Page 61 of Joker in the Pack

As it was, it took me two trips to take everything, which meant double the disapproving looks, and not only from Betty—the other customers in the queue stared and whispered behind their hands too.

As I cycled back, I reconsidered selling up. How much would Lilac Cottage fetch in its current state? Certainly not enough for me to buy a flat in London, and I didn’t have the steady income required to get a mortgage. And even if I did decide to sell, who would want to view a house filled with tat? How about hiring a storage unit? Or…

I was so preoccupied with “get tidy, quick” schemes, I failed to see the man standing in front of Lilac Cottage until it was too late. Black leather jacket, black jeans, black helmet, black visor, and to top it all, he was standing next to a black motorcycle. The harbinger of freaking death had come to visit.

I skidded to a stop near the top of the driveway. Could I make a run for it? Pretend I’d taken a wrong turn?

Dammit—he’d seen me. He took a step in my direction as I pushed backwards. Should I speed off? I discounted that idea almost immediately—his engine versus my feet was hardly a fair contest.

Who was he? Had he been sent to warn me off? Or worse? A glance at my watch showed I still had thirty minutes until Maddie’s next message, and my body could be going cold by then.

Oh, hell—now he’d taken his helmet off. I’d seen his face, and I’d watched enough thriller movies to understand what that meant. Was he going to kill me now?

I froze as he stalked towards me, and the bike clattered to the ground as my hands loosened their grip. Closer… Closer… He stopped two feet away and looked down from eight inches above.

“Olivia Porter?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

If I hadn’t been so damn terrified, I might have found it sexy. What were the chances of him believing me if I said no?

Probably not good, considering we were both at my house. I gulped and nodded.

He held out a hand. “Nye Holmes.”

I surreptitiously wiped my sweaty palm on my trouser leg before I put my hand into his. Hot, much like the rest of him. My skin sizzled, and for a moment, I forgot my own name.

“Uh, er, Olivia Porter. Oh. You already knew that.”

He raised an eyebrow, expectant.

“Should I know you?”

“I thought Sophie told you I was coming?”

Sophie… The party… I sifted through vague memories. Sophie had mentioned a private investigator—Sherlock—but I’d imagined a middle-aged man in a deerstalker hat. Not…this.

“You’re the detective?”

“Who else?”

“Sophie didn’t confirm anything, just said she’d pass on my number so you could call me.”

“Well, she told me your situation was desperate and I needed to get over here ASAP.”

“But how did you know where I lived?”

His look of pity had me doubting my own intelligence. “I’m an investigator.”

Way to go, Olivia.Make yourself look like a moron in front of the hot guy, twice.

“I think Sophie overreacted a little. It’s nothing—just a couple of break-ins.”

“And this?” Nye pointed at the front door.

“They didn’t get in the house that time.”

“What else?”

“A brick through my window. And someone punctured my bike tyres.”

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