omething was buzzing. Rattling against wood. Something was...

Flynn opened one eye just as her cell phone vibrated itself right off the nightstand and clanked perfectly into a glass with about a half inch of Irish whiskey. She’d moved it to the floor in the middle of the night because the smell was bothering her, but she’d lacked the motivation to carry it all the way to the bathroom sink.

“Oh, shit,” she said, reaching in, glancing around, then finally wiping it on the bedspread. The Arms was a nice place, but it was still a hotel. Surely the bed had suffered worse indignities. She flipped the phone open.

“Yeah?”

“Flynn.” Her father’s voice came through the line. Taut and businesslike, the way it always was, even on birthdays and Christmas. She sat up straight in a Pavlovian response.

“Hey. Dad. Wow. What time is it?”

There was a slight pause. “Nine thirty. Are you in your office?”

She glanced at the half-empty bottle of Jameson’s on the floor. “Yep.”

“Good. I’ll need an update on the situation with the financials. I have some preliminary reports here, but they’re only current as of the end of the second quarter. I’ll need everything up to and including the end of the third quarter.”

“Mmm-hmmm. You bet. I’ll get right on it.” First, of course, she’d have to ask someone what a quarter was. It sounded like a football thing, but somehow Flynn doubted that was the case. “Anything else?”

There was a hint of surprise in his voice when he answered, as though he’d been expecting the football question. “Uh, yes, actually. There’s a local contact down there I’d like you to take a meeting with.” There was a slight pause. “I just want you to make initial contact, establish a relationship.”

“Dad. You know I’m not that kind of girl.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’m talking about a business relationship.”

“Yeah. I know. You see, it was funny because—”

“You’re the face of the company out there, Flynn. Take him to lunch, dinner, coffee. It really doesn’t matter. If he asks you a question you don’t know how to answer, just tell him you don’t know and you’ll get back to him.”

She shrugged her shoulders to release the tightness there. “So anything other than ‘What’s your favorite color?’ then?”

Another joke, landing like a brick. “I’ve got my team working on things here, but apparently this guy can help us work through the local red tape, which is always helpful in little places like Scheintown. They’re notorious for making things hard on outsiders, and I’d like to get this off my plate quickly. The guy’s name is...”

She listened as her father ruffled through his notes, and then said the name in unison with him: “Gordon Chase.”

Her father paused. “Has he contacted you already?”

She thought on this for a moment. “His name has... come up.”

She decided to leave it at that. If she started talking about embezzlement, suspected murder, and poisoning by berry, Dad would pull Freya out of Tucson in a heartbeat. And then likely put Flynn in a treatment program. What was it Freya had said? Only tell people what they need to know?

Good advice, she thought, then realized her father was still talking.

“... three meetings in New York on Tuesday, then...”

She sat up straighter. “Three meetings? In New York? Dad, shouldn’t you be... I don’t know. Slowing down a bit? Can’t that wait for Freya to come back?”

There was a long silence. “Why should I slow down?”

Flynn sighed. “Dad. Freya told me. About the angina.”

“What angina?”

“Your angina.”

“I don’t know what Freya told you, but I don’t have angina. I’m fine, Flynn. You must have misheard her.”

Flynn snorted. “Well, there’s only one other thing that sounds like angina, and I know you don’t have that.”

Crickets. Good God, what did it take to break that man?

“Dad,” she said, more seriously. “Freya said—”

“I don’t know what Freya told you, Flynn, but I assure you, I’m fine. I had a full checkup in August and my doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I can have him fax over an official statement if you’d like.”

“No,” Flynn said slowly. “That’s not necessary.”

I might need a good lawyer for when I kill Freya, though.

He cleared his throat. “Can we get back to business?”

Flynn threw one hand up in the air, but kept the frustration out of her voice. “You bet.”

“Good. I should have a decision on a buyer by the end of next week, so you won’t have to be there much longer.”

A buyer. The words struck a surprisingly uncomfortable chord in her gut.

“Dad? Have you thought at all about maybe keeping the place? It’s really beautiful, and the people are amazing. The chef makes this incredible pumpkin—”

“Don’t get attached, Flynn. It’s the first rule.”

She rolled her eyes. Stupid men and their stupid rules. “But it turns a profit. Okay, not a big profit, but not losing money is a good thing, right? And what if some big chain buys it and replaces the rose garden with a waterslide? Or fires everyone and then no one will know which room George Washington slept in? What if they put onion blossoms on the menu? Have you thought about that?”

