Thick as Thieves(40)

“Something you couldn’t talk over by phone?”

“You’re getting me off the subject. Why did you take it upon yourself to order new locks for me?”

“Because you didn’t take it upon yourself. You needed stronger door locks, and now you have them.”

“He said you told him that it was an emergency.”

“If something had happened to you, at least I would have a clear conscience. I’d have done my best to protect you from an intruder.”

“The only intruder I’ve had was you.”

“And you should be damn glad it was me,” he shouted.

In the sudden hush that followed, he could hear her breathing as she forced it to slow down. Then, speaking quietly, she said, “He gave me a receipt. He had already charged your credit card. I’ll pay you back.”

“Whenever,” he mumbled.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

After another laden silence, she said, “It didn’t really qualify as an emergency.”

That’s what you think. Rusty fought guerilla-style. He struck without warning and in nefarious ways. Likely, she would never see him coming, and it sickened Ledge to think how creative Rusty could be, he who had no scruples.

She seemed a lot smaller here in his cavernous workshop than she had in her kitchen. The glow of the light fixture gave her a fairy-like quality. She looked even more delicate and vulnerable than she had in her insubstantial nightgown. Her hair looked softer, her eyes larger and more innocent.

But he realized that it wasn’t the setting or the lighting that made her look more fragile here and now. It was her contrast to him. Big and mean him, shouting, incautiously slamming back shots, trying to keep a leash on rampaging lust.

He needed to get her away from him. “What have you decided about the house?”

“Who is Crystal?”

He didn’t actually reel backward a step or two, as though he’d taken a blow right between the eyes, but that’s what it felt like. Vulnerable, fairy-like, fragile? Like hell. She was a steamroller.

He didn’t answer her question.

“The reason I ask,” she said, “is because when I called the bar, and you weren’t there, it was suggested by the person I talked to that I should check with Crystal, that you might be with her.”

“I wasn’t.”

“She’s…?”

“A friend.”

“With benefits?” When again he didn’t respond, she said, “Given that you kissed me last night, it’s a fair question.”

He gave a precise nod. “Who was your baby’s father, and why isn’t he with you?” He arched his brows and looked at her expectantly. “What? You’re allowed to ask fair questions, but I’m not?”

“I just don’t want some woman I’ve never even met coming at me and accusing—”

“Ain’t gonna happen. Not unless you tell.”

“I have no intention of telling anyone.”

“Me neither. So we’ve got no problem.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Well, I disagree. It’s a problem for me if you’re cheating on—”

“Cheating?” he repeated with incredulity. “It was only a kiss.”

In the face of such a blatant distortion of fact, they held each other’s stare longer than they should have, and, at some point during it, she lowered her hands from her hips. In the end, he couldn’t say for sure who looked away first, but it was awkward.

She turned to face the drafting table and neatly stacked the drawings. “You have a great eye for design, and, even though it irritated you for me to say so, your talent is being wasted. But…” She took a breath. “I won’t be going with your ideas.”

It crushed him to hear that, for so many reasons, most of which he couldn’t rationalize. But rather than show his disappointment, he made a gesture of dismissal. “I guessed as much.”

“I will, however, be using your services. If you’re still available.”

“Doing what? Rehanging your closet doors?”

“Removing them. You see, I’ve changed my mind about restoring the house. I want you to take it apart. Piece by piece. Board by board. Nail by nail. Tear it down. To the ground.”





Chapter 16



Ledge stood there looking at her for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Then he turned, saying over his shoulder, “I haven’t eaten all day,” and walked out of the workshop.

Arden didn’t know what to make of his exit, but she couldn’t leave things up in the air, so she followed. As an afterthought, she went back for the bottle of bourbon.

He entered the house, and lights came on inside, illuminating the steps leading up to the back door. He’d left it standing open. Not quite an invitation, but not a lockout.

She went inside. His kitchen was surprisingly modern. It certainly showed hers up.

He was standing in the open door of the refrigerator and didn’t turn when she closed the back door to let him know she had followed him in. He sailed a deli package from the fridge onto the granite countertop, then a second landed there with a plop. After taking some items from the shelves in the door, he bumped it closed with his hip.