Chapter 10 #2
He takes a step closer, dark eyes glinting with amusement.
“Life insurance, mostly,” he says. “But I’ve had cases involving home owner’s insurance, health insurance, auto accidents, property theft…
everything under the umbrella of protecting your personal assets and every way someone can think of to defraud their contract. ”
I bite my bottom lip and the action draws his eyes to my mouth. “And this qualifies you to catch who defecated under my Christmas tree?”
“It more than qualifies me to handle your case,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe the lengths people will go to… to collect.”
“Like murder?” I ask in a hush whisper.
“Especially murder.” He turns his back on me and peers out the window again.
A shadow creeps over his face. “Nine times out of ten, the suspect is usually someone you least expect. The librarian with the cat eye glasses takes out a life insurance policy on her husband. The next thing you know: the cops are dragging the poor sap’s body from the East River.
A sweet old couple renews their liability insurance on a pizza shop they’ve owned for forty years.
Next thing you know, BAM!” He slaps his hands together.
“Shop goes down in flames. Your long-time girlfriend, the love of your life, takes out an insurance policy on her engagement ring to fund her weekend trip to Atlantic City with your best friend from college, gets knocked up, then marries him while suspiciously ‘losing’ the ring down the kitchen sink. But the ring isn’t lost, is it?
It’s used to fund their lavish wedding, a wedding that they have the balls to invite you to.
” He turns to me with hard, steely eyes. “Suspect everyone. Trust no one.”
When he puts it like that, insurance fraud investigation sounds like an exciting line of work. I let his words sink in. Now I finally understand why he’s so cynical and paranoid about wrongdoing.
“By that motto,” I begin, “you must think every one in the world is a lowlife.”
“Not everyone.”
“It must make it hard to…” I shrug. “You know, date.”
A self-depreciating snort. “You don’t know the half of it.”
I clear my throat. “Are you… you know.”
“What?”
“Seeing anyone?”
“I’m seeing you.” He tries to smile, but it looks like a grimace.
“No,” I say, “for real. Is there someone special in your life?”
“I was engaged at some point.” He glances down at his shoes. “It didn’t work out.” Finally, he looks up, his jaw clenching with embarrassment. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I nod in understanding. “Did you go to their wedding?”
Elliot flinches. “Of course I went to their wedding,” he says softly, “but I’m afraid to say they didn’t appreciate their gift.”
“What was their gift?” I ask in morbid fascination.
He looks down at me, a smug dimple deepening his left cheek. “A hefty fine wrapped in a bow,” he says, watching my shallow intake of breath. “It doesn’t pay to be dishonest.”
“How hefty of a fine?” I ask.
He grins. “Punishing.”
“Oh my…”
“Let’s just say I’ve rendered them… uninsurable.”
That was the hottest story of insurance fraud revenge I’ve ever heard.
Okay. It was the only story of insurance fraud revenge I’ve ever heard, but it only made my knees weaken.
Maybe it’s the heady scent of pumpkin spice candles co-mingling with tales of Elliot’s tragic past and investigative prowess, but I’m feeling a little… loose.
Let’s just say if Elliot wanted to bridge this three-inch gap and breach our professional relationship, I’m down to getting hot and heavy.
Efficiency really turns me on. Also, revenge.
Efficient revenge is an underrated aphrodisiac.
I want vengeance on those who have shat on my floor.
Elliot got his vengeance, and now he’s helping me get mine. And it’s so unbearably sexy, this prospect of smiting those who have wronged me, that I’m leaning toward him like a drunk. My eyes flicker shut, ready for him to kiss me.
The question is: does he want to kiss me?
Is Elliot drunk on pumpkin spice candles and feeling loose too?
I study him through my lashes. He looks… interested.
“Holly?” he asks, his voice raspy.
I tilt forward, so close I can feel the flutter of his breath against my temple. “Hmm?”
“Is your gift shop insured?”
“I have the papers to prove it,” I say, meeting his eye. “It’s in a filing cabinet in the store room with my candle making equipment. Would you like to read over the fine print and explain it to me?”
He pulls back a fraction of an inch. “There’s a speed limit in this town,” he says, “thirty miles an hour.”
It’s actually twenty-five… twenty if I have anything to say about it at the town council, but I’ll just go with it. “How fast was I going?”
“About ninety.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to read over my fine print?” I ask.
“Miss,” he says, “I’ll not only read over your documents, I’ll highlight the important parts right down to the last clause.”
This time I do shiver. I bite my bottom lip. “Suppose you start highlighting now?”
He arches an eyebrow. “You’re my client. I don’t mix P.I. work with insurance fraud investigating.”
“But...” I choose my words carefully. “Don’t you ever just want to revisit it for old times’ sake? I have a hefty pile of papers. Cryptic fine print. You can highlight all day long…”
Elliot looks me up and down, temptation warring with cool professionalism. “That part of my life is behind me. But let me ask you this: do you offer to show your insurance papers to every guy you meet?”
Dragged back to reality, I arch backward. “Meaning?”
“You know what I mean.” He studies my reaction. “Tell me, Ms. Lo,” he continues, “would you consider yourself ... loose?”
Alright. The mood’s dead. Elliot’s killed it. We’re back to the business of pissing me off.
I straighten up and pull myself together. “I’m not going to live life with one hand tied behind my back.”
“A modern day femme fatale,” he says with a shake of his head as if he were shaking off whatever hypnotic trance I’ve ensnared him in.
“Hardly,” I roll my eyes. “I’m just a humble gift shop owner.”
He nods at my outfit. “Would a humble gift shop owner drape herself in velvet?”
I glance down at my velvet jumpsuit. It’s poinsettia red with a sweetheart neckline. Festive, if a bit busty. “It’s vintage,” I say meekly. “Can’t a woman wear red without getting shamed for it? It’s almost Christmas and I don’t like ugly sweaters.”
“On you, an ugly sweater will cease to be ugly,” he says, ducking his head. “You’re beautiful, Holly.”
“Thank you,” I say, preening at his unexpected compliment.
“But then you already know that, don’t you?”
Before I can ask him what he meant by that, Elliot peels himself away.
With a swish of his coat, he turns back to the window, bracing his forearm against the wall.
“I knew you were trouble from the moment you walked through my door,” he speaks with his back to me, “and perhaps your ex… Brian, is it?”
I prop my hand on my hip. “Don’t act like you don’t know his name…”
“Perhaps Brian will agree. Do you roam the town having a good time and breaking hearts? Did you break Brian’s heart? Broke it so bad he’ll want revenge? Suppose that revenge came in the form of three lumps of coal?”
I perk up at his suggestion. “Let’s interrogate Brian. First, we have to get him alone, away from Jen, so he won’t be afraid to answer… Then we’ll… Elliot? Elliot? Are you even listening to me?”
He ignores me, watching the UPS truck pull up to the curb. “You have a package. Several packages.” He blinks. “Lots of packages.” He darts to the door and opens it as Manny, my trusty UPS delivery guy, backs in a dolly packed high with packages.
“Appreciate it, man,” Manny says, wheeling the stack to the backroom.
I glance at Elliot. He’s got his notebook out. “The UPS man,” he says, reading from the suspect list. “A guest at your party…”
“There’s more where that came from,” Manny says, wiping his brow.
“Hey Manny,” Elliot says, sidelining him halfway to the door, “do you have a minute?”