Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(13)

He had two reactions to her speech, both of them equally potent. Rage at the ones who’d stolen her choices. Admiration that she’d spoken her mind, even though it appeared she hadn’t had a lot of practice in that arena. “Please, Ailish. Will you come to breakfast with me?”

“I don’t have any money.”

He didn’t like the note of distress in her voice. “I’m buying.”

She stared off over the dirt courtyard for long moments, wheels whizzing in circles behind her eyes. “You can buy me breakfast, but I’m going to keep a running tally of our financial relationship so we stay on even footing.”

It sounded like something she’d learned from her father, but no way in hell would he say that out loud. Instead, he wondered at her particular reasons. Did she dislike being in someone’s debt, even for the price of eggs? Or was she afraid of feeling guilty when she attempted to cut and run? Didn’t matter. She needed to eat more than instant soup. In fact, now that he knew what she’d been subsisting on before his arrival, anxiousness ate at his gut. “Fine. Keep your tally.”

Her shoulders lifted and fell on a satisfied sound. “That negotiation went well, didn’t it?”

“I went just fine, Lish.”

She finished climbing the stairs. “I wonder if you’ll still call me that when you realize I’ve decided to call you Growler.”

Henrik only smiled after the door had clicked shut behind her. No sense in two of them being aware she’d already gotten to him. “My truck is this way,” he called through the closed door.

“I have to change into something better,” Ailish singsonged back.

Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. When she stepped out onto the porch in a short, loose skirt and a skintight T-shirt a few minutes later, his foreboding proved accurate. Jesus, those thighs. There was so goddamn much of them showing. Enough that if she bent over, they would have a situation on their hands.

On her way to the truck, she winked at him, and he groaned.

Apparently the teasing had begun.

...

Ailish hadn’t allowed herself to wish for decent food over the last couple weeks, because eating noodles would have been an even bigger letdown. But now that so many yummy items were listed on the menu in front of her, she wanted all of them. Good thing the diner was packed full of people or Henrik would hear her stomach growling loud enough to match his. That would never do.

She’d woken up before dawn this morning and started to pack her things, but decided one day to hear Henrik out wouldn’t hurt. After all, they’d barely scratched the surface of why he’d sought her out. Or what exactly this honorary undercover squad expected her to do. She hadn’t stayed because she found him interesting and wanted to know more. That hadn’t even factored into the equation.

Ailish took a sip of orange juice to get the lie’s taste out of her mouth. “What are you going to have?”

“All of it,” he answered, without missing a beat.

She fell back in her chair. “Oh, thank God. Me, too.” Right on cue, the waitress showed up and took their order. It quickly became apparent Henrik had a different definition of everything, in the sense that he actually meant it. He ordered darn near every item on the breakfast menu, while Ailish got French toast, bacon, and eggs. “There really is a lion living in your stomach, isn’t there?”

“Tell me what happened in Wisconsin.”

“Lord, you are such a cop.”

His coffee mug paused halfway to his mouth. “How’s that?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “You do that thing. Where you ask abrupt questions to throw off the person being interrogated. It’s not very polite when we’re having a breakfast date.”

He shook his head slowly. As though he were issuing a warning. “It’s not a date, Ailish.”

Trying to hide her embarrassment, Ailish reached for the sugar container and picked through the offerings. “That wasn’t polite, either. Two friends can have a date, can’t they?”

His voice was gruff. “Do you usually wear skirts like that for your friends?”

Even as a butterfly flapped its wings in her middle, Ailish let the truth tumble out. “I don’t have any friends.”

For what seemed like an hour, Henrik stared at her, leaving her words hanging in air, before snatching up his coffee and draining it. “Wisconsin. Please.”

“That’s better.” Ailish prayed her cheeks hadn’t fallen victim to the Redhead’s Curse, when they lit up like two blazing bonfires. What on earth had possessed her to tell Henrik that hideously sad detail of her life? “Two men entered through the back door of the guest house. I threw a knife and hit the tall one. They chased me out the front door and—” The waitress showed up with their breakfast. It was a good thing, too, since she hadn’t thought through her recitation of events very well. When the waitress left again, Henrik made no move to touch his food, so she continued. “The man who I hit with the knife gave me the black eye. His partner in the Cubs cap was upset, since they couldn’t take me back to my father injured. So he shot the tall man.”

Henrik narrowed his eyes. “And then Cubs Cap—the shooter—let you go?”

“Yes,” she answered, a little too brightly. “Better to come back empty-handed than with damaged goods, I guess.”