She nodded, her cheek brushing his sleeve. “When Henry Alder told me in that note that he wanted to make sure my dream stayed alive… He knew by the time the box reached me that he’d be dead.”
Gabe looked down at the nest of paper in the metal box. At the careful way Henry had arranged them. At the choice he’d made to keep this separate from his nephew’s inheritance and steer it toward Felicity.
The why of that bit at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Money was a powerful motive behind a lot of crimes.
She shook herself, drawing away from his side. “Let’s see if the bank has a good solution for us to safely carry these out of here. After everything, I don’t trust that a stiff wind won’t blow in and scatter them clear to the Rockies.”
He chuckled. “They wouldn’t dare defy Henry’s wishes.”
She chewed her lip. “We have some time to kill before the meeting. I want to show you Henry’s house. I never had a chance to say goodbye. It feels wrong to…” she brushed a fingertip over one of the bonds, “find this and not go there.”
Gabe didn’t argue. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”
The neighborhood where Henry Alder had lived out his life was quiet and boasted old Denver money mixed with modern updates. Mature trees arched over the street like sentries and the man’s house sat solid behind a hedge that had gone a little wild.
“It’s a beautiful house.” Her smile was a little sad.
They drifted to the opening in the hedges and stepped through the open gate. She stopped on the cobbled walk.
“That’s how I really know he’s gone.” She pointed at the corner of the big stone house. “The window in the corner is his library. The light was always on there.”
Just then, the front door opened. A man stepped out—mid-thirties, in jeans and a button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves. An expensive watch glinted on his wrist.
He took in Felicity and Gabe with sharp eyes. “Can I help you?”
Gabe automatically angled his body to shield her.
She straightened, smoothing her hands down her coat. “Oh. Um. I knew the man who lived here.”
Understanding dawned in the man’s eyes. “Ah. You must be my uncle’s friend Felicity.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to intrude—”
“From the bookshop,” he interrupted.
She blinked. “Yes.”
He smiled. “I’m Andrew. Henry’s nephew. I remember him talking about you.”
She drifted a few steps closer to the house, and Gabe shadowed her.
Andrew stood on the porch, hands in his pockets in a casual, open stance that didn’t quite match the way his gaze flicked to Gabe at her side.
“What brings you to town?”
Felicity offered him a careful smile. “Just taking care of some personal business. I wanted to show Gabe where my friend lived.”
“Would you like to come inside?” Andrew twisted with a wave of his hand toward the front door, heavy, oak and set with cut glass that obstructed the view of the inside from passersby on the street.
Through their undeniable connection, Gabe felt Felicity’s response—somewhere between wanting to see her friend’s home one last time…and caution.
Andrew beckoned to them. “Come on. No sense standing on the sidewalk like missionaries. Besides, Henry would insist.”
That got Felicity’s feet moving. They mounted the heavy wood porch steps, and Andrew held the door open.
Gabe felt that old itch between his shoulders, the one that told him this could be nothing. But it could be something.
There was nothing overtly wrong with the guy. He was friendly and appeared relaxed, with none of the usual tells that would trigger Gabe’s alarms. But he’d also inherited everything, and Henry still carved out a separate secret for Felicity.
