Page 22 of Win a Date with a Detective

Which is almost always.

Twenty minutes later, I am considerably less amused.

A uniformed officer has arrived, along with another detective.

They’ve started interviewing everyone who might have handled the ring.

Which includes me.

Apparently, being an enthusiastic true-crime fan does not qualify as an acceptable alibi.

Rude.

Vanessa is sitting at a nearby table, clutching a tissue while her fiancé paces behind her.

“I don’t understand,” she keeps saying. “I know I had it when we came in.”

Her fiancé stops pacing.

“Did you check the bathroom?”

“Yes!”

“Your purse?”

“Of course I checked my purse!”

“Maybe somebody picked it up.”

I glance toward Bronson.

He’s watching the couple with that expression again.

The one he wore in the escape room when he was studying the evidence.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I lean closer. “You’re doing it.”

He doesn’t look at me. “Doing what?”

“Going into detective mode.”

He spares me a look then. “I’m a detective, Rachel.”

“I know. It’s incredibly attractive.”

His mouth twitches. “Behave.”

The way he says that single word sends a little shiver down my spine. And judging by the look he gives me, he notices.

Of course he notices.

The man is professionally trained to notice things. And I like when he notices me.

A security guard calls my name.