6
I t was still dark when Annie pushed aside her covers and climbed out of bed. Henry always said that the early bird caught the worm. Annie wondered if anyone had ever asked the worm how he felt about it? She grimaced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and thought she had a pretty good idea how he felt.
The three days she’d been closed had put a dent in her business and she needed to recoup her losses. No pressure there. She could only hope her regulars returned with renewed appetites.
The fact that she hadn’t gotten any quality time with the insides of her eyelids the night before was not helping. She’d spent the night chewing on Fisher’s news until her teeth hurt. Her business was being watched by the FBI! By him! He thought someone was laundering money through her shop. Could it be possible? The whole thing seemed surreal.
She thought of everyone who had helped her begin her business and everyone who was involved with the business now. How could one of these people be a criminal? She felt as if she’d been stabbed. Who would have betrayed her trust like that?
Anger replaced hurt. She was going to help Fisher catch whoever was doing this. She wasn’t about to let her business, her dream, be destroyed.
Her emotions for Fisher weren’t as clear. What to do about him? Could she trust him? He’d lied to her. He hadn’t told her he was with the FBI, until he was sure she was innocent. Logically, she understood his reasons, but it still smarted. He had conned her, made her believe that there was something special between them, when he’d really only been spying on her.
She supposed she should be relieved that he believed in her innocence, but somehow it wasn’t enough. When he kissed her, she felt magic, a sense of rightness and belonging. Now she realized he was just very good at his job. He was very good at going undercover. Thankfully, she hadn’t let him under her covers.
That he’d fooled her so completely made her feel like an idiot. She was embarrassed and ashamed. What must he think of her? Not only was someone destroying her business right under nose, but she was falling for the man sent to spy on her as well. He must think she was the biggest chump alive. The realization made Annie cranky. She didn’t like to be anyone’s fool.
The kitchen was dark when she arrived downstairs. Flipping on the light switch, she set to work mixing her first batch of muffins for the day. Cooking had always been therapeutic for her. It kept her hands and her mind busy, not allowing her to dwell on big, stupid FBI men with gorgeous brown eyes and great smiles.
She’d just shoved the first batch of muffins into the oven when Fisher’s head poked around the doorway.
“Good morning,” he said, looking as though he were checking to see if she had any sharp implements in the vicinity. Smart man.
Annie refused to let her inner turmoil show. “Good morning,” she answered, showing r teeth.
“It’s not a very good one for you, is it?” he asked. His voice was full of sympathy and Annie had to look away, afraid she might burst into tears.
“No,” she admitted.
“Don’t worry, Annie-girl, we’ll catch whoever’s doing this,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “It just hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why? It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but I hate to see you so sad,” he said.
“I’ll get over it,” she declared, trying to be more stoic than she felt.
He sent her a dubious look but didn’t argue with her.’
“So, what can I do to help around here?” he asked.
“I...I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose you cook?”
“I can’t even boil water without melting the pot,” he said. “Besides I’ll need to work out in the shop if I’m to see everyone who comes and goes.”
“Denise works the counter and I have two waitresses already,” she paused. “I don’t want them to have to divide up their tips anymore than they already do. I could use a busboy however.”
“Busboy?” He looked offended.
“Yes, that’s perfect!” She clapped her hands. “During the rush, it’s a struggle clearing the tables. This would be a tremendous help. I’ll go get you an apron.”
“Apron?” he asked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What’s the matter?” she teased. “Afraid you can’t bus a few tables?”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”
“You bet I am,” she admitted with a grin. Seeing Fisher clear tables was going to be a hoot. Was it wrong to savor a small bite of revenge at his expense? Nah.
Pulling a pink, ruffled apron out of the cupboard at the back of the kitchen, she threw it at him. “I think the domestic look will work for you.”
“Annie,” he growled, catching the apron before it hit him in the face.
“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted with a frown.
“Here’s your bin,” she said and handed him a big, plastic basin to fill dishes with. “We open in fifteen minutes. Come on, I’ll introduce you to my waitresses.”
“Sonia, Beatrice, meet Fisher,” Annie called as she entered the main room of the coffee shop. “He’s going to be helping us out by busing tables.”