There was a long silence, then, “I want the numbers by tomorrow morning, Flynn.”

She released a heavy sigh. “Okay. You’ll have them.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

Click. She made a face at her phone and tossed it down on the bed. Her father was a good man, she knew. He was fair and moral and hygienically irreproachable. The only niggle she had about him was that he didn’t seem to possess a soul, or at least not one anyone could see.

His heart, though, was fine. Apparently. Flynn picked up the phone again and thought about dialing her sister and demanding an explanation, but rejected the idea. She didn’t have the energy to confront Freya right now. Right now, she had bigger things on her mind.

Like waterslides and onion blossoms.

She sighed and looked around; when, exactly, had this place gotten under her skin? She should hate it, what with all the nature and nothing within walking distance and the cottage that was quite literally making her insane. But the rose garden had charmed her, and the rooms were gorgeous, and then there was the bartender...

Tucker.

She sucked in a breath and a flash of panic ran through her as she remembered the events of the previous night.

“Oh, God,” she said, dropping her face into her hands. Had she really thrown herself at the bartender?

Yes. Yes, she had. It had been late. She had been drinking. And he had those warm brown eyes that made her go all gooey inside. The eyes were really at fault. If he just hadn’t looked at her that way...

Oh, God.

She’d called him Jake.

She’d kissed him.

She’d told him about the Renaissance Faire prostitute thing.

“Ugh,” she groaned. And now she was going to have to work with him on this Chase thing, which at first had seemed fun and exciting and oddly necessary, but now didn’t really seem to stand up to the humiliation of facing him again.

“You are a big bottle of stupid,” she said, leaning over and picking up the Jameson’s and glasses from the floor. “No more stupid for me.”

She had just finished rinsing out the glasses when there was a knock on the door. Her back stiffened.

Tucker. He was the only one who knew she was here. She peeked in the mirror, touching her hair briefly before deciding not to bother. She needed a full rehaul, and there just wasn’t time.

“Just a minute!” She squeezed a dollop of toothpaste on her finger, swished it around her mouth, and rinsed. She walked across the room and pulled the door open, ready to launch into a big speech about how she’d been so drunk the night before she couldn’t remember a thing when she heard a high voice say, “Oh!”

It was Annabelle. Flynn relaxed and smiled. “Hey, Annabelle.”

“Um.” Annabelle stepped back, glanced at the door, and then looked back at Flynn, confusion on her face. “This is 213.”

“Yep.”

“But that’s... that’s Jake’s room. I mean, the room I gave to Jake for any bar patrons that couldn’t drive home. But Jake wasn’t working last night. How...?” Annabelle stopped talking and her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“No!” Flynn put one hand on Annabelle’s arm. “No, it’s not like that. He just...” She scrambled internally, wanting to say something, anything, to take that heartbroken look off sweet Annabelle’s face. “Because of the door. Last night. He kicked it down. It’s broken. The lock, I mean. So Jake brought me here and then”—skipping three or four hours—“he left.”

She sounded guilty as hell even to her own ears, but Annabelle didn’t seem to catch it. She smiled brightly and nodded. “Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry. I’ll have Herman fix that for you today.”

Flynn released a breath, and the tension drained from her shoulders. How could Jake not see how Annabelle felt about him? Was he really that clueless?

Well. He was a man.

“Anyway, I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Annabelle said. “It’s just that one of the housekeeping staff said she saw the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and I was all, ‘No, I don’t think we have a guest there, that’s Jake’s room, and he wasn’t working last night,’ and so I came in to check just in case and when I saw you here...” Annabelle stopped and lowered her eyes. “I’ll have Herman fix that lock.”

“Thank you,” Flynn said. She was about to shut the door when she suddenly remembered the conversation with her father. She poked her head out into the hall.

“Annabelle?”

Annabelle turned around. “Yes?”

“Please don’t tell anyone I had to ask you this, but what’s a quarter?”

Annabelle blinked. “What do you mean? Like, the money?”

Flynn smiled. “I don’t think so. My father called. He wants all the financials for the third quarter. Whatever that means.”

Annabelle nodded. “Yeah. The third quarter just ended last Friday.”

Oh. So it was a calendar thing. Gotcha. “Okay. Well, can you get some reports together for me? Profit and loss or... whatever?”

