge. Most of us stayed away for fear of getting knocked over the side by their rough-housing. Daniel was not one of their crowd. In fact, when I think about it, Daniel always seemed so aloof. He would stay outside the action and just observe. Do you think the person who killed Daniel is the same person who threw the brick?”
“Not necessarily. I have two quasi-theories. The first is that whoever killed Daniel was either trying to hurt you or to continue to throw suspicion and guilt on you. The second is that it’s just some idiot making noise.”
“I don’t like either, but I think I like the second one better.”
“So do I.” There was an awkward pause punctuated by an even more awkward silence. “Look, Fiona, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone up here. Nor do I think it’s necessarily a good idea for us to start sleeping together.”
Fiona felt as if she’d been stabbed, if not in the heart, then in her gut. She knew he had a point and knew it was probably best, but it still hurt and somewhere in the back of her mind a little voice whispered,‘you’re not pretty or thin enough for the likes of him.’She couldn’t seem to summon the will to fight down that lingering belief that she wasn’t enough—good enough, thin enough, pretty enough—to be with a man who looked like Slade.
“You’re probably right. I only have the one bed, but I can make up the couch for you, and I’ve got a screen I can pull out for some privacy.” She chuckled self-consciously. “My place doesn’t really lend itself to that.”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble. I can be comfortable anywhere.”
“No. I insist.”
Fiona found her spare linens, grateful that one of her two sets wasn’t sitting in the laundry, and made up the couch as comfortably as she could. She pulled an antique privacy screen she had folded into position. Stepping into the bath, she undressed and pulled on her sleep shirt. She came back out and Slade was stretched out on his back, his socked feet propped up on one end.
“I should take the sofa. You take the bed.”
“That’s so not happening,” he said with a smile. “Go to bed, Fiona. Everything is going to be fine.”
