Page 27 of Guilty as Sin
He picked up his backpack and followed her. Whatever her plan was, he outweighed her by a good sixty pounds, he’d had a wee bit of training, and he was armed and she wasn’t. Besides, he had a Ridgeback. She’d lost the element of surprise, and he had a lion hunter.
He’d say he was in pretty good shape.
Breathe,Paige told herself.Deny. He can’t know, not for sure. Whoisthis guy?
She should have looked him up. She hadn’t wanted to be that interested. More fool her.
He was carrying a backpack, which was always concerning. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he’d been trying to ingratiate himself or talk his way into her house. Anybodylessingratiating would be hard to imagine. Besides, if he were a bad guy, she needed to find out right now for Lily’s sake. Even if she had to use herself as bait.
She stopped at the door, set the milk and eggs down on the round wooden table that sat on Lily’s sheltered porch, and tugged off her dirty boots without saying anything to him. He probably expected her to chatter, to excuse. He wasn’t getting that.
He’dlikedher. Yesterday. This morning, he seemed like he wanted to yell at her, or possibly arrest her. What was it to him if she switched places with Lily? Was he the agent-in-charge of the FBI’s Anti-Deception Squad? No. Which made it none of his damn business.
He toed off his own shoes without setting down the pans he was carrying and said, “I can leave Tobias outside, if you’d rather.” The words were polite, but the blue eyes were hard, and the mouth she may possibly have imagined coming down over hers was grim.
“He can come inside,” she said. “I like dogs, and Ridgebacks are one of my favorites.” She put a hand out to the dog—Tobias—and he sniffed at it, then wagged his tail and took a step closer. She said, “You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you? Strong boy.”
When she looked up again, Jace looked—confused. “Dogs like me,” she said sweetly, then picked up her milk and eggs and led the way inside.
Where she almost had a heart attack. The living room had shrunk in perspective like she was viewing it in a funhouse mirror. All she saw was her eggs in the basket held in front of her, and the picture on the mantel looming huge. The one of her and Lily aged seven, in blue jeans, white T-shirts, and ponytails, sitting side-by-side on two enormous pumpkins at what had seemed like a magical pumpkin patch but had actually been a vacant lot beside the freeway. Paige had her arms flung into the air in triumph like Rocky Balboa, and Lily was sitting with her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, and a dreamy look on her face. Anyone on the planet would look at that picture and say, “Wow! Identical twins!”
Whoops.“Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said, maneuvering to put her body between Jace and the fireplace and trying to edge him to the right. “I can make coffee.”
Did he oblige? He did not. He looked around and said, “Nice room,” in a tone that said, “I wouldn’t live here if you paid me.”
Paige bristled for her sister. So it was all overstuffed, rose-pink and sea-green, floral, and wicker. It was coordinated. It waspretty.“Let me guess,” she said, still working on her sheepdog moves. “Your home décor is an antique two-man saw nailed to the rafters. Arustysaw.”
“That’s one,” he agreed gravely. “I have antlers as well, though.”
“How did I know,” she muttered, and caught that quirk at the corner of his mouth. At least he was looking at her and not the pictures. He’d also graduated from “pissed off” to “reluctantly amused.”
“Come on,” she said. “Kitchen. Coffee.”
Fortunately, it wasn’t far, and also fortunately, there wasn’t a giant photograph of her and Lily framed in seashells hanging over the stove. That was in the bathroom. Which hewasn’tusing, even if it meant sending him out to pee on a tree. She said, “Sit down,” and nodded with her chin at the neat little breakfast bar, done in the same Hansel-and-Gretel green wainscoting as the kitchen cabinets. She set the milk in the fridge and the eggs on the counter and said, “I need to give somebody some eggs. Do you want some eggs? Or goat milk? What do people do with all these?”
“What do you usually do with them?”
“Oh, you know,” she said, waving the coffee decanter airily and almost smashing it into the refrigerator. “This and that.”
“You seem nervous,” he observed. He was sitting perfectly still with his dog lying at his feet, and still giving off that readiness-vibe.
“Maybe because you seem hostile,” she said, shoving the decanter into place and dumping ground coffee into the filter basket. Forget all this dancing around. “One day you’re kissing my hand, the next you’re barking questions at me and squinting your eyes like a badass cowboy in a B movie. What’s with the split personality?”
“Funny,” he said. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing about you.”
Her hand stilled a second, and then she turned the coffeemaker on, turned to face him, and said, “All right. Spit it out. I’m not good with all this hinting. What’s going on?” If he really knew, she’d explain. What did he care whether Lily sold her place or not? He didn’t look like a guy who’d be in the pocket of a developer. He didn’t look like a guy who’d be in the pocket ofanybody.
He reached down, lifted the backpack into his lap, and Paige put a hand on the coffee decanter—boiling water worked—and measured the distance to the knife rack. There was a counter between them, and she’d use it.
What he pulled out was a padded envelope. Aflatpadded envelope. Room for a knife, though. He held it above the counter, shook it, and a few things fell out.
“You collect ladies’ underwear,” Paige said after a second.
His eyes met hers. “That’s what you have to say?”
“You hide your hobby well? Thank you for sharing? What?”
He held the thong up, draped over one finger. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen these before.”