The two women glanced up from where they were filling sugar bowls. They didn’t look surprised. Annie knew they were thinking she’d found another stray to take in. She was tempted to tell them the truth. But knowing it would jeopardize Fisher’s investigation, she bit her tongue.
“Nice to meet you,” Beatrice said, her gray eyes narrowed behind her round glasses. Beatrice was what Annie’s grandmother would call a hippie. She had ten earring holes in each ear, she wore an eclectic selection of clothing from the local thrift store and the scent of sandalwood flowed around her as if it permeated her skin. She was a hard worker and had a great rapport with the customers. Annie knew she could depend on Beatrice, and she genuinely liked her company.
Sonia was as opposite from Beatrice as incense from a Glade plug-in. Shy and quiet, she was a sophomore in college but still lived at home with her parents. She wore Peter Pan collared blouses under pastel cardigans. She was fluent in Spanish and devoted to her church.
“Hello,” Sonia said and a blush bloomed across her cheeks.
“Nice to meet you both.” Fisher inclined his head.
Annie glanced at him. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, he appeared casual, but there was no disregarding the lean strength of his frame or the subtle bunch of muscles beneath his shirt. Annie noticed Beatrice ogling Fisher’s forearms, and she frowned. He did have powerful-looking arms, not the kind one gets by hefting barbells, but by performing actual physical labor. But he was an FBI guy, didn’t they just push paper around all day while staking out bad guys? She gave him a considering look. How much did she know about him anyway?
“It looks like we’re going to need the extra help,” Beatrice observed. “Denise hasn’t shown up yet.”
“She hasn’t?” Annie frowned at the empty counter. Denise should have had it ready by now. “Sonia, will you set up the counter? I’ll give Denise a call and see if everything is all right.”
Annie darted back to her office, leaving her staff to fend for themselves. She knew they’d be fine. She wasn’t so certain about Denise. Things hadn’t been right with Denise for several weeks now. Something had to be done. With the FBI investigating, she needed everyone to keep themselves above suspicion.
She’d known Denise since cooking school. Denise had dropped out to get married, a move Annie had thought she might regret. But Denise had never said anything and for years she’d been very happy with her husband Edmund. It wasn’t until last year when she came and asked for a job, that Annie suspected there might be trouble in paradise.
Annie punched in her friend’s number on the phone in her office. The phone rang six times, but there was no answer, not even an answering machine. Annie hung up. She’d called Denise last night to tell her they were reopening and Denise had sounded eager to come back to work. Perhaps she was just running late. But that wasn’t like her. Denise was Miss On-Time-All-The-Time even if she had to drive through fire.
“Everything all right, boss?” Fisher asked from the doorway.
“Huh? Oh, fine. Everything is fine,” she lied, not knowing why she did it. Somehow she didn’t want Fisher to be aware of Denise’s behavior. Annie was sure it was nothing, at least nothing for the FBI to be concerned about.
“Good,” he said, watching her as if trying to decide whether to believe her or not.
Annie turned her smile up in wattage. If Fisher was looking to investigate the people in her life, she was going to have to guard her reactions around him. The thought depressed her. She’d enjoyed their closeness over the past week. Like it or not, she’d been falling for the big lunk. But no more. He was Special Agent McCoy now. And until she knew who was using her business for no good, she would have to be cautious around him. She didn’t want any innocent bystanders to get in trouble.
“What’s got you looking so fierce?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she lied. “I was just thinking.”
“Happy thoughts obviously,” he said.
She scowled at him. “Was there something you needed?”
“Actually, yes.” He smiled in the face of her annoyance. “We’re about to open, did you want me to work the counter for Denise?”
“Could you?” she asked dubiously.
“Blindfolded and with one hand tied behind my back.”
She snorted.
“Trust me,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe some of the undercover jobs I’ve had.”
“Like what?” she asked as she rose from her desk and led the way back into the coffee shop, locking her office behind her. If Fisher noticed, he didn’t say anything.
“I was a bouncer at a strip club once,” he said.
“Oh, that must have been brutal,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t get eye strain.”
“And then I was the nighttime operator of the icey machine at a Circle K,” he said.
“That’s a chilling thought,” she quipped.
