But she did. Way too much.
In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, then stopped in the act of reaching for a bottle of water. It was wasteful, going through four or five of those a day, then tossing the plastic into the trash without a second thought. And she hadn’t even tried the tap water since she’d come here. She’d just assumed bottled had to be better when, truth was, a lot of the time, bottled just came from someone else’s tap.
But she’d already bought this case. Not drinking it would be just as wasteful as drinking it, right? As long as she didn’t buy more, wouldn’t it be more responsible to finish off what was already there?
Taking a bottle, she twisted off the cap and swallowed a big gulp. As she returned to the living room, her cell phone rang from its place on the sofa cushion. She picked it up as she dropped down, making the wicker creak. “Hello, Mika.”
“Guess who’s in Copper Lake? Daniel Wallace.”
“Lawyer to Chicago’s rich and indicted?”
“That’s him. He paid a visit to Joe at the coffee shop.”
“How do you know that?” As far as she knew, she was the only good guy in town keeping an eye on Joe, and obviously, the information hadn’t come from her. “Is Ashe still in town?”
“Yeah, coincidentally. He stuck around a while after talking to you guys to meet up with a friend from Augusta. He was leaving a restaurant after a late lunch when he saw Wallace and recognized him from the file photos.”
“Is Ashe headed back to Atlanta?”
“Yes, but before leaving, he followed Wallace to a B & B called The Jasmine. You know it?”
“I’ve seen it. I can’t afford it on what I get paid.” It was a gorgeous mansion a few blocks from downtown, restored to its prewar glory. Only people with money stayed at The Jasmine. Everyone else hit one of the cheaper motels.
“Keep an eye out for the guy. And find out from Joe what he wanted.”
What he wanted was obviously Josh. Had he tried to buy Josh’s location from Joe? Or to scare it out of him? “I will.”
“How did he react to Ashe’s visit?”
Liz blew out her breath. “He was a little hostile. I don’t blame him.”
“He can blame his brother,” Mika said unsympathetically.
“Hey, you know what they say. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.”
“You can break all ties with them.”
Was that what Mika had done? In the years Liz had known her, she’d never heard a single reference to a mother or father, sister or brother. But then, Mika had always been very private. She could be married and paying a nanny to raise a dozen children, for all Liz knew.
“Find out what you can from Joe and get back to me.”
“I will.” Liz disconnected, then turned to look out the window. Joe’s black bike was parked on the porch of his house. He’d slipped in while she wasn’t looking.
It was nearly six-thirty. If he was tired from working late, maybe she could persuade him to go out to dinner with her.
Or to spend a quiet evening at home with her.
Either of which could bring them closer to what she really wanted.
It was wrong. It could damage her career. It could break her heart. But she wanted it anyway. Wanted him.
His blinds were drawn, but light shone around the edges. Was he showering away the sweet coffee aromas that he’d breathed in all day? Getting a beer from the refrigerator? Kicking back watching someone somewhere play baseball?
Was he thinking of her at all?
She went into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and took a shower, then dried and dressed in her sexiest underwear, a lacy cream-colored bra and panties, what there was of them, that matched. Standing in front of the closet, she considered the clothes she’d brought with her. Jeans and T-shirt would be the wise choice, the baggy ones that she wore around the house when she didn’t even bother to fix her hair.
But when she reached for an outfit, it wasn’t that one. Instead, she pulled out a red dress. It was nothing special, buttoning up the front and falling to the knee, sleeveless and snug-fitting and perfectly suitable for the office, a restaurant, even a church. She slid her arms into it and fastened the buttons, stopping one from the bottom, then let her hair down, loosening the curls with her fingers. Foundation, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick, a spritz of perfume, and she was almost ready.
The last detail stood on the floor in the closet: red heels with white polka dots and a matching bow. High heels, four inches, nicely naughty. Joe was a leg man with a bit of a fetish for a woman in heels. She would take every advantage she could get.
She turned off the bedroom light, stopped in the living room for her cell and purse, then went outside, pausing long enough to lock the door. As she turned, light appeared across the way: Joe had opened his door and was standing there, silhouetted against the screen. She couldn’t make out his features or his clothes, but she knew it was him. Knew he was watching her.
