“That’s what I have so far.”
Excellent. “Great. Can you dive into the public records there? See what kind of cases Zippy has taken? Also any in Idaho if he has practiced here.”
“Of course.”
I rolled my neck. “Did you find out anything about Cormac Coretti?”
Pauley hesitated, eyes flicking past me toward the window. “I found nothing. There’s absolutely no social media footprint for Cormac Coretti. None.”
“Nothing?” I repeated.
“Not yet.”
I drummed my fingers once against the desk. “Keep looking, and please check if anyone ever tried to steal the Tiffany Diamond.”
“Of course.” He didn’t ask why. Pauley rarely did. He just nodded and disappeared down the hall.
I looked at the card still sitting on my desk. Just a number with no name, no logo, nothing to tie it to anyone or anything.
Yeah, I liked that he’d given it to me and not Jolene. I liked that he seemed genuinely interested in my sister. But I didn’t like the secrets. Nobody with that much confidence should have zero online presence.
The candle flame flickered in the quiet, and I caught myself staring at it, wondering if he was friend or foe.
I really didn’t know.
Chapter 9
I heard the rumble of motorcycle pipes just as I walked out the back door of my building. The sound rolled through the alley, low and steady, until Aiden came to a stop. His badass bike glistened with a fine mist of rain, chrome catching what little light the gray sky offered.
I crossed my arms. “So you got her out, huh?”
“Yeah.” His mouth tilted in that almost-smile that usually got him out of trouble. “There’s still a lot of rain, but she was ready to go.” He tugged off his gloves and looked at me, that implacable blue gaze pinning me in place. I’d never be able to count the shades in those eyes, so I didn’t even try. “I didn’t like you not answering my phone call earlier.”
Crap. I’d honestly forgotten. “It was a busy day.” I heard how weak it sounded.
“Was it?” His Irish lilt thickened, a thread of steel under velvet.
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Don’t be cranky.”
“I’ll deal with you later. For now, come ride with me.”
My pulse kicked up a notch. I wore my heavy wool coat, and it had been too long since I’d wrapped myself around that man on a bike. “Absolutely.” Tossing my briefcase into my car, I jogged across the damp pavement, rain peppering my hair.
He held out a helmet.
“You don’t have one,” I said, brows up.
“I’ll get the other one out of storage. For now, it goes on your head.”
There wasn’t any arguing with him when he sounded like that—quiet, sure, and already winning. I plunked the helmet on, fastening the strap as his gaze tracked every movement. He looked amused and a little too satisfied.
Sliding onto the seat behind him, I wrapped my arms around his solid middle. The warmth of him hit instantly through leather and muscle. He waited until I’d settled and then eased the bike into gear to swing onto the street.
The world blurred. Wind tore around us, cool and damp, carrying the scent of rain and exhaust. I let my head rest against his back, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing and the rumble of the bike echoing through both of us.
Downtown Timber City passed in a flicker of green and gold. The St. Patrick’s decorations turned the world green around us, though not quite the over-the-top circus Silverville managed every March. Still, the Irish ran deep there. It ran deep in both of us.
We wound out of town toward Tamarack Lake. The road curved beneath a canopy of wet pine, the air rich with damp bark and cold earth. I flattened my hands against his abs and breathed him in—motor oil, rain, and man. Familiar. Grounding. Safe.
