Quinn, however, looks less than impressed, her stare laced with suspicion. She stiffens as he steps in, following Carter into the house.
“We’ll take this to the office,” Carter says, leaning over the couch to peck Eliza’s cheek.
Quinn immediately jumps up.
“I just remembered I need to help Denis with a big order for tomorrow,” she says, trying to sound casual, but her voice wavers.
She gathers her bag, avoiding looking at anyone. “See you, ladies. Don’t get in any trouble without me.”
She rushes past the two men, focused on the exit, like it might vanish if she blinks.
The sheriff’s gaze lingers for a few seconds, but he stays silent. If that is not the face of a man in pain, I don’t know what is.
I glance at Eliza for an explanation, and she shrugs, but her mouth quirks.
That’s interesting.
With nothing else to occupy my time, I might end up digging around for that story while I’m here.
“Want to come with me to check out a site?” Eliza changes the subject. “It’s only forty minutes away.”
She must’ve noticed how adrift I am. She’s always in tune with everybody’s needs. I also love how confident she is in her work now, so willing to show me her projects.
My phone buzzes on the table.
“Sounds great. Let me get this first.”
I snatch it up and head to my room, stepping out onto the balcony.
“How close are you to running away in the middle of the night?” Michelle’s amused voice fills my ear. God, I miss our morning coffee breaks.
“Not packing my bags yet. It’s like one of those retreats you kept bugging me about. Also,” I say, rubbing some leftover sugar from my fingertips, “I’m being bribed with crullers.”
“Lucky you,” she chuckles. “Let me know if you need anything. I can drop by anytime.”
Sweet Michelle. Always looking after me.
“I’ve got something that might brighten your day,” she continues, a hint of drama in her voice.
The cool morning air wraps around me with a pleasant chill, and I shiver. “Let’s hear it.”
“Your friend, Diane Cox? Turns out she’s beenverynaughty. Radu sent me the file five minutes ago.”
My palm connects with the flat surface of the wooden banister with a snap. “I knew it.”
“Remember that she also teaches a journalism class?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“For the past four years, she’s been publishing the students’ articles under her own name. Without pay. And she threatens to fail them if they say anything.”
“Oh, the hypocrite—”
“That’s not all. She’s got an investment portfolio. Guess what stocks she owns?”
“No way,” I laugh.
“Yep. About a hundred grand in UniCore shares.”
