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He touched her hand lightly. “That was clumsy. Out of line.”
She had to know. “Did I imagine it, or did you want to kiss me before?”
He lowered his eyes. “I want to kiss you now.”
Several vital organs dissolved in a wave of heat that swirled through her. “Then you weren’t out of line, but I have to go.”
She left him at the bar. But the idea of being his accomplice in taking down Cookie Jar didn’t let go of her. Oh, it should have; it was impossible. But it followed her back to the office and then on to the phone store, and when all her attention should’ve been on claiming her insurance and choosing a new handset, it was on what it might be like to work with Halsey, to play a part, not innocent but not breaking any laws, in bringing down a man who was demonstrably criminal.
The whole idea was like smashing a glass. A chance to fight back, to reclaim, to stop being a sad victim, a shamed Bradshaw.
It was an inspiring daydream, and in the morning, she’d set it aside and rejoin the world as a sensible, trustworthy adult who didn’t fancy herself as some kind of supersleuth crime-fighting femme fatale, all movement and color and song.
And then she got home and found both Mom and Mallory in tears. A man Dad had ripped off confronted Mom on the street about living the high life while he lost his house. He followed Mom back to the apartment, spat on her, and posted a photo of her cowering in their doorway all over social media.
The idea of remaining a victim and being content about that made Lenny want to claw her eyes out.
Made climbing back feel impossible without making a mess and striking back, too.
Power was all about who gets forgiven and who was allowed a fresh start, and Lenny was determined to make hers no matter what.
Chapter Eleven
If Halsey’s stiff, scabbed-over hand wasn’t a reminder of why he needed to get a new hobby, his continual thoughts of Lenny were.
In the bathroom at the bar, he’d wanted to hold her for forever, except it was awkward being in the restroom and only lucky they hadn’t been interrupted. Still, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head of putting his hand to her cheek and kissing her full lips.
The cold, clear rage he’d felt when he’d hit her mugger had shocked him in a way no other violence had prepared him for. He’d wanted to hit that man until he couldn’t stand and then take on his buddy. But for not wanting to leave Lenny unguarded, he might’ve made himself a person of interest in a way that was averse to his career as a backroom numbers nerd.
But he was Excel Boy at heart, because he didn’t operate well outside small boxes. He should’ve shut the hell up about them working together to take down Cookie Jar. Just when Lenny might’ve been a little dazzled and forgiving, he’d reminded her of his crooked backbone and his devious capabilities.
That was the reason he bid a little high for the turn-of-the-century Edmund Bloch, spy camera cravat pin. Not because it would look amazing in his collection alongside the bowler hat camera, but because he was trying to remind himself who he was. He was a guy who kept to himself, who did work he loved that was morally compromising for a cause that was utterly right, and who liked to collect curiosities and beautiful things.
He didn’t do fieldwork. He didn’t hulk out in times of danger. He didn’t fall hopelessly in lust with a woman who would never regard him as anything except her worst possible mistake.
And if the box he’d written himself felt a little constrained, it was all the more reason to put his head down and get on with things, because it was reporting season and he had a dozen investment reports to fake, and no time to feel discontent.
“Halsey, can you watch Amelia for me for an hour?” Mom was at his door with Cousin Amelia’s hand in hers. “I have to do a thing and everyone is out.”
He had all the time in the world for Cousin Amelia, and no doubt Mom had to do a thing no four-year-old should witness. “You want to help me work, Amelia?”
“Not really,” Amelia said with a slow head shake. Couldn’t say he blamed her.
Mom went to her haunches and turned Amelia to face her. “I’ll be back soon, and we can go to the park and watch those terrible men who play those awful games with the three cups and a bottle cap.”
Amelia’s eyes lit up, and she ran across to Halsey, scooting around his desk to stand at his side. He pushed his chair back and lifted her to his lap. “Starting her education early I see, Mom.”
“It’s never too early. You were an adept spy at Amelia’s age. I used to send you into rooms full of adults who paid you no attention, and you’d come back with all kinds of useful information.”
And there it was: Excel Boy’s origin story. He still spent time in rooms full of adults, ignored and collecting compromising data. No wonder he occasionally felt the need to hulk out.
“An hour, Mom. I’m busy.”
Mom smiled and disappeared with a flick of her emerald-green scarf, which was amusing, though in no way reassuring that he’d see her anytime soon.
He played with one of Amelia’s ringlets, pulling it straight and watching it bounce back into a tight corkscrew curl. “I think Aunty Katrice has blown this joint and left us holding the baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” Amelia said with an indignant jut of her chin.
