Her lip twitched. “Fine.”
“That means you have to stick around that much longer too,” he pointed out.
“My job is the same whether I am here, California, or DC. It is all the same to me. I am happy to stay in Haven Hills for another month.”
“You don’t care if you’re stuck here over Christmas?”
“Not at all.”
Emmitt studied her face for signs of betrayal. There was no way this chick was serious. No one wanted to be away on business over the holidays. Her jaw stayed tight, her chest rising indignantly as she held his gaze.
“I call bull crap. Everyone wants to be home for Christmas.”
“Not me. Is not bull crap.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the song ‘Home For The Holidays?’”
“I detest it.”
A laugh snuck up his throat and burst from his lips. “Youwould.” And for a moment, Emmitt thought he detected a smile on those pouty lips of hers, but it was gone so fast he couldn’t be sure.
Hmm. She was interesting, he’d give her that, but she had to be bluffing. “You don’t mind spending the holiday here, huh? Well, good. You just might have to do that very thing.”
She held his gaze. “Like I said, Ehhhmeet, that is just fine for me.”
“Well…won’t you get in trouble? Like, if it takes too long? Who’s paying your salary?”
“Ah non monsieur, if you delay things unnecessarily,youwillbe the one to pay for it.”
Emmitt took a step back, unable to believe his ears. “I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Let me know when you’d like to get started, Emmitt. That was better, no?” Sloane looked pleased with herself.
He wasn’t sure why, but the correct sound of his name on her lips caused a streak of warmth to spark low in his belly.
She turned away from him then and headed down the windy path.
“Wait,” he called out, hating the fact that he had to say another word to her. “How am I supposed to find you?”
“I am in cabin twelve,” she said. “You can ring my room.”
“Twelve, huh? Are you sure it’s not really twenty-four? You seem to get those two numbers mixed up. Is that aFrenchthing or what?”
This time she didn’t reply. Instead, the aggravating blonde lifted an arm high into the air and gave him a dismissive wave goodbye.
Chapter 3
Sloane jotted a few notes to her investigation outline as her brother, Gabriel, griped about a probable dead-end to his current lead. Gabe, who worked for the same agency, was also investigating the Anna Fielding case.
Anna Fielding had gone missing one day out of the blue. And her long-term boyfriend, Wren Brandler, had launched a massive missing persons campaign, offering a cash prize to anyone who could give clues to her whereabouts.
Months later, authorities claimed they’d recovered her body, providing enough proof to close the missing persons case and write up a death report. But Wren wasn’t convinced. In fact, he wasstilloffering a pretty penny to anyone who could locate Anna. Only this campaign was less…public. A select group of agencies had access to the leads that had come in during the campaign, which made the case all the more interesting.
“I don’t know,” Gabe said through the phone line with a defeated sigh. “I thought this lead was really promising. The caller said she was looking for accounting work, and not many people know that Anna’s an accountant.”
Sloane let her turquoise gel pen—the color she’d assigned to all things Emmitt Duran—doodle around the edges of his name. “Yes, but that detail was leaked in an interview once. Anna was standing by Wren’s side in an evening gown and a reporter asked if she was a business tycoon like him orjusthis secretary.”
“Mon dieu,” Gabriel said.
