Chapter Eight #4
Dammit. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t get involved with her. She was a witness in a high-profile case.
Tone it down. Back away.
But he didn’t want to. “A few,” he managed to say, just as she said, “I’m sorry, I was rude. Again.”
For a long moment they stared at each other. She was only a few inches shorter than he was. He’d never been with a woman as tall as Elle Randolph.
And you’re not with her now.
He cleared his throat. “Eunice said you offered to do pro bono work for the local shelter.”
“I did. I can do that from wherever I am. Virtual meeting software has made things so much easier. More secure for the client, too. They don’t have to leave the shelter if they’re not ready.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“It’s…well, it makes me feel useful.”
“You know their pain.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “How did you know that?”
“Eunice didn’t tell me. I already knew. That cop I talked to, the one with Sarasota PD? He told me that your husband was abusive, that he caused the crash that you got blamed for.”
“Initially, but the detective who investigated cleared me pretty quickly.”
“But that’s like the retraction under the obituary section in the newspaper. The first article declares you guilty on the front page, and the retraction is hidden where you’d have to be looking for it to find it.”
“Yes. Exactly. A lot of people still think I did it.”
“For the record, I’m glad your husband is dead. Otherwise I’d want to go to Florida and—” He cut himself off, but her brows had risen again.
“Go on,” she said, sounding amused. “You’d do what?”
“Have a serious conversation with him.”
“Damn. I was hoping you’d say you’d punch him in the mouth.”
“I might think about it, but I wouldn’t do it.”
“You could lose your job.”
“And I could break my hand. Been there, done that, still have photos of me in a cast.”
“Ouch.” She looked out to the sea with a happy sigh. “This is amazing. I’m so jealous of your view.”
“I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
She was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing. Then her gaze lifted to his once again. “I’m thinking of staying here for a week once we catch Miller. I haven’t had a vacation just for myself in a long time.”
He hesitated, unsure. Out of practice. Afraid of rejection. Then he took a chance.
“Let me know when you decide. I’ll take some PTO and show you around.”
Her smile was worth the few heartbeats of fear he’d felt before making his offer. “I will. I was kind of hoping you’d say that.”
Something unspoken passed between them. It was heated and full of promise and expectation.
Ronan hadn’t felt like this in a very long time.
Nothing could happen now, but later?
We’ll have to see.
“Have you heard anything more about Miller?” she asked, changing the subject. “Any hits on your BOLO?”
“Not a one. You?”
“Nothing. He’s gone deep under.”
He thought there was more she wanted to say, but he didn’t push. He was learning that if Elle Randolph thought there was real danger to someone, she’d tell him.
“How long can you afford to keep looking for him?” he asked. “Every day you pay for lodging, you’re cutting into your percentage. Which wasn’t that much to start with.”
“Fifteen grand,” she agreed. “We’ve all but eaten through that, or we will have soon. At some point, Sara gets determined to bring the jumper back, no matter the cost. It’s a point of contention with her wife, who manages the business.”
“The pregnant wife.”
“Yep.”
“Who is mad at her.”
“Oh yes.”
“Because she’s overspent?”
“No. She really did break something that belonged to Felicia. Actually, it belonged to one of Felicia’s friends.”
“That makes it worse.”
“It does. But Felicia will be over her anger by the time we get home.”
“And if Felicia goes into labor before you catch Reece Miller?”
“Then I finish the job alone.”
Ronan frowned. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
“Not my first choice. She might send one of the others to work with me, but I’ll probably be solo for a day or two.”
“So…” Ronan began again. “I understand there’s one painting still missing from Miller’s gallery heist.”
“There is.”
“It’s stupidly valuable.”
She laughed. “It is. I don’t get it myself, but they say that art is worth whatever someone’s willing to pay for it. It’s one of those paintings that looks like preschoolers flung paint at the canvas.”
He laughed, delighted. And then he stilled, thrilled. She was watching him again, just like she had the night before when he’d laughed at her suggesting that he was trying to get her high.
It was interest.
Desire.
Hunger.
His body came to life and he shifted his stance uncomfortably. “I should probably be going inside now.” He patted Puff’s head. “Gotta feed this behemoth.”
“And Sara will be wondering where I went.”
“Good night, Elle.”
“Good night, Ronan. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“And tomorrow night? Here?”
“Yes.”
His heart was beating so hard that he felt lightheaded. “Sleep well.”
He didn’t think he’d be getting any sleep at all. Not until his body calmed the hell down. Turning, he headed home, urging Puff forward because the dog wanted to return to Elle.
Join the club, buddy.