Shit. I keep my face carefully neutral. That kind of thing isn’t an accident. She knows the effect she has on me, and she’s using it to some end. I don’t buy the innocent, big-eyed thing. No one with tits likethatis as Bambi as she’s pretending to be.
And anyway, two can play at that game.
Helen holds my gaze another beat before nodding, then once again says, “I can try.”
I watch as she sends off the text. I’m an old hand at this, and I know I’ll have to keep an eye on her if she’s going to stay true to her word. I look over her shoulder as she types out the message—a generic: Hey, what’s new?—to make sure she isn’t going to pull a fast one on me and warn Dean someone is looking for him. I was once a more trusting soul, and I might have fallen for the shy, sweet librarian with the big electric-blue eyes at one point in my life, but not anymore. In fact, the sweeter Helen Flanagan comes across, the more I nurse my suspicion of her. She’s Lana Turner inThe Postman Always Rings Twice. Rita Hayworth inGilda.
She’s trouble.
As the two of us wait for some response from Dean, I drum my fingers on the tabletop, trying to keep my eyes from darting down to her breasts. Truly, the woman is making me feel like a teenager again, and it’s irritating as hell. It’s taking everything in me not to scowl at her, let her know I’m onto her game. I have to try to play nice for now, keep her on my side. Let her think her act is working.
“So how does one become a bounty hunter?” Helen asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
Now I do glare at her, before catching myself. “Family business.” I know what she’s playing at, trying to get me talking so I’ll get distracted. I have no doubt she already knows about my dad.
But those big, guileless eyes say otherwise. “Oh, really?”
At first I’m not going to answer her, but then I change my mind, wanting to call her out. “My dad is Darius Hughes.” At her continued, questioning gaze, I tag on, “Bama Bounty? It was a pretty big show about five years ago.”
Something shifts in her eyes, and inexplicably, she starts to blush. “I, um, wasn’t watching too much TV then. I must have missed it.”
Okay, sure. She’s never heard of my dad. I’ll pretend I believe that. “Anyway, Alabama started to feel a little crowded, so here I am.”
I watch her face to see if she’ll react to that. If she really does know who my father is, then she’ll know exactly why I left to relocate to Chicago. Well, technically, my office is in Indiana, since the state of Illinois doesn’t allow bounty hunting. I keep a place in the city, though, specifically for cases like this.
But there’s no flash of recognition, nothing. Either she’s very good at pretending, or she really has no idea what I’m talking about. “So that’s why sometimes you have a bit of an accent, I guess? Although sometimes it sounds Southern and sometimes a bit Midwestern.”
I stare at her. What’s she getting at? “I grew up in both places. My mom lives here, my dad’s in Mobile.”
“Oh, wow. I hear Mobile is beautiful.”
She is so fresh-faced and sunny, her voice so bright, clearly trying to makemefeel comfortable, that I falter for a minute. Maybe I really have misjudged her. Maybe she really is just the human equivalent of cotton candy—all sweetness and lightness.
Then she lowers her lids, biting her lip again as she glances down at her phone. “I honestly don’t know if we’re going to hear from him. With Dean it’s usually either five seconds or five hours.”
I stifle a laugh. She almost had me. I raise an eyebrow, deciding I’ll call her bluff. “If we’re going to settle in to wait, we might as well do it someplace more comfortable. Your place or mine?”
Helen’s eyes widen, as if she can’t quite believe what I just said. Then a little flush starts in her cheeks, and despite myself, I feel something stir at the sight. She might be taking me for a ride, but sheisjust as attracted to me as I am to her. At least that much isn’t forced.
“Um…” She seems to be choosing her words carefully. “We can wait at my place. It’s just down the street.”
“Perfect.” I rise to my feet and wait for her to lead the way, getting an eyeful of her voluptuous backside. I might not be an easy mark, but I’m no saint, and that ass in those jeans is something else.
And now I’m on my way to be alone with her, in her apartment, where I’m somehow supposed to keep a clear head and not be taken in by her sexy mind games.
Jesus, take the wheel.
Chapter 9
Helen
Praise baby Jesus, but for once I tidied up my apartment before I left for work in the morning. I have a few loose shoes hanging around the entryway and a mug out on the coffee table, but there are no stacks of dishes in the sink or bras hanging over the shower rod, so I will take that as a win.
“I have some wine,” I say over my shoulder to Thad, trying my best to sound casual, as if this is something I do all the time—entertain gentlemen callers with alcohol, alone in my apartment. The thought is so absurd that I almost break down into giddy, nervous giggles, though I manage to bite them back. “Do you like red?”
When I glance back at Thad, he’s giving me a wary expression that stops me short. “Sure,” he says at last, “I guess this is what we’re doing.”
I blink at him, perplexed. No one’s ever looked at me like that before, like I’m…untrustworthy? It’s disconcerting. I’ve always been good little Helen, the school treasurer and the girl everyone knew was going to someday become a nun. “I can run out and get some white if you prefer…?”