She smiled. She knew she probably sounded like an idiot, but she trusted Annabelle to pretend that wasn’t the case.

Annabelle’s face, however, was unusually stiff. “Um. Sure. It might take a few days.”

Flynn sighed, leaned against the doorjamb, and gave Annabelle a comrades-in-pain expression. “He wants it tomorrow morning. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” Annabelle’s voice was unusually high, even for her. “No. No. I can...” She pulled on a bright smile. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Thank you. I’ll be down in the office in a little bit.”

Annabelle gave a little wave and disappeared into the stairwell. Flynn stared down the empty hallway for a long moment, her mind traipsing back to the night before with Tucker. A smile spread across her face and she shook it away, going inside to get changed and start her day.

It promised to be a long one.

Jake lay sprawled across his couch, one arm resting on his forehead, and stared at the ceiling. He’d been in that position for most of the morning. Then all of the afternoon. Now, his shift was going to start in an hour, and still he hadn’t come to any conclusions, except that the water stain on his ceiling looked a little like Vladimir Putin.

He glanced at his watch again. Five minutes after five. It was still possible he’d receive the perfect stroke of brilliance on exactly how to convince Flynn that she didn’t want to help him on this Gordon Chase thing. So far, all he had was that investigations involved long, boring nights of sitting in cars drinking stale coffee. They required you to sift through other people’s trash.

They got you in the path of guys like Gordon Chase.

Which, when it came down to it, was the real reason he didn’t want Flynn involved. He didn’t want her getting hurt, and he damn sure didn’t want to be the reason she got hurt. But the truth was the hardest to defend, because it was based on emotion, not logic. So...

Focus on the trash.

He released a breath. He couldn’t blame his stupidity on the booze; he’d had less than half a glass of Jameson’s over the course of three hours. Still, he’d managed to make a promise he really didn’t want to keep, and it had bugged him all night. He’d slept fitfully, his brain unable to process her into a dream, but still unwilling to release her. Why had he told her she could help him investigate Chase? Anything that really needed doing, he could do himself, and for more reasons than one she’d be best off staying as far away from it as possible. What had he been thinking?

Of course, he knew that was just it; he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been looking at her plaintive eyes, that wild hair grazing the creamy expanse of her neck, and he couldn’t find it within himself to deny her anything she wanted. If she’d asked for the head of a unicorn, he’d have gone out looking for an ax.

Well, today he was going to have to tell her no. Although maybe it was better done over the phone. Over the phone, it would be easier. No eyes, no hair, no flowery shampoo smell to worm its way into his head and make him stupid.

As if on cue, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID: Goodhouse Arms. He raised his eyes Godward.

“I would have gotten to it,” he grumbled, then picked up the phone and hit the talk button.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, trying to sound as though he wasn’t excited to hear her voice. It was more work than he’d expected.

“Jake? Turn on your TV.”

He released a breath as a mix of relief and disappointment flowed through him. “Mercy?”

“Channel Four. Right now. Turn it on!”

“Okay. Jesus. Just a minute.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and hitched up his boxers as he padded out into his living room. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, crapola. It’s gone. Well, they’ll run it again. Turn it on anyway.”

He grabbed the remote and pointed it at the television. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“The news,” she hissed into the phone, as though she was trying not to be heard by anyone else. “It’s my saucier!”

He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the images. Some woman in a suit behind a desk, talking. Nothing too interesting there.

“Merce, whatever’s going on, can it wait until I get in to...?” He trailed off as the screen cut to images of the Hudson River, and what looked like a team pulling a body out of the water.

“There it is!” Mercy said, right as the video cut to a dented silver pan with what looked like a bungee cord knotted around the handle.

“... weighted down with bricks and what looks to be some sort of pan, possibly the murder weapon. Authorities ask that anyone with any...”

Mercy’s voice toppled over the anchor’s. “Pan! It’s not a pan. It’s an All-Clad copper core saucier, you brainless wench. And it’s mine!”

“Wait a minute, Merce. How could you possibly know it’s yours?”

“How many people in this area do you think use All-Clad copper core sauciers?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d venture a guess.”

“Ohhhh,” she groaned. “It’s dented! Do you know how much those things cost? It was one thing when I thought someone had stolen it to sell on the black market—”

He wandered into the kitchen. “There’s a black market for sauciers? In Shiny?”

