He followed them in, staying close enough to grab Felicity if he needed to, memorizing exits out of sheer habit. The house smelled like it had a history.
Andrew led them into a living room lined with built-in shelves. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? A sandwich? I was about to make one.”
Felicity’s gaze had been roaming over the shelves where a handful of books were arranged, but returned to Andrew. “We’re okay, thank you. We actually don’t have a lot of time. We have an appointment.”
Andrew perched on the arm of a leather chair, casual as anything, but his gaze sharpened. “Ah. Personal business?”
Her voice remained steady. “Yes. Just tying up some loose ends.”
“How long are you staying in Denver?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Gabe spoke up as a reminder he was here.
His brows rose. “Quick trip. Where are you staying? Is it that B&B near the park with the stone fountain? My mom always loved that place when she was alive.”
“Oh, we’re just at an Airbnb.”
“On Cherry Tree Street?” he asked immediately. “Little house with the blue shutters and a porch swing?”
Gabe felt her surprise but couldn’t stop her before she nodded. “Yes, actually.”
Andrew’s smile widened. “I walk my dog by it all the time. It’s a nice place. Good choice.”
His instincts didn’t like that. At all. Gabe’s grip tightened on Felicity’s hand.
Andrew got Felicity talking about his uncle then, and she shared a story about how they sometimes stayed up late talking on the phone about what books they’d read.
Andrew listened, some of his easy charm slipping into what seemed like warmth. “That sounds like Henry.”
Gabe studied the man. According to the file, Henry had taken in his nephew after his sister’s death. He had loved him enough to leave him everything. But he’d also gone out of his way to shield part of his legacy, to bury it in codes and to hide a key meant for the woman glued to Gabe’s side.
He couldn’t shake the feeling they were opening a secret door to a hidden passage leading to a dark place.
And he’d be damned if he let it touch the woman he loved.
* * * * *
Felicity climbed into the truck parked on the quiet street, watching Gabe round the truck to the driver’s door. Before she could even click her seatbelt, he spoke.
“I don’t like him. Your nephew.”
She twisted in the seat to look at him. “He’s notmynephew. He’s Henry’s.”
“You know what I mean.” He gripped the steering wheel, tendons flexing in his forearms. “He’s way too friendly. Way too interested in your life.”
Irritation flickered inside her. “Gabe. You don’t like anyone. You didn’t like the bakery owner who brought us brownies.”
“Because she blatantly told you she was interested in your location for her business. Besides, you don’t trust her either.”
She faced forward, folding her arms over her chest. “I thought Andrew was very pleasant.”
“Exactly. Too nice. In a weird way. All those questions about where we’re staying, how long we’d be here…”
She bristled, heat rising in her cheeks. “It’s called small talk, Gabe. Normal people do it.”
He finally looked at her, eyes dark. “I’m not saying he’s an assassin, bookshop. I’m saying my instincts are prickling, and they don’t do that for no reason.”
“Well, my instincts say he’s a grieving man who just watched his uncle wither away,” she shot back. “Maybe he likes knowing the people Henry cared about. Not everyone is the enemy.”
