Undercover Passion. Melinda Di Lorenzo
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same as having him just a holler away.
So tell him what happened, urged a little voice in her head. It might make him stay.
But she shook off the thought. The thug in her shop had said it clear as day. Mentioning his strange and violent query about the painting would endanger her daughter. And until she had time to think it through, she didn’t want to be reckless about a single thing. Liz needed to weigh her options. And she didn’t need to involve an innocent bystander. She couldn’t. Because she was sure that—like any reasonable person—Harley would want to call the police.
The little voice piped up again. Because that’s what makes sense.
And under normal circumstances, that would be true. Crime equaled calling the cops.
But what would you tell them? That a man who didn’t rob you expressed an aggressive interest in a painting while making vague threats?
Liz shook her head to herself. The breaking and entering was enough to warrant a police visit. Logically, she knew that. And if they took it seriously, it might earn her some round-the-clock protection. But the idea that it might backfire was enough to make her hesitate. What if they didn’t take it seriously enough? What if they just took their notes and called it a night?
She thought she was probably better to sit on her hands for a bit. Keep Teegan out of sight. Maybe even ask the two part-time employees she had if they wanted to do some extra work, then head out of town for a couple of days. Pay a visit to some friends down in Freemont City. Whatever it took to convince herself that the shop below was safe.
You could call Garibaldi, instead.
That thought gave her pause. After all, the painting in question was his. And so was the building that housed her shop and her apartment. So, if something funky was up, he might want to know. And he certainly had more than his fair share of influence in the town, so if anyone could guarantee her and Teegan’s safety...
Liz shook her head again. He was probably too entrenched in Whispering Woods politics to move subtly.
Frustration and fear battled in her head. She’d always been critical of the call-the-cops or don’t-call-the-cops moment in movies. Involving the authorities seemed like a given. But now that she was in the thick of that exact moment, she understood. Just that tickle of doubt was enough to make her think twice. A move in either direction could result in disaster. Her stomach roiled at the thought of making the wrong decision.
Liz didn’t realize how vigorously she was scrubbing the plate in her hands until Harley’s teasing voice carried over her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “Careful with that thing, or it might not make it to the cupboard in one piece.”
His nearness wasn’t quite enough to ease her tension, and she had to force a laugh. “Just being thorough.”
“Thoroughness like that could clean the shellac right off.” He stepped closer and grabbed the tea towel from the counter. “And besides that. I’m waiting.”
“You’re that excited to dry a dish?”
“To dry the final dish. Unless you want to keep washing it.”
Liz stilled her hands, which had started to scrub again all on their own. “Okay. Maybe I’m going a bit overboard.”
“Just a bit,” he joked. “Now hand it over before I call Teegan for backup.”
“Right. She’s always so eager to help with the cleaning.”
“You’re underestimating my ability to bribe.”
“Ah. Is that the trick, oh, ye of no kids?”
“Hey. I might not have kids, but I know what worked for my mom.”
“Yeah, right. I bet you were a naturally well-behaved little boy.”
“You think?” He tugged at a piece of his shaggy hair. “That’s not the usual rep an artist like me goes for.”
“I don’t think there’s much that’s usual about you.” As soon as she said it, she realized how it sounded, and she quickly added, “After all, you volunteered to both wash and dry.”
He chuckled. “Okay. So I might’ve been a Goody Two-shoes. In the most masculine way possible, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t call that little angel of yours in here and offer her a pile of sugar in exchange for coercing you into giving me the plate.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Liz dipped the dish to rinse it, then held it out. As Harley reached for the plate, though, Liz lost her grip, and it slipped from her hands and plummeted toward the tile. Knowing she wouldn’t be quick enough to grab it before it hit, she braced herself for the shatter. But Harley moved like lightning. He bent low, shot out a hand and snagged the plate just before it hit the ground. And for some inexplicable reason, the slick move made Liz’s throat constrict, and unexpected tears pricked at her eyes.
Maybe it was his easy grace. Or the fact that he was able to sweep in and avert a minor disaster while she decided before it even happened that there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. It was a stupid analogy for the situation with the man who’d held her at knifepoint. But it fit, nevertheless. And as Harley stood, brandished the plate and grinned triumphantly at her, Liz thought she might actually cry. Something she hadn’t let herself do in years. Something she didn’t want to do now, if she could avoid it.
Harley picked up on it, too. Or some of it, anyway.
“Don’t look so sad,” he said to her. “I saved the plate.”
Liz swallowed. “I know.”
“So I’m gonna guess that something more than the plate is making you make that face.” He gestured to the table. “You wanna sit?”
“I feel like I should be making that offer to you.”
“We can both sit. I hid five bucks in Teegan’s room and told her I’d double it if she found it in no less than ten minutes and no more than twenty.”
In spite of the watery feel in her eyes, Liz laughed. “For real?”
“Yep. Figured you might want some recovery time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and set it down. “Even set a timer.”
She eyed the countdown clock—it had just rounded the three-minute mark—and sank into the chair. “You’re a magician.”
“Superhero is what I was going for,” he joked.
“Either way, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you tonight.” She blushed as soon as she said it, but it didn’t seem to faze Harley.
“Probably the same thing you always do. Be an extraordinarily competent mom.”
“Or a mom with one less plate, a pile of dishes and no time to rest her feet.”
“Okay. I guess I am indispensable. I’m adding this to my résumé.”
Liz laughed again, and the urge to tell him about her confrontation with the man in the shop reared up once more. He was just so easy to talk to. And it didn’t help when Harley’s hand slid across the table to clasp her own. Shots of warmth—both attraction and comfort—sparked up through her palm and arm, then settled in her chest. She lifted her gaze to meet Harley’s, and she found him staring back, concern playing out through his brown eyes.
Harley gave Liz’s hand a reassuring squeeze. He knew that from a professional perspective, he should probably pull away. Hand-holding with a person of interest wasn’t exactly police protocol. From a human perspective, though, he was sure that the physical contact was what the pretty brunette needed.
And it’s not