Heroes Are My Weakness(42)

She concentrated on the food, twirling her fork in the pasta and pushing a messy bite into her mouth. It was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Rich and gooey, savory with garlic and smoky with bacon. Completely satisfying. “When did you learn to cook?”

“When I started writing. I discovered that cooking was a great way for me to untangle plot problems in my head.”

“Nothing quite as inspiring as a butcher knife, right?”

He raised his unscarred eyebrow at her.

She was starting to feel a little too snarky, so she relented. “This might be the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

“Only compared with what you and Jaycie have been fixing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with our food.” She couldn’t muster up much conviction.

“Nothing much right with it, either. The best you can say is that it’s serviceable.”

“I’ll take serviceable. Serviceable’s good.” She chased a bacon morsel with her fork. “Why don’t you cook for yourself.”

“Too much trouble.”

Not an entirely satisfying answer, since he seemed to enjoy cooking, but she wasn’t going to show enough interest to inquire further.

He leaned back in his chair. Unlike her, he wasn’t wolfing down his meal but savoring it. “Why didn’t you order groceries for yourself?”

“I ordered,” she said around another mouthful. “Apparently someone left a message canceling it.”

He cradled his wineglass. “Here’s what I don’t get. You haven’t even been here a full two weeks. How have you managed to piss off somebody that fast?”

She’d give anything to know whether or not he was aware that she might have something valuable hidden here. “I have no idea,” she said, twisting a strand of pasta around her fork.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

She dabbed at her mouth. “There are a lot of things I’m not telling you.”

“You have a theory about this, don’t you?”

“Yes, but unfortunately, I can’t prove you’re the one behind the trouble.”

“Cut the bullshit,” he said harshly. “You know I didn’t trash this place. But I’m starting to believe you might have some idea who did.”

“None. Swear.” That part was true, at least.

“Then why did it happen? Despite the company you keep, you’re no dummy. I think you have your suspicions.”

“I might. And no, I’m not sharing.”

He regarded her with a shuttered expression that was impossible to read. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

It was such a ludicrous question that she didn’t bother answering, although she couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. Which he didn’t find amusing.

“I can’t help if you won’t level with me,” he said in the voice of someone used to instant obedience.

No chance he’d get that from her. It would take more than fabulous food and great wine to wipe out her memory bank.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he went on. “Why is someone after you? What do they want?”

She placed her palm on her chest and drawled, “The key to my heart.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Keep your secrets then. I don’t care.”

“No reason you should.”

They finished eating in silence. She carried her plate and wineglass into the kitchen. The cupboard door above the sink was still ajar displaying the bottles stacked inside. Her mother had always kept good wine around, thanks to the gifts people brought her. Rare vintages. Highly sought after collectibles. Who knew what she had stored in there? Maybe—

The wine! Annie gripped the edge of the sink. What if these bottles of wine were her legacy? She’d been so focused on the art in the cottage that she hadn’t thought beyond. Rare bottles of wine fetched exorbitant sums at auction. She’d heard of a single bottle going for twenty or thirty thousand dollars. What if she and Theo had just polished off part of her legacy?

The wine started to come back up in her throat. She heard him walking into the kitchen behind her. “You have to go now,” she said unsteadily. “I appreciate the food, but I’m serious. You have to get out of here.”

“Fine by me.” He set his plate on the counter, showing no more emotion about being kicked out than he did about anything else.

As soon as he was gone, she grabbed her notebook, wrote down the information from the label of each wine bottle, then carefully boxed them all up. She found a marker and wrote CLOTHES TO DONATE on the flap, then tucked the box away in the back of her closet. If there was another break-in, she wouldn’t make it easy on whoever was out to get her.


“I KEEP THINKING IF THIS room looked better,” Jaycie said, leaning precariously on her crutches, “Theo might want to relax here.”

Which meant Jaycie would have a better chance of spending time with him the way she wanted to. Annie flipped the sunroom couch cushions. Jaycie wasn’t a smitten teenager any longer. Hadn’t she learned anything about making better choices in men?

“Theo didn’t come back to the house for dinner last night?”

Annie heard the question in Jaycie’s voice but decided it was best to keep last night’s meal to herself. “He stayed around for a while to give me a hard time. I finally kicked him out.”