Page 29 of Buried Too Deep

She couldn’t hurt him. Wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’d be grateful for your help, Phin. You’re welcome in my home.”

Phin’s whole body relaxed, including the grip he’d had on his dog. SodaPop turned and licked his hand. He smiled down at his dog before lifting his gaze back to hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll go to the bank first and get my father’s letters. Hopefully that will give Burke somewhere to begin.”

And, if she was lucky, Broussard Investigations would find out who’d killed Jack Elliot.

And why.

4

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2:30 P.M.

PHIN LOOKED BOTH WAYS ALONG Cora’s street, making sure there were no men in black lurking in the shadows. The coast seemed clear, so he stepped aside so that Cora could unlock the front door.

SodaPop was stuck to Phin’s side, keeping him calm. He’d been worrying about Joy, but her children had assured them that she was stable. Still unconscious, but stable. She was currently in the ICU, but they hoped she’d be moved into a normal room by the next morning.

He’d also worried about what they’d find inside Cora’s house, but neither concern had sent him into a spiral, mostly because of SodaPop. Good girl. He’d felt confident enough in his self-control to send Stone and Delores to play tourist in the Quarter for a few hours. He’d see them later that night, after Cora’s house was safe. Phin was to ensure that her home was physically secure, and Antoine was to ensure that there were no more bugs and that the alarm system she’d installed was working properly.

Step one, of course, was figuring out what was up with the letters. After retrieving the copies from Cora’s safe-deposit box—there had been three sets of copies, because Cora Winslow was very organized—Burke had taken one set back to his own house, planning to go through the letters personally.

It made sense that Joy’s attacker might have thought Cora had brought the letters with her to the office that morning, but why the attacker would want them, none of them knew. Hopefully Burke would figure it out.

Burke still wasn’t sure who he would assign to be Cora’s bodyguard.

Let it be me.

But Phin knew that was a truly stupid thing to wish. Not with his baggage. Plus, as confident as Cora had seemed in his ability to control himself, he had noted her relief when Antoine had tagged along.

Maybe it was because Antoine had come to check for bugs, but Phin was realistic, if nothing else. A man who needed a service dog was not qualified to be a bodyguard.

That he’d wanted the job since he’d come to work for Burke two years before was immaterial. He’d have to be satisfied going back to his old job—nighttime security and the firm’s general fixer-upper.

And wasn’t “fixer-upper” true in the metaphorical sense, as well? Phin was no catch. Especially not for a woman like Cora Winslow.

He flinched at the thought. He had no business even entertaining the notion that a woman like her could be attracted to a man like him. But he’d seen kindness in her eyes and an unwillingness to hurt him, and that would have to be enough.

“This place is amazing.” Antoine had stopped two steps into the foyer, awe in his voice. “It’s like a museum.”

Phin hummed his agreement as he gazed up at the fifteen-foot ceiling and ornate archways leading to the rest of the house. “Greek Revival.”

The house was a stunning example of the architecture that had been so popular in New Orleans during the mid-to-late nineteenth century. But it needed a lot of work. The light pink exterior was practically begging for a coat of paint. The interior walls were also faded, the baseboards and the tray ceilings chipped, and the area rugs frayed.

But the hardwood floors shone and the foyer, at least, was sparkling clean. The ornate chandelier over their heads was shining and spotless.

“You know your architecture,” Cora said, dropping her keys in a bowl by the door.

“I’ve studied a little. Nothing official.” Phin pointed to the keys. “One of the first things you’ll need to do is find a safer place for your keys.”

Wincing, she blushed and put the keys into her pocket. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She started toward the living room. “I need to check on my dog.”

Phin held up a hand. “Stay here. I need to clear the house.” Just in case someone was hiding, waiting for her.

She frowned. “Blue’s in the living room. He’s old and missing a few teeth, but he won’t like you coming into his territory. It’s unlikely he’ll attack, but I need to introduce you.”

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