Mercy released an aggravated sigh. “I tried to get you to look into it. But oh noooooo. You’re too good to investigate my missing, three-hundred-dollar saucier.”

He snorted. “You paid three hundred dollars for a pan?”

“It’s not a pan, goddamnit! It’s an All-Clad copper core saucier, and that’s not the point. Someone killed someone with my saucier!”

Jake grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it with water. “All right. Calm down. Are you sure it’s yours?”

There was the sound of careful breathing for a few moments, followed by a long sigh, and when Mercy returned, her voice was calm. “Factor it, Jake. It’s a three-hundred dollar saucier, exactly like the one that went missing. What are the chances that it’s not mine? Besides, I just know. I felt it, as soon as I saw it.”

Jake had learned a long time ago not to argue with women’s intuition. Not only did it piss the woman in question off, which never worked in his favor, the plain fact was that more often than not she was right. He put the mug in the microwave and reached for the instant coffee.

“Okay. So it’s yours. When did it go missing?”

“Last spring. Remember? I told you about it, and you ignored me.”

“I remember the radishes.”

Mercy released a harsh sigh of frustration. “This was before that. Although I did bring it up again on the night with the radishes and you ignored me—again. God, Jake. Do you ever listen to me?”

Jake decided that was a question best left unanswered. “Look. Call the police and tell them it’s yours. Tell them when it went missing, as many details as you can remember.”

“But, Jake...” There was a long pause. “It was taken from my kitchen. My kitchen. No one has access except employees, and sometimes friends or whatever, but it’s not Main Street.” Her voice lowered into a whisper. “What if someone here is a murderer?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Mercy. I mean, it’s possible that someone stole it, sold it, and then it got into the hands of the murderer. Someone at the Arms is a thief, but not necessarily a murderer.” Even as he said the words, something niggled at the back of his brain. If he included Esther’s death, then that made two potentially suspicious expirations linked with the Arms. It was a little too coincidental for comfort, but there was no need to say that to Mercy. She was freaked out enough as it was.

He pulled the mug out of the microwave while Mercy rattled on about the saucier and how it had always been her favorite, letting it slide that there had been a person on the business end of that pan who probably felt less affection for it. He pretended to listen, adding an encouraging, “Mmm-hmmm,” here and there while his mind wandered over the new terrain. It wasn’t until the anchor returned to the hot story, rerunning the footage, that something in the background of the saucier shot caught his attention.

It was a plastic evidence bag, which held a flask. Jake grabbed his remote and rewound live TV, thanking God and his cable company for TiVo. He paused the video on the frame and released a breath.

The flask had something shiny around the cap. Something that looked a lot like rhinestones. He quickly calculated the facts.

The saucier went missing last spring. So did Elaine Placie. As for rhinestone flasks, he could only remember ever seeing one, and it had belonged to Elaine. Not to mention that women like Elaine Placie had a tendency toward making enemies...

“Crap,” he muttered.

“Jake? Are you listening to me?” Mercy hissed through the phone.

“Gotta go,” he said, and disconnected the call. He tossed the handset on the couch and stared at the screen, his mind oddly calmed as it processed the new information.

Elaine Placie hadn’t skipped town, after all. Although someone had put a fair amount of elbow grease into making it seem that way. And Jake had a strong feeling he knew exactly who.

He headed for the shower. He wanted to be calm, clean, and in control when he told Flynn that there was no way in hell he was letting her get within a country mile of Gordon Chase.

Also, if he got caught breaking into Chase’s office that night, he figured the least he could do for his mother was to look well groomed in his mug shot. It’s those small touches that mean so much.

“Flynn? You in there?” Jake stepped back as he heard some movement inside the cottage and looked around. The porch was cleared of the rocker from the day before, and two brand new locks gleamed at him against the freshly replaced and painted doorjamb. Unfortunately, he didn’t hear either of them turn before Flynn opened the door.

“You know, locks are much more effective if you actually lock...”

He trailed off at the sight of her. Flynn smiled, tilting her head as she attached a long, dangling silver earring to her right earlobe. It matched the silver necklace that decorated the space between her breasts, a space that was bared to bursting because the little black dress she was wearing was big on the little part.

“Hi.” Flynn stepped aside to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed, raised his focus up to her eyes. “I needed to talk to you about... Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” she said, grinning. “I have a date.”

