Undercover Passion. Melinda Di Lorenzo
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grinned. “I plead the Fifth.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you.” Her tone was ruefully amused. “And speaking of self-preservation...any idea where the sitter disappeared to? Did Teegan scare her off?”
“I can still hear you,” her daughter yelled from the top of the stairs. “And I didn’t scare her away. You were late, and Miss Wanda had to go pick up her boyfriend from work.”
“Late by five minutes,” Liz muttered under her breath. “I think I pay her enough to cover that.”
Harley took the handrail and gestured for her to take the first step. “To be more accurate, Wanda’s boyfriend had some kind of emergency—sliced finger or something—so I volunteered to bring Teegan down to you.”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better than my sitter left my kid with a strange man.”
“I’m not all that strange.”
“Ha ha. You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he agreed. “But Teegan assured Wanda that I was—and I quote—the best old man ever. And she was happy to remind Wanda that I was the one watching her the other day when you ran to that store.”
“I forgot about that.” She smiled ruefully. “I think my kid would make one heck of a lawyer.”
“She would. And she also used her powers of persuasion to rope me into the hide-and-seek.”
Liz sighed. “You really don’t have to indulge her like that. Because I promise you, she’ll take full advantage and have you wrapped around her little finger faster than you can blink.”
“I don’t mind. Really. I needed a break from work anyway.”
“Sculpture’s not coming along?”
“Sculpture’s actually shaping up well.”
“So you made some progress?”
“Well. I don’t know what it is yet. But yeah. The clay’s slightly more than a lump now.”
Liz laughed again. “I guess that’s good.”
“It’s awesome, Mom,” Teegan interrupted. “It looks like a mountain. But also a dragon.”
She groaned. “You have got to stay out of Mr. Maxwell’s workspace.”
“Since we rent it to him, isn’t it really our workspace?” countered her daughter.
Liz’s face heated. “Teegan!”
But Harley just chuckled. “Kid’s got a point.”
Liz shook her head as they started up the stairs. “Kid’s got an opinion. About everything.” She paused, then projected her voice toward her daughter. “And if you want to get technical, we sublet to Mr. Maxwell. But we lease the building from Jesse Garibaldi, so it’s his workspace, and his shop and his apartment, not ours. So just stay out of everything!”
She turned back to Harley and was surprised to find that his expression had gone stiff.
The sound of the so-called business owner’s name dug at Harley in an unexpected way. Not unexpected in that he was surprised to hear it. After all, Jesse Garibaldi had his finger in every pie Whispering Woods offered, and Liz’s Lovely Things was no different. Harley had known the man held the deed before he ever set foot in the building. The pretty brunette’s financial ties to the man were one of the main reasons she’d come under the microscope in the first place.
So, if you knew all that...then what’s bothering you?
It only took Harley a moment to answer his own question. It wasn’t hearing Garibaldi’s name. It was hearing it from Liz. He didn’t like the way she dropped the criminal’s name so easily. The way she made him a part of her lighthearted joke.
No one knew better than Harley that there was nothing funny about Garibaldi. A person responsible for so much death and chaos couldn’t provide any amusement. And for some reason, the way it just rolled off Liz’s tongue made it even worse.
You don’t want her to be involved.
The acknowledgment gave Harley serious pause. Obviously, he preferred it when people weren’t involved in illegal activities. Especially where Garibaldi was concerned. This felt different.
It was a part of his job to determine Liz’s guilt or innocence, not to be biased on whether it turned out one way or the other. Impartiality was the name of the game. Developing an emotional opinion would seriously hamper his ability to keep things as they should be.
“Are you all right?” Liz’s voice yanked him back to the moment.
He blinked, realizing the pretty brunette was three steps above him because he’d come to a complete stop in the stairwell.
And you’re probably not covering up your feelings very well, either.
That didn’t mean he could stop himself from staring at her for a second longer, wondering if he’d be able to get back that necessary neutrality. If his short time across the hall from Liz had already swayed him away from that even hand of justice, he had to consider whether or not he could maintain a professional distance. Or regain one, as the case might be.
“Harley? Seriously. Are you okay?”
He forced a rueful headshake and answered in a light tone. “Sorry. Spaced out. Guess the amount of work I did today wore me out more than I thought.”
Her face relaxed into a sympathetic smile. “It probably doesn’t help that you’ve been sleeping in the studio.”
“No. Not much. Mattress on the floor never quite cuts it.”
“Any news on when they’ll have the apartment fixed?”
“Not a word.”
“Well. I’m sure you know, but you’re welcome to stay at the studio as long as you want.” Her smile changed into a teasing one. “I might actually miss you a little when you go. It’s only been a week, but I’m already way too used to having a handyman around.”
“One unplugged toilet doesn’t make me a handyman,” he assured her.
“There was also the picture frame.”
“I caught it before it fell. That wasn’t handy. That was lucky.”
“But then you hung it back up again more securely.”
“I think you just have low standards.”
She laughed. “Even if that’s true, I’ll never admit it.”
They argued good-naturedly about it the rest of the way up, with Liz compiling a list of tasks Harley had completed for her since the flood had forced him from his rental unit in town. In their shared hallway above the shop, Harley finally lifted his hands in mock defeat.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll let you have this one. I’ve been mildly helpful since I’ve been stuck here.”
“Good. I hope you’ll continue to be mildly helpful for the duration of your stay.”
“If you need anything, you just let me know.”
“I will.”
He continued to stand there for a second, looking for a reason to continue the conversation. Thoughts of the hooded figure in the street below nagged at him and kept him from simply turning and walking through his own door. There’d been genuine fear on Liz’s face when she’d seen him. That alone was enough of an excuse to prolong their interaction.
Too bad you can’t just ask outright what it was that scared her.
A direct approach would’ve been smoother. Easier. A glance toward