Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Three minutes and two seconds. Where was she?
He shifted. Plowed his hands through his hair. Rubbed his jaw. Well. He’d forgotten to shave this morning. Unable to sit still, he flowed to his feet and opened the door. No sign of her in the hallway. Sighing, he moved to the edge of his desk, sat, and crossed his arms. Wait. Did he seriously want to look as though he’d purposely power-posed this?
Too late to reposition. Jane sailed into the office, head high, bringing the storm and the calm with her.
Punch. How did she grow more beautiful with every sighting? Today she wore a dress covered in colorful flowers. Perfect advertising. The woman smelled like a walking garden, the air in his office suddenly sweetened with an incredible array of magnolias, gardenias, and honeysuckle.
Mental note: Buy a bulk order of floral scented candles.
Voice thick, he said, “You’re late.”
She stopped short and rapid-blinked. “How?” Stealing a quick glance at the clock behind him, she said, “I’m two minutes early.”
“Yes, but ten minutes early is the new on time, which makes you exactly eight minutes tardy,” he deadpanned. For his sanity, he reclaimed his chair, putting the desk between them. “We should get started.”
With all of her prim properness at the fore, she eased into a chair of her own. “We should indeed.”
Adorable brat. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Pleasure wafted from her. Uncertainty followed. “Thank you.” Flushing, she shifted, cleared her throat, and busied herself by flipping through the pages of a journal with the words Truth Be Told scrawled across the cover.
Not used to compliments? That was a shame and something in need of rectification. “All right,” he said in a show of mercy. “Let’s get to business. You know we have the camera on Muffin’s marker. It’s monitored twenty-four seven. There’s no need for a tour.”
“Actually, there is. Your camera has caught a big, fat nothing, I bet.”
She wasn’t wrong. But admit it aloud? No.
“What happened with the crowbar?” she asked.
All he could tell her? “It is indeed a murder weapon.” It might not have caused Dr. Hotchkins to expel his last breath, but it caused the fall that had. Ergo murder weapon.
A bright, sunny smile bloomed. “It is? I did it, then? I found the most crucial piece of evidence in the entire case?”
Such earnest delight. His heart seemed to double in size. “The metal is splattered with Dr. Hotchkins’s blood and covered with his fingerprints.”
“Any other fingerprints?”
“None.” He picked up a pen and tapped the edge against his desk. Time for their negotiation to officially kick off. “I think I’ve made it clear I don’t want you to do the tour, Jane.”
The little darling batted her lashes at him. “You have, yes, but it always sounds like a you problem.”
Yet again, she wasn’t wrong. Give him a moment, though, and he’d make it an us problem. “But,” he said, forging ahead, “I can’t stop you from doing it. If you insist on putting yourself in the line of danger, I will insist on doing something as well.”
She practically melted in her seat.
Then he said, “I’ll use you to draw the killer out,” and her shoulders popped out. No doubt about it, the darling sleuth sensed his intent to take over and ruin her fun. “I think anything out of the ordinary will draw undue suspicion.” He pushed the pamphlet she’d given him the day of the murder across the desk. “Scheduling a tour similar to this fits your profile.”
“This? Are you kidding?” She gripped the trifold paper and waved it in the air. “A plain ole tour with no theme? Where’s the drama?” she cried. “Everyone loves drama. Shouldn’t we give the people what they want?”
“We don’t care what other people want. We care about a killer. When should we ever cater to a killer?”
“Never,” she grumbled, accepting another person’s point of view, weighing the information against her own opinion, and choosing what was best for all. No wonder he adored her.
“Good girl. Now, you can make it seem like you’re capitalizing on the unsolved murder or claim you can prove there’s no hidden gold. Considering what you posted to the Headliner last night, the latter is more believable. You’ve gotten over fifty comments, each one accusing you of being a liar.”
“My bad,” she replied, wincing. “I’ll go with the gold theme.”
He gripped his chair to stop himself from reaching for her. “I will attend, of course, and I will—”
“No! Are you kidding?” She gaped at him. “The killer won’t come if a GBH agent is there.”
A killer would if a killer’s curiosity about the case pulled his or her strings. “Nevertheless. I’ll be buying a ticket. As a paying customer, I’ll have every right to stand by your side, keeping you safe.”
Different emotions flashed over her features. Awe. Tenderness. Aggravation. “Beau will be there. No one will try anything with him around. He’s playing the part of groundskeeper.”