It’s not too late. She could go back inside, or walk around the house to her car and drive away. She could go to dinner or to a club. She could find someone to share a drink with, to dance with, to take her mind off Joe.
But her mind hadn’t been completely off Joe in the two-plus years since they’d met.
She took a breath. Went down the steps and to the edge of the sidewalk. Took off her heels. Walked barefoot through the cool grass to the edge of the second sidewalk. Put the heels back on. Climbed his steps.
He turned on the porch light but made no move to open the screen door. The faint scents of soap and shampoo drifted on the air, and his hair was slicked back, his feet bare. He wore khaki shorts that displayed an impressive pair of muscular legs, and a T-shirt, old, faded, bearing only part of a logo for the University of Illinois. The rest had flaked away in years of wear.
He looked incredible.
“Hey.” His voice was low, husky.
“Hey,” she echoed, just as soft and husky.
“You look…” He sucked in a breath and shifted as if standing still had become uncomfortable. “I was going to come over.”
“Should I go back home and wait?”
Finally he raised one hand to the screen door and pushed it open. “No,” he said with a grin that made her knees go weak. “Come in.”
She was careful not to bump him as she went inside, though she swore she felt the heat and tension radiating from him. A few steps into the room, she stopped, both hands clutching her purse, and faced him. “I wondered if I could talk you into going to dinner with me.”
“Dinner?” he echoed.
“To start.”
He considered it, as if there were many things he’d rather do at the moment than sit in a restaurant, eat and make polite conversation. Some of them, she was pretty sure, were things she’d prefer as well. “Okay,” he said. “Let me change clothes.”
“You can go like that.” He had great legs, and the T-shirt was snug enough to prove that his chest and arms were hard-muscled as well.
“With you looking like that? No, thanks.” He strode down the hall toward his bedroom, leaving her alone in the living room.
She wanted to just stand there, or take a seat, the way any woman waiting for a man to change clothes would. She wanted to consider the evening ahead and all its possibilities. Would dinner be comfortable, tense, romantic? Would he be interested in going for a drink afterward? Would he want to prolong their time together? Walk her to her door? Kiss her? Accept her invitation to come inside?
She
She wanted a simple dinner date with the man she was wildly attracted to. No job, no lies, no role-playing.
Listening to footsteps, then running water, she circled the couch to the bookcases. There was no desk in the living room, no file cabinet, no address book left carelessly on a table. Maybe he kept his personal records in the bedroom, in a closet or in the office at the coffee shop. What she was looking for-an address, a phone number, an e-mail address-could be concealed in so many ways that a thorough search might never reveal it. A note tucked inside the covers of a book or the case of a DVD. Information disguised as an account number. Data written in code. It could also have been memorized and destroyed. She could be searching for something that existed only in Joe’s brain.
Sighing, she flipped through the magazines stacked on the bookcase. Green Gourmet. Organic Grounds. Going Green for Small Businesses. Sustainability. Fascinating reading, she was sure. The bottom one was a glossy biking magazine touting Rocky Mountain views from a bike seat. The guy on the cover wore skin-tight clothing that displayed muscled calves to make a woman drool.
“Where do you-”
Liz turned as Joe broke off. He’d changed into gray trousers and a white shirt, tucked in, sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. There was no way around it. The man was hot no matter what he wore.
She held up the magazine. “You planning a vertical bike trip through Colorado?”
His gaze shifted to the magazine and held for a moment before he shrugged casually. “It’s on my list of things to do. Are you ready, or would you rather read an interesting article on the most expensive coffee in the world? It’s in the top magazine in your right hand. They feed the coffee cherries to civets, then collect the beans after they pass through their digestive system. They say it’s very good. Sells for about $50 a cup.”
“After they pass through…Eww.” Suspiciously, she looked from him to the magazine. “You made that up.”
“Scout’s honor.” He crossed to her side, slid the
She scanned the article, then shoved all the magazines into his hands. “That’s just gross. Way more organic than I ever want to know about.”
He put the magazines away, then gestured toward the door. “I’m guessing you’re not walking far in those ridiculous-”
She shot him a look over her shoulder.
“-ly sexy heels, so we’re taking your car?”
“You can even drive if you want. If you remember how.”
