He looked down to where the kitten had returned to sit at his feet because she couldn’t resist him any more than I could. She gazed up at him with blinking adoration. She might follow him home whether he wanted her to or not. After what felt like an eternity, he muttered, “I knew you were going to be trouble.”
“What did you say?”
His eyes met mine. “I knew it would be trouble to have a private investigator living across the breezeway from me.”
“So you looked me up?”
“Of course I looked you up. I researched everyone in this apartment complex.” He pressed his lips together before he could say more, but he’d already given up valuable information with that one sentence: Whatever he did for a living was very similar to what I did, because the first thing I had done before moving in was take a look at who my neighbors would be. Informally, of course.
“Are you a private investigator?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Either you are or you aren’t. Which is it?”
After a pause, he said, “That casserole sure was atrocious.”
“Hot sauce was genius, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Also, you’re not changing the subject that easily.”
He took in a deep breath and expelled it while setting his shoulders. “I’ve already told you more than I should have. I can’t tell you anything else. Iwon’ttell you anything else.”
My eyebrow arched.
Much like the Mounties, I always got my man.
“I’m sworn to secrecy. You couldn’t even torture it out of me.” The corners of his mouth twitched.
“Who said anything about torture? How about a little quid pro quo.”
He leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
“Maybe I put benefits back on the table ...”
“I think that’s extortion.”
“No money will change hands. Besides, this isn’t a spy movie. The stakes are relatively small, but I don’t like loose ends. Blake Malone is a loose end, and I have a feeling his wife will be calling me sooner or later asking for help. I also think you know where he is.”
“Honestly, I don’t. Wish I did.”
“I think we need to make this conversation more intimate.” Slowly, I rose from my chair. “May I sit in your lap, Malone?”
“Please.” The word came out choked.
I slid into his lap and then placed a hand on his face and felt his jaw tense. I rubbed my thumb lightly over his bottom lip. “There. That’s better for an intimate conversation like this, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.” His hands clamped down on the sofa cushion.
I chuckled. “What? Now you don’t want to touch me?”
“Oh, I want to touch you very badly, but I’m not going to participate in my own honey trap.”
“Fine by me.” I framed his handsome face with both hands. My breath hitched. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea.
But now it was also about the principle of the thing: Malone had information I needed, and I aimed to have it.