He stared at her, his mind going blank for a moment. “Did we have plans?”

“No. I have plans.” She turned her back to him, heading for the bedroom. Jake waited for a long minute, then followed her in to find her inspecting her reflection in a standing mirror in the corner. “I know I promised you I’d talk to you first, but it all happened so fast that I just went with it. Gordon showed up at the office about a half hour ago and asked me out for tonight, so I thought it’d be a perfect chance for you to use that key. I called in Carole to cover your shift tonight, and Gordon will be here in about twenty minutes, so you really should get going.”

Smooth, calculated curls of hair fell about the back of her neck and shoulders, but the rest of her typically wild mop was pulled up, held in a loose knot at the back of her head with what looked like two ornate chopsticks. She pumped her lips and swiped her pinkie lightly along one edge of her mouth. For a brief moment, Jake lost his place in the conversation, but then he remembered that she was primping for Chase, and he took a step toward her.

“Call him. Tell him you’re not going.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. “What? Why? This is a perfect chance for you to get into that office. I thought you’d be happy.”

Jake pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open, and punched Chase’s number in.

“Tucker, what are you doing?”

Jake put the phone in her hand. “Just hit the green button. When he answers, tell him you’re not going out with him. Ever.”

Flynn took the phone, flipped it shut, and handed it back. “No. My father asked me to take a meeting with him, and you need him out of the way for a while. Two birds, one stone. You should be gone when he gets here, though. It’s not very stealthy if he sees us together.”

Jake flipped the phone open again. “He’s not going to see me here, because he’s not coming to pick you up, because you’re canceling.”

He started punching the numbers into the phone, but Flynn put her hand over his to stop him.

“Tucker, what’s going on? Last night you were fine with this.”

He raised his eyes to hers. “Last night I thought Elaine Placie was still alive.”

Flynn stared at him for a long moment, then pulled her hand off of his. “Who’s Elaine Placie?”

“The girl with the rhinestone flask.”

Flynn’s eyes widened. “The one who helped Chase get that laptop?”

Jake nodded. “They pulled her body out of the river last night. They haven’t identified her yet, but it’s her.” He continued dialing Chase’s number and handed the phone to Flynn. “So. Call.”

Flynn took the phone in her hand and stared down at it, then flipped it shut again and handed it back to Jake, her expression confident and determined. “I don’t think it was him.”

Jake stared at her. “Wow. If pulling the dead conwoman out of my sleeve fails to impress you, keeping this relationship exciting is going to be a challenge.”

“Think about it, Tucker. He hires Elaine Placie to help him steal the laptop. He pays her off. So why would he kill her? Even if she demanded more money or threatened to go to the police, he’s a reputable businessman and she was a small-time con artist. Her word against his, and he had all the power. Murder seems unmotivated. Plus, I just can’t see it. Chase doesn’t have an ethical bone in his body, fine, but do you really think he’s a murderer? I mean, really?”

He knew she was making sense. He’d had the same thoughts himself, but had been so intent on removing Flynn from the situation that he hadn’t entertained them for long. He could think clearly later; now, he had just one goal in mind. He handed her the phone. “I can do this all night, you know.”

“Don’t think I haven’t heard that one before.” She took the phone from him, flipped it shut, and tossed it over her shoulder, where it flew over the top of the armoire, hit the wall, fell to the floor, and skittered under the bed.

They stared each other down. Jake felt his body go still, tight with tension in the face of her blunt determination.

“So, what are you saying?” he asked finally. “Chase is a decent guy now? Just another eligible prospect?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side. “Oh, my God. You’re jealous? Of Chase?”

“No,” he said, his voice harsher than he intended. He took a breath and started again. “No. It’s not that. But Elaine Placie’s murder just upped the stakes here, and I want you as far away from this as possible.”

She tucked a lipstick into her purse and snapped it shut, then looked at Jake. “Do I look helpless to you?”

He shook his head. “Don’t twist this around, Flynn. It’s not about that and you know it.”

“I took self-defense classes for three years. I have a cell phone and a Mace key chain. Being a woman doesn’t mean I can’t think or defend myself.”