“Very funny,” he said, following her into the main room. “Speaking of funny, there was the time I had to pose as a clown at a kid’s birthday party.”
“You’re joking?” she asked as she unlocked the front door to the shop and propped it open with a rock.
“Not at the moment, but I have to say I was a very good clown,” he said.
“Why would you...?”
“Mobster’s kid,” he said.
“Oh.” She gaped at him. “I don’t believe it.”
“I still have my big red shoes.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I could model them for you sometime.”
“Thanks but no,” she said. “Are you sure you can handle the counter? The espresso machine can be very temperamental.”
“Don’t worry, chief. You just shmooze your clientele. I’ll be fine.”
“All right but don’t interrogate anyone without checking with me first,” she warned.
He looked hurt. Annie was about to retract her statement but the timer in the kitchen went off, interrupting her good intentions.
“Your muffins are cooked.” He winked at her and she felt her skin tingle. The timer went off again.
“Stop that!” she snapped, not sure if she meant him or the timer or both.
The morning passed in a blur. The rush didn’t die down until after ten and by then Annie was too preoccupied with prepping lunch to stop and take a breath.
Denise had never appeared or called, but Fisher had done remarkably well in her stead. She needn’t have feared that he would interrogate any of her customers. Instead, he charmed them silly.
Her Tuesday morning regulars included five librarians from the large public library down the street. A jovial group, they drank their double lattes while they discussed unwanted-hair removal, good dates, bad dates and where to get a smoking deal on shoes. Annie had always looked forward to their visits, primarily because she could always con one of them into taking her books back to the library for her. But today, what had they been discussing? The shape of Fisher’s backside, that’s what!
And they were in unanimous approval of it, from what Annie had managed to overhear. Not that she ever eavesdropped on her customers, but when she heard his name mentioned, well naturally, she was curious. He was absolutely no help at all. Refilling their cups while showcasing his slow-burning grin, the man was an incorrigible flirt! And her customers, her female customers, loved it. She sold more coffee and muffins during the morning rush than she had in weeks.
She didn’t want to know why this didn’t make her feel any better. Or why the thought of strangling him with his apron strings brought her so much pleasure. Using the largest knife in her kitchen, Annie chopped the head of lettuce before her as if it were Fisher’s head.
Why did he have to come into her life anyway? She wasn’t looking for this. She’d been quite content with her solitary existence. Now she couldn’t get the man out of her mind. It was like he was sitting on her shoulder all of the time, and she couldn’t get away from him or the feelings he stirred inside of her.
“Gee, what did that lettuce do to offend you?” A low whistle brought her attention to the kitchen door. Fisher stood there holding a glass of raspberry iced tea out to her. “I thought you could use this.”
Annie looked at the mangled lettuce before her and back at Fisher and said, “I meant to do that.”
“Sure,” he murmured.
“I did.” She sniffed. “Not everyone likes big hunks of lettuce in their salad you know.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know many who prefer it in liquid form, either.”
Annie dropped the knife and reached for the iced tea. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About whatever is making you mutilate defenseless vegetables?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. What am I supposed to say? That I want you, but you only want me to help you catch your bad guy? No thanks.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “We’d better get back at it. The lunch crowd starts a little after eleven.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He saluted her and exited back through the kitchen door.
Boss. That was the second time today, he’d called her boss. And she’d gotten one chief. Great. He’d gone from thinking of her as a would-be criminal to a boss. Wasn’t that just dandy?
“So, you’ve decided to hire a young stud to work the counter? And I thought you had no business sense.”
Annie looked up from her desk to find her father standing in the doorway grinning at her. In a three piece suit, shiny shoes and not a hair of his full white mane out of place, he was the epitome of the suave businessman. Annie felt her lips part in a smile.
“Daddy, what brings you here?” she asked.
“I just came by to see how my baby is doing with her business,” he said, enfolding her in a huge hug.
“How’s Muffy?” she asked.
“Missy.”
“Oh, yeah. Muffy was number two.” Annie resumed her seat.
“Buffy,” he corrected her.
“Oops. Sorry.”
“That’s all right. I know you resent my marriages.” He took one of the two seats across from her desk.
“Aw, dad,” she sighed. “I don’t resent your marriages. I just don’t see why you had to marry someone my age.”
