“It’s not a secret dream,” he murmured, reaching to open the fridge.
Probably not. My mom wasn’t exactly discreet. “I’m not ready for little Irish babies.” I also probably wouldn’t be quitting my job.
“Amen to that.” He snatched the pie out of the fridge and opened the door to the side of my hip, grasping two spoons. “Hungry?”
“No.” I’d eaten plenty at the barbecue, and I hadn’t gone running in a while. It was too cold outside, and I didn’t have funds for a gym membership. Yeah, I was making excuses. Even so, I wasn’t hungry. “You can’t be hungry.”
“It’s pie.” He shut the door and crossed to the table, setting down the pie pan.
“Use a plate.”
“It’s my pie.”
I exhaled slowly, unable to find an argument for that.
He took a big bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. When they opened again, the blue struck me like it always did. “Why don’t you want to see your shrink?”
I wasn’t in the mood for philosophical Aiden. Nor did I want to delve into my complicated psyche right then. My phone buzzed, and I snatched for it like a lifeline. “Anna Albertini.”
“Hey. It’s Pierce. I have a hit on a florist on the South Hill over in Spokane. Guy called in the order, used a prepaid credit card, and paid double for the delivery all the way to Idaho.” Papers rustled over the phone line. “The woman who took the call didn’t remember anything special about the voice, except that he was calm and insistent and an adult. No cracking voice or anything like that. He was careful, and I’ll dump the line, but my guess is he used a burner.”
I watched Aiden keep eating the pie, while he watched me on the phone. “I hope you get fat,” I lip-synced to him.
He grinned, the shadows not quite leaving his eyes.
Pierce continued, “No hit on the paint for the heart on your garage. We canvassed most of Timber City, but he could’ve bought that anywhere.”
“Thanks for trying,” I said. “Anything on the red truck or the shooter?”
“Nothing. I have techs going through traffic cam footage right now, and I’m pulling Hoyt Forrest in tomorrow morning. Is Devlin with you tonight, or do you want a uniform at your door?” Pierce was a good guy, and he didn’t want me dead. It was nice of him to offer.
“Devlin is here, and I’m armed.” I had fired back, after all.
More papers crinkled. “All right. Call me if you recall anything else.”
I tried to remember if the guy had looked like Hoyt’s size, but I just couldn’t tell. “Thanks, Pierce. I appreciate it.”
“Just doing my job. Try not to get fired upon or stalked tonight. I need a night off.” He ended the call.
I wanderedinto my office on Monday morning after an early appointment with Cousin Wanda, whose office was just down the hall from ours. It had been a rough morning of delving deep and working on my trust and abandonment issues, which were crazy because my life was great, and my family always present. But the danger, being shot at, did bring back childhood fears of being vulnerable.
As did falling for Aiden Devlin.
Oliver Duck sat behind the reception desk with his business card holder proudly in front of him. I definitely shouldn’t have let the kids order their own business cards, but I guess being a czar or a king made up for the meager pay we could afford right now. “Hi, Oliver.”
He looked up from an appointment book, his red hair growing out to his ears. He smiled, his freckles popping. Then he cocked his head. “You look like you went ten rounds with a Rottweiler.”
“I feel like it,” I admitted, toeing off my snow boots to place on a rubber mat in the corner. I dug my pumps out of my bag and slipped them on my feet. “It was a rough morning.” Next time I saw Cousin Wanda, I wanted it to be after hours so I could at least enjoy a beer, or five, while we talked. She was usually okay with that.
Oliver winced. “You might not be finished with your rough morning.”
I straightened in my black slacks and red sweater. “I’m not in court until this afternoon.” Or was I due this morning? Had I missed something on my calendar?
“No, but you have a visitor back in the smaller conference room. She was making me nervous out here, so I took her there. I’m sorry.” He flushed a deep claret and his ears looked almost purple.
“It’s all right,” I said, not wanting his lobes to explode. “Whoever is here, I can handle it.”
He nearly chewed through his bottom lip. “It’s Jolene O’Sullivan.”
