“That’s not a question. That’s a statement.”
“Why did you come to the bar?”
“Curiosity. Stupidity.” She shrugged. The thought of finally having a face to put with the voice. Although she wouldn’t admit it. “Why do you call me?”
“You’re my good luck charm.”
“I doubt that.” Harper finally took a sip of her beer. The cool liquid slid down her throat. She was in a safe place. Herbrother-in-law was behind the bar and had promised to keep an eye on her.
Harper set the beer down and studied his beautiful blue eyes. “Why did you fake your death?”
“Why does anyone?”
Her brows dipped as she laced her fingers. “You can’t answer my question with a question. That’s not the way the game is played. You’re running from something. Hiding?” she asked with an unsure shake of her head.
“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you the truth.” He took a long pull from his beer.
“Try me.” Did she really want to know? Her momma might be mad that she’d walked into being an accomplice.
“I died so you could live.” His words rang true, free of deception. There was no tension surrounding him.
“I’m pretty sure I’d remember being in need of a life-saving transplant.”
His lips twisted at the corners, sending the butterflies in her belly into a tailspin. “Let’s hope you never do.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You skipped my turn,” he said, rising from his seat.
She saluted her beer in acknowledgment.
“Your sisters and you are special.”
“Is that a question? We can’t help that we ride the short bus. It’s my mother’s fault, or maybe it was the gardener’s. I heard he preferred a well-manicured bush.” Harper wiggled her brows.
“Your father’s in oil and part business owner. Your aunt and brother-in-law are retired FBI.”
“You’re forgetting the kilt-wearing Highlander. We’re all crazy,” she said, wiggling her fingers to scare him; instead, she looked like a cheerleader using jazz hands. “How do you know so much about me?”
“It’s my job.” He rounded the table, crowding her personal space. Her fingers tightened around the knife, and her breath quickened as she fought the urge to pull him closer.
“What’s your job?”
“You.”
“You’re not like a hitman, sent to bump me off? Because I have to tell you I’m a black belt, and my hands are registered as lethal.”
He chuckled. “No, you’re not.”
“Maybe not. But I’ve got the lungs of a newborn baby. Care to test my theory?”
“I believe you. Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
She tsked. “No can do, stranger. I’ve got plans.” And she did. If she didn’t show up to her parents’ annual Christmasparty, her homicide would be the next one the police would be trying to solve.
He cupped her cheek, and she leaned into the warmth of his palm. Her traitorous eyes automatically closed. His words were hot against her ear. “Maybe another time. Sleep well, Harper.”
Harper opened in time to watch him leave via the stairs to the beach. “Sleep well?” she grumbled under her breath. “Not even a kiss?”