“She’s a year older than you. Now your mother...” he said, but Annie cut him off.
“I know Mom is married to that Swiss ski bum. What’s his name? Hans? Hansel? Something like that.”
“And he’s younger than you,” her father said, looking miffed. “What was she thinking?”
“Probably the same thing you were thinking when you married Bussy.”
“That’s Mussy...ah...Missy,” he said.
“Oh, fine. You don’t have time to shop with your mother, but you have plenty of time to have a tête-à-tête with your father.”
Annie glanced up and saw her mother stride into the office. Her hair was a lovely shade of auburn – albeit from a bottle – which was set off by her snappy Donna Karan suit in a stunning shade of teal. She looked like a woman who always got her way, which was probably why she always did.
“Dad just popped in,” Annie said and motioned for her mother to take the vacant chair beside her father. Without looking down, she opened the middle drawer of her desk and ran her fingers over the contents, trying to find her antacid. Whenever her parents were in the same room for more than five minutes, she ended up with a monster case of indigestion.
“Olivia,” her father rose to greet her mother.
“Charles,” she returned.
Together they took their seats and faced Annie. It was more than a little disconcerting.
“So, what brings you here, Mom?” Annie asked.
“Your sister Mary told me about your new tenant,” her mother said. “I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That you asked him to Eve’s wedding,” her father answered.
“She told you, too? Did she tell you she dared me to do it?” Her parents exchanged a look. “So, that’s why you’re both here? To check up on me.”
Annie popped an antacid tablet.
“Not checking up,” her mother said, casting a quick glance at her father.
“No, not checking up,” he agreed and then cleared his throat. “More like checking in.”
“Huh-hunh,” Annie grunted.
“Hey, boss, things have quieted down out front,” Fisher said from the doorway. “I’m going to stop by the office and see if they’ve turned up any information on the burglary.”
“Burglary? What burglary?” Annie’s parents turned simultaneously to Fisher.
“Uh...” Fisher stalled while Annie made frantic slashing motions across her throat with her finger. He gave her an imperceptible nod.
“My Aunt Josephine’s house was broken into so I’m going to check on the insurance,” he lied.
“Oh, heavens, I thought you meant Annie had been robbed.” Annie’s mother put her hand over her heart and slumped back in her chair.
Her father patted her mother’s arm in reassurance and they clutched fingers. For a second, Annie felt as if they’d never divorced.
“Fisher, I’d like you to meet my parents. Charles and Olivia Talbot. Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Charles Talbot and Olivia Blickensderfer.”
Annie’s father shot her a look and she shrugged. It wasn’t her fault that Blickensderfer was easier to remember than Bissy. Or was it Sissy?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Fisher said as they shook hands.
“Mom, Dad, this is my tenant, Fisher McCoy.”
“Tenant?” they asked in unison.
“And he works here,” Annie said, beginning to enjoy herself.
“He works here?” Olivia asked. “I was under the impression that he had a job.”
“He...” Annie began, but Fisher cut her off.
“I am employed. I’m just helping Annie out because one of her employees didn’t show.”
“Good help is hard to find,” her mother commiserated. “So what do you do?”
“I work for the government.”
“You can’t beat that,” her father chimed in. “I started my business on government contracts. Good pay, good benefits and a solid retirement. Not to mention an opportunity to buy up savings bonds.”
Fisher beamed over their heads at Annie.
“A great job for a family man,” her mother continued.
“I couldn’t agree more, Mrs. Blickensderfer,” he said without laughing.
“Call me Olivia,” she said and rose to take his arm. “Now do you plan to settle in the Phoenix area?”
Annie watched as her parents walked with Fisher to the shop. She’d never seen her parents take to anyone so quickly. It was like an impromptu meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society. And her parents hadn’t argued once. She shook her head as she followed them out.
Another half hour passed before her parents finally left. Fisher and her father bonded over an in-depth discussion of the stock market which left her eyelids sagging at half mast. Her mother had been won over when he correctly identified her Fendi handbag with a compliment.
“A man with good taste is very hard to find,” she whispered to Annie. Annie didn’t have the heart to point out that he’d probably read the label on the zipper tab.
As soon as her parents departed, she disappeared into her office. This day was becoming too much.
