My cheeks heated despite myself. ‘So romantic.’
‘It is, actually. We’re bonding over criminal activities.’ He winked.
I rolled my eyes. ‘They let us in, Robbie. I hate to tell you this, but this doesn’t constitute a crime. We’re here with permission.’
‘Not the owner’s permission,’ he argued. ‘Now hush and let me enjoy breaking into someone’s home with my police officer fiancée.’
I laughed a little and pushed the door open wide so we could see what we were dealing with.
A wave of cool air washed over us, scented with sea salt and something expensive and sharp. I recognised the scent from dinner: Troy’s cologne. For it to be lingering in the air, he must have sprayed it recently.
I wondered at the coolness. Did mer need a cooler temperature to feel comfortable since they were used to the freezing plunges of the sea?
The lighting was bright, and floor-to-ceiling curved windows stretched the entire length of the outer wall, showing off as much of Liverpool as they could fit into one view.
It did a good job too. Outside, the Albert Dock glittered with sunset reflections, people hustling and boats bobbing lazily.
I drew my gaze back inward. The suite was different from what I’d expected. It was luxurious, yes, but carefully curated. Not too flashy. No gold taps. No marble lions.
The penthouse was all clean lines and ocean colours: deep navy cushions, pale driftwood furniture, steel and glass edges. Everything was sleek, but the textures softened it: wool throws folded over the back of a sofa the size of a small yacht; a rug that looked handwoven in muted blues and stormy greys.
A huge piece of art dominated the far wall. Abstract. Swirls of ink and water, dark shapes twisting through lighter ones. There was an edge to the piece, like someone had painted a deadly riptide.
‘Nice,’ Robbie commented, following my gaze.
‘Yeah, I guess so. You like your art? Your pottery? There’s a tonne at the ogre’s den.’
He hesitated before he confessed, ‘The pottery is mine.’
‘What do you meanyours?’
‘I make it,’ he admitted, but his frame was tense. He’d gone from relaxed and strolling around with me to looking like a man bracing for execution.
‘It’s amazing,’ I said honestly. ‘Why does telling me that make you look as tense as you did when we were at the den blessing?’
He pressed his lips together. ‘Father didn’t approve of my … artistic pursuits. He thought them womanly.’
I gaped at him. ‘Are you serious? Art isn’t gendered. Fuck, nothing should be gendered. Do what makes you happy. If that’s making pottery, painting or dressing up in a tutu, I couldn’t give less of a fuck. Were you nervous to tell me that? Robbie, I love you. I want you to be happy. And I’m on board with anything that does that.’ I paused. ‘Well, notanything.I’d have issues if you wanted to torture and kill people to get your rocks off. But art? Pottery?’ I snorted. ‘Fill your boots.’
He crossed the distance between us and crushed me to him in a fierce hug that told me precisely how nervous he had been to confess his secret clay habit.
It spoke of how much I loved him that I let him hug me at a potential crime scene.
I squeezed back just as tightly, and when he pulled back his eyes were gleaming suspiciously.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your dad,’ I began. ‘I know he raised you alone and with love, and he probably did his best, but I’d hit him upside the head for making you feel like you had to hide your hobbies.’
Robbie held my face. ‘You would have, too,’ he said admiringly. ‘So fierce, my kærasta.’ He pressed his lips to mine in a gentle kiss. ‘I adore you, Stacy.’
For some reason, that undid me more than his declarations of love had done. I didn’t think I’d ever been adored before.
‘Work now,’ I said, clearing my throat.
‘Of course, Inspector. But later, we’ll make time for play.’ He winked, and my insides warmed.
I took a step away from him. ‘Sounds good to me.’
I turned away from my fiancé and looked at the room. Hopefully it would tell me more about Troy Fairglass and, if we were lucky, perhaps a thing or two about Jude Jingo. The greeter had said ‘Troy’ hadn’t long left, so that meant Jingo had definitely come here to scope out the residence. Whether he’d used it as such and we’d find some dirty laundry, or whether he’d come here to snoop on Troy, I didn’t know.
