“No.” Luke was all innocence and sweetness, but she didn’t buy it for a second. “That would be illegal without a warrant. Which we don’t have.” Now he sounded regretful.
“Do you think he’s behind this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Gil thinks he is.”
“Gil thinks he could be. He’s a suspect, so we’re keeping tabs on him.”
“He doesn’t know Ab.”
“You’re right, but it doesn’t matter. Gil would do the same thingeven if he did know him. We have to follow the evidence, even if we don’t like where it’s leading. Why do you think Gil showed up at your door Friday afternoon? Do you think he suspected you of wrongdoing? Because he didn’t. And it had very little to do with your personal connection. It was because you have a reputation in this town. He didn’t believe you knew anything about that money. He still followed the leads, regardless of his personal opinion. That’s what he’s doing now.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
He waved a hand around her office. “Now, do you have time to show me around? Not the detailed tour, just broad strokes. Gil wouldn’t shut up about it earlier today. Said it’s some of the coolest stuff he’s ever seen.”
She gave Luke the tour, and by the time he left, she’d decided Luke Powell was the kind of friend anyone would be lucky to have—and she was glad Gil had him. And she was glad Faith was marrying him. And maybe someday soon, she would be able to say he was her friend too.
GIL WAS BACK ATFIVE.He didn’t bother her. Or he tried not to anyway. He sat in the lobby with a laptop. She didn’t know he was there until her receptionist tipped her off to the presence of “that hot Secret Service agent who brought you lunch, not the hot one who came by later” on the sofa in the corner.
Ivy tried to finish quickly, but it was still after six before she wrapped up.
Gil drove her home, walked in with her, and held her hand as they wandered through the kitchen. “Who cleaned up?”
Gil dropped his head.
“Gil?”
“Please don’t be mad.” For the first time since she’d seen him on Friday night, she could see the little boy she remembered. His eyes were wide and earnest, and it was clear he did not want her to be upset and was worried she would be. “Tessa and I came over this afternoon. I didn’t want you to come home to a mess. You’ve had a tough few days, and this is your home. I want you to feel safe here, and I know you probably won’t, at least not right away. But I didn’t want you to have to come in and clean up fingerprint powder and blood.” His eyes swept through the living area. “I doubt everything is exactly the way you had it, but Tessa gave it her seal of approval. Which, in case you’re wondering, means right now you could safely eat off the bathroom floor.”
That remark caught her so off guard that a giggle escaped, and the tension eased. “I’ll pass, but good to know.”
After the heavy conversations of the day, Ivy braced for more emotional overload. But Gil kept things light. Friendly. He was a little bit bossy, but only in good ways. He refused to let her help with dinner and told her to go change into something comfy and let him take care of it. He also refused to let her clean up, making the argument that she had broken fingers and therefore had a solid case for not doing dishes.
He was cool about everything. Kind. Gentle. She couldn’t miss the way he watched her, but he didn’t hover. When they settled on the sofa, she was prepared for him to launch into a heart-to-heart. He didn’t. They chatted about music and books and, at his request, looked through some photo albums.
It was all going well, and part of her, a big part, wanted him to reopen the discussion about their relationship. Of course, it was fast. Too soon. Too quick. But if Gil Dixon asked her out on a date, she was going to say yes.
But he didn’t do ... anything. When they looked at the photoalbums, he sat close, his knee and thigh brushing against hers, but aside from that, nothing. He didn’t hold her hand. He didn’t put his arm around her. He made no moves at all.
Around 8:30, Gil sat back on the sofa, pulled the album from her hand and closed it, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Buttercup, you’re about to fall asleep sitting up. Why don’t you go ahead and go to bed?”
“It’s early.”
“You’re running on fumes. Take your pain medicine. Go to bed. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be here all night. Luke’s coming later, and we’re taking shifts. You can rest easy.”
She wanted to argue. If she had any manners at all, she would have. She couldn’t let him and Luke stay up half the night while she slept.
Then his hand curled around her cheek, and he whispered, “Please?”
When she nodded, he stood, helped her to her feet, and squeezed her arm. “Good night.”
She walked to her room, turned at the door, and found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “Good night, Gil.”
There was a lot to think about. A lot to process. She’d had the best night she’d had in a long time, and it had lasted only two hours. Still, she could get used to nights like tonight, and not because Gil cooked and cleaned. But because he was easy to talk to, she liked being around him, and he made her feel very safe.
Even with the added headache of going through her nighttime routine without the full use of her right hand and arm, she was in bed and had the lights out before 9:00 p.m. When was the last time she’d gone to bed before 9:00? She had no idea. High school?