“Annie, I’m taking off. If that’s all right?” Fisher asked from the doorway. He had changed into a gray suit and looked every inch the FBI guy that he was.
“Hmm?” She frowned at him. “Oh, yeah, sure. Go ahead.”
Fisher crossed the room with a frown. “You all right?”
His steady brown gaze was penetrating and Annie glanced down at the top of her desk. Picking up a pen, she clicked the top of it again and again as if she was about to write something of great importance.
A large brown hand reached across the desk and pulled the pen from her fingers. “Annie?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of his palm around her knuckles.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with your parents, does it?”
“No,” she said.
“I like them,” he said. “You favor your mother.”
“She has better taste than I do.” Annie smiled.
“Does their divorce still bother you?”
“Not as much as it used to. Sometimes, when they’re together and behaving themselves, I forget.”
“It must be hard,” he said. His thumb ran over her knuckles and she pulled her hand away.
“Well,” she said. “I’d better call Denise again.”
As soon as she said it, she winced. She didn’t want Fisher to get any ideas. It was too late.
“You don’t think Denise would be involved in anything illegal, do you?”
“No! No, I don’t.” Her eyes darted to Fisher’s, but she couldn’t hold his gaze.
“If you say so,” he said, but his voice was heavy with doubt. “You know you can trust me, don’t you?”
“Trust you?” she snapped, angry at herself for suspecting a friend and angry at Fisher for putting stupid suspicions in her head.
“Yes, trust me,” he said. “I know you’re hurt that I lied to you, but I’m risking my career by trusting you. That should tell you something.”
“It tells me that you’re desperate for a lead and you’re willing to use me to get it,” she snarled, feeling guilty and frustrated.
Fisher stepped back from the desk. His back was as rigid as an ironing board. “If that’s what you think then there’s nothing more to be said.”
“No, there isn’t,” she agreed.
They gazed at each other across the expanse of the tiny office. It felt as if the few feet that separated them were miles. It might as well have been. A muscle twitched in Fisher’s jaw. It was the only sign of his distress.
Annie opened her mouth to apologize, but then snapped it shut. She’d spoken the truth and there was no taking it back or apologizing for it. Anything that had happened between them before had been based upon a lie. There was no getting around it and they both knew it.
“Fine,” he said and then he was gone.
Annie slumped back against her chair. With a grunt of disgust, she propped her feet on the corner of the desk. Had it been just days ago that they were jitterbugging in each other’s arms, when she thought he was a regular government employee? A pencil pusher with a pension? Ha! He was an FBI agent, and he’d believed she was a criminal! When he’d kissed her, she’d been so sure that there was something there. A spark? Chemistry? Desire? Passion?
How could she have been so wrong? Watching him working in her shop with his gaggle of female admirers just confirmed it. He’d charmed her just like he charmed every other woman. Even her sister Mary had checked him out, and she was happily married. Annie wondered if they taught charm at FBI headquarters. What were the classes called? How to make a woman melt in your arms 101 or How to woo a confession 202.
She’d fallen for it like a house of cards under a heavy hand. She had to let go of her feelings for him. It just wasn’t meant to be. She’d help him find out who was using her business as a cover and then he’d be out of her life. It was the only solution. Why then, did it leave her so depressed?
She dialed Denise’s house, but there was no answer. This was so unlike her. Annie couldn’t believe that Denise was being this irresponsible. Fear hit her low and deep. Only something truly terrible would keep her friend from showing up for work. Annie feared the worst. Could Denise or her husband be the ones laundering money? The thought made Annie ill.
Fisher paused outside Annie’s door. He could hear the muted hum of her television. He raised his hand to knock, but then paused. What could he say to make up for hurting her? Not a thing. Not a damn thing.
He’d been doing his job, cozying up to a suspect and slipping into her life to spy on her and collect evidence. Then why did he feel like the world’s most callused heel? He blew out a breath, turned back to his own apartment and let himself in. The apartment was dark. Flicking on the light switch, he dumped his jacket onto a nearby chair.
“Harpy?” he called. There was no answering chirp. “Harpy?”