“The sexism card doesn’t work on me. I’ve got four sisters and a mother, none of whom I’d want to come up against in a dark alley. It’s not about that. It’s about—”

He trailed off, releasing his breath. It was about the fact that he wouldn’t be able to think knowing she was out there with Chase, especially not now that he had the visual of her in that dress. It was about keeping her safe. It was about keeping her his. It was about a million things he couldn’t name, most of which he didn’t want to. He was trying to think of a way to express this without actually expressing it when she advanced on him, hooked one leg around the back of his knee, and tried to knock him off balance, which she almost did. Jake recovered quickly, gaining his footing and grabbing her arm. He whipped her arm up behind her as he twirled her around, then hooked his free arm around her neck. She huffed loudly and a strand of hair flew up from her face.

“Crap,” she said. “That always worked in class.”

He leaned his head forward, his lips next to her ear. “Of course it did. But this is the real world.”

He could hear the disappointment in her voice as she shifted under his grip. “So what are you saying? In the real world, I’d be dead now?”

He took a deep breath, trying not to let the smell of her distract him too much. “Depends on what the guy who has you wants.”

He relaxed his grip and she turned slowly in his arms. His hands rested on her waist and she pulled her lower lip in with her top teeth. He reached one hand up and touched her face. It was impossible, how soft her skin was. Unnatural, almost.

“Tucker,” she said, little more than a whisper.

He was about to lean in and kiss her when she stuffed her Mace key chain in his face.

“Spritz spritz. You’re disabled, and I’m safe. So there. Nyah.”

He pulled his hands away from her waist. “Gotta hand it to you, Flynn. You sure know how to kill a mood.”

She shrugged smugly and put the Mace back in her bag. “If you want control of a scene, you give the other character what they most want, or show them what they most fear. I learned it in an improv class the Renaissance Faire people made me take. Works in real life, too.”

“So, how’d you know what I wanted?” he asked quietly.

She lowered her eyes and shrugged. “You’re a man. It was either food or sex and I didn’t have a turkey leg handy.”

Jake chuckled, then went silent. His heart was still beating erratically from holding her so close, and he knew anything he said now would be pointless. She had her mind set, and short of dragging her out by her hair—which, admittedly, was tempting—nothing he said was going to matter anyway. She took a step toward him, angling her head to the side in a conciliatory pose, exposing the long, creamy expanse of her neck.

“Just for the record,” she said, her eyes lighting playfully as she looked up at him, “Gordon Chase is not eligible for anything with me.”

Jake was a little disturbed by how good it felt to hear that. “Yeah? He’s rich and good-looking. A lot of girls in town think he’s quite the catch.”

“Well,” she said softly, “I’m not a lot of girls.”

Jake smiled and Flynn touched his arm.

“Look. Gordon Chase would be a big jerk even if he didn’t set you up. But he did, and for that, I want him to pay. Whether he killed Elaine Placie or not, he’s definitely connected to her, and I’m giving you a chance to find out how. So you can choose to be the overprotective alpha male and shove yourself in between us when he gets here, or you can trust me to handle myself and go get that laptop.”

There was a knock at the door. Jake didn’t move. Neither did Flynn.

“It’s an hour to the restaurant and an hour back, I can stretch dinner out for two hours. That should give you enough time.” He felt her fingers graze over his. “I have to spend four hours being nice to this jerk. Go make it worth my while.”

Her hand fell from his arm, and then she was gone. Jake listened as she opened the door, barely able to keep himself from rushing into the living room and throwing a big wrench in her plans to play Nancy Drew.

But he didn’t. He listened as she greeted Chase at the door, her voice happy and playful and innocent. He heard Chase’s smarmy, self-satisfied tones, and a few painful moments later, the door shut behind them. Jake released a breath, sat down on the bed, and rested his head in his hands.

Realistically, he knew that the risk was minimal. Even if it was Chase who had taken out Elaine Placie and Esther, he’d publicly come to the Arms to make plans with Flynn, and was picking her up here where everyone could see them together. If he was going to come after Flynn, it wouldn’t be tonight. She would be all right. She was tough. She was smart. She was...

She was amazing.

He chuckled lightly to himself as the realization hit him full force. She’d gotten to him. When had that happened? He hadn’t noticed it, but as he thought about her going out with Chase tonight in that dress, there it was, grating at him.

Huh. Must have been the hair.

Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out the key Rhonda Bacon had given him, staring at it as he flipped it over between his fingers. He knew he didn’t have much time. He just hoped that whatever was on that laptop was worth it.

It would have to be.