Page 73 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“No, you won’t.” What would my neighbours say if I had a handsome homeless man camping outside my house? “You can use one of my spare rooms.”

“Kim, you’re a client. I can’t impose like that.”

A client. Yes, technically I was, although for the past couple of days, it hadn’t felt so much like a business relationship. I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my hip from earlier. A week ago, I’d have been indignant at him for taking liberties like that, but today, I’d itched to reciprocate.

“You were the one who said working on a murder case was dangerous. I’d feel much better with you inside. The bed’s already made.”

When I moved in, I’d furnished all four bedrooms. One for myself and the rest for my non-existent guests, because having three totally barren rooms would have reminded me just how empty my life was. Only Annie had ever slept over. Once or twice, my father had mooted the possibility of visiting, but he’d yet to turn up.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

And now I had a new roommate. Well, not in my room, exactly, but it was a start.

***

Seven a.m. on a Sunday, and the aroma of bacon drifted up the stairs, disturbing the dream I absolutely shouldn’t have been having about a certain private investigator. Would he look as good with his shirt off as I imagined?

Stop it, Kim. He’s not taking his shirt off.

But it seemed as though he was making breakfast. Again. I hurried into the bathroom and made myself presentable, thankfully minus the mascara streaks today, then pulled on some clothes. A pretty wrap dress from Diane von Furstenberg. The casual look since it was a Sunday and we were still at home.

Then I hurried downstairs and found that my dreams had come even truer than I hoped.

“I ran out of clean shirts, so I borrowed your washing machine. Hope you don’t mind.”

If he kept standing in my kitchen half-naked, he could borrow my washing machine every minute of every hour of every day. I made a conscious effort not to drool.

“That’s fine. Did you find the laundry detergent?”

“On the shelf right above the machine.”

“Yes. Of course.” Great. Now I sounded like a fool. “You’re cooking?”

Oh, that was so much better.

“Figured if we’re going out to hunt for ghosts today, we could use a good breakfast. I found the bacon in the freezer.”

Great, which meant he’d also found my secret stash of vodka. “The Stolichnaya is for medicinal purposes only.”

“Hey, I’m not gonna judge. Do you want waffles or pancakes? I see you have a waffle machine, but it doesn’t look as though you use it much.”

“Whatever’s easiest. The waffle machine was an impulse purchase, and I don’t even know how to turn it on.”

“Pancakes it is, then. I’ll make you waffles when we’ve got more time. We also need to stop by the store later because your fridge is kind of empty.”

“I usually pick up takeout.”

“My budget doesn’t run to takeout right now, but I’ll make you dinner. Does that work?”

I almost asked if he’d do that shirtless too, but I managed to bite my tongue just in time. “Dinner sounds lovely.”

When we’d talked last night, we’d agreed to head to Illusion this morning to look for witnesses while Wyatt went to work. While he was there, he planned to get ahold of the files for Georgette and Jacqueline as well as searching the database for any other similar crimes in Maryland and the surrounding states. I dreaded the results. More clues would certainly be helpful, but the thought of additional victims left me sick to my stomach, even when Reed slid a plate of food in front of me. Crispy bacon and pancakes drizzled with maple syrup.

“Emma’s favourite,” he explained. “She’d have lived on this stuff if she could.”

“Did you cook for her often?”

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