Fisher crossed the room to the cage. It was empty. Not a terribly alarming event, given the fact that Harpy knew how to open the door. He hadn’t clipped her wings in ages and she’d been flying loops around the apartment for days. He meant to get to it, but time kept eluding him.
“Harpy?” Fisher checked the bathroom. Harpy frequently amused herself by pulling the drain out of the sink. Fisher switched on the bathroom light. There was no sign of her.
Panic began to thump through him. He checked the windows. They were all shut. She couldn’t have gotten out. Fisher checked behind the dresser, thinking Harpy might have gotten herself stuck.
Suddenly a shriek sounded from Annie’s apartment across the hall. Fisher ran to her door. Pounding on it, he shouted, “Annie, it’s Fisher! Open up!”
The door swung wide and Fisher blinked. Annie was standing there with her red hair hanging over her face and a furiously flapping Harpy sitting on her head.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Get her off of me.”
Fisher reached for the bird. Laying his finger in front of Harpy’s feet, he made kissing noises until Harpy stopped flapping and stepped onto his finger.
“She didn’t poop on me, did she?” Annie tipped her head forward for Fisher’s inspection.
“Ah, no,” he said, clamping his lips together to keep from laughing.
Annie straightened back up and combed her hair from her face with her fingers. Her red curls resisted and flopped back across her face. Grabbing her hair with a sigh, Annie twisted it into a knot at the back of her head.
“How did Harpy get in here?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “I was just sitting on the sofa, watching TV when she landed on my head and started singing.”
Fisher glanced at the sofa. His gaze ran up the wall to the vent near the ceiling. Walking across the room, he checked the vent. Sure enough it was loose on the bottom. Harpy could have slipped through it easily.
“You think she came through the vent?”
“I can’t think of any other way she got here,” he said. “What were you watching?”
“ N.Y.P.D. Blue ,” she said.
“Ah.” He nodded.
“Ah, what?” she asked.
“That’s Harpy’s favorite show. I think she has a thing for Dennis Franz.”
“You’re teasing me,” she accused.
“Nope. Watch.”
Fisher lifted his finger up and down in a quick motion and Harpy leapt off and flew straight to the TV. Landing with a thump on top of the set, she began to dance from foot to foot as the distinctive music for the popular police drama filled the room. When Dennis Franz appeared on the screen, she hung over the front of the screen and began to peck at the glass, following his character across the TV.
“I don’t believe it.” Annie began to chuckle. “That’s just...why I’ve never...well, I’ll be.”
“She must have heard the show come on through the vent and decided to come over and watch with you,” he said. “She didn’t scratch you, did she?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me just check your head to make sure.”
He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He dug his fingers into her hair and pulled her close. The knot she’d wound it into slipped free and her hair spilled over his hands in a wave of glorious red. It was soft to the touch and for a moment he forgot his purpose. Gently he began to sift through her hair looking for scratches on her scalp. The faint floral scent of her enveloped him, and he felt his insides tighten in response.
There was no sign of any scratches, but he was reluctant to let go of her. He would have liked to pull her into his arms, hold her close and kiss away all of the troubles between them. But he knew it wasn’t that easy. She had to learn to trust him again and that would take time. He couldn’t push her.
Stepping back, he released her. “No damage that I can see.”
The face she turned up to him was flushed and her deep blue eyes looked confused and alarmed. Fisher smiled. She was flustered. He had hope.
“I’m sorry Harpy scared you,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she said, turning her attention back to the bird. “She’s a clever little dickens, isn’t she?”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” he agreed.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
“Really? Why?”
“I need to speak to you about your case,” she said.
“What about it?” he asked, feeling unaccountably disappointed.
“It’s just that...I think someone...I’m not sure,” she hedged.
“Annie, if you know something, I need you to tell me.”
She frowned. “It’s not that I know something. I just think there might be something not quite right going on.”
“Talk to me,” he ordered.
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s just speculation. I’m not going to say anything until I know something concrete.”
“Then why bring it up?” he asked.
“Because I’m trying to trust you,” she said.
“Come here.” Without giving her a chance to refuse, Fisher opened his arms and pulled her close. “I know this is hard for you and I’m so sorry. If there was anything I could do...”
“You could.” She shrugged out of his embrace and stepped away from him. “You could end this investigation.”