“My dad and I are close and I’ve met most of his influential friends,” she said. “But I’ve never even heard of the lawyer that got me out of the police station.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“You, I remember.”
Crap. He’d hoped to avoid this or at least put it off a bit longer. “Is that so?” His name and face had been plastered all over the media when he’d tried and failed to rescue a child. He’d done all the right things, but someone had to take the fall for the wrong result. Overnight he’d become a pariah, his lifeguarding days over and with that loss of income, his college plan put on hold.
Her gaze lifted to his hair and then drifted slowly down his body. It was all he could do to stand still and wait for her judgment.
“Fourth of July weekend,” she said.
“Pardon me?” That girl had died, practically in his arms, just before Labor Day. The beach had been packed with locals and tourists cramming in one more beach weekend before heading back to school and fall work schedules. No one else had noticed her struggling in the surf. Another few seconds and they would’ve lost her body forever. Even so, he’d failed to save her. There were nights when he woke with a start, his hands feeling sticky with the sand and blood matted in her sunny blond hair.
“Fourth of July,” Paige repeated. “My friend lost control of her puppy. The goofball chased a little boy into the surf.”
“You remember that?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Are you telling me you don’t?”
“No. Actually, I do,” he admitted. He struggled to pull his head back up and away from the darker memory.
“You were so mad at her.”
He’d been angry that the clearly posted leash law had been violated and caused a kid to suffer. “And you were the only logical person in the group.”
“Possibly.” Her lips twitched at one corner. “She and I shared a house our last two years of college. I paid for a dog trainer to come work with us.”
“Did it help?”
Paige’s mouth curved into a wide, genuine smile. Puffy eyes aside, she was beautiful. “It did. He’s a really great dog now and she’s a much better dog owner.”
“I’m glad,” he said, sincere. “Are you still friends?”
“As the society definition goes.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Once it gets around that they’re looking at me for this murder she either won’t want anything to do with me or she’ll be at my side looking for the cheap publicity and easy points for being a devoted friend.”
That didn’t sound like much of a friendship to him. “That’s okay with you?”
She tipped her head side to side. “Let’s just say I had to learn quickly who to trust. Part of navigating the events and people who surround my parents.”
“You trusted Melissa?”
“One hundred percent.” She looked over his head, back toward the main house, though she couldn’t possibly see much through the trees. “You really can help me sort this mess out?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” She rolled her shoulders back, seeming to fortify herself before she moved to the front door. “Come on in and tell me how this will work.”
Light. That was his first thought as he followed her inside. Well, his second thought. Though she had a security system, it hadn’t been armed. That needed to change, but better to take it slow rather than start issuing orders.
“Great place,” he said.
The floors were a golden honey color that reflected the sunlight pouring through wide windows. Her home was modest compared to the main house, but no detail had been spared. Built in bookcases anchored one corner and in front of them she’d placed an oversized chair and a small table. Two hand-crafted afghans were layered over the back of the chair. It was easy to picture her there, curled up and lost in a book.
“You must like to read,” he observed, walking closer. Definitely handmade. His mother crocheted and he recognized the technique. “Did you make these yourself?”
“My dad’s older sister made one and I made the other.”
He touched the afghan that had been worked in shades of ocean blue. “This one?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe.”
“You did.” He hoped chatting about something inconsequential would put her at ease with him in the house. He might be here a while.
Her lips twitched again. “You’re sure of yourself.”
“Just a guess. You seem drawn to ocean colors.” The other afghan was all cream and showed an intricate pattern that reminded him of a cable-knit sweater. Artistically done, but this one room revealed how much Paige appreciated color and movement.
“Well, you’re right.” Her eyebrows flexed into a small frown. She rubbed her hands over her arms as if she’d caught a chill and then hugged herself. “This is about it,” she said. “Living room and kitchen.”
What was probably a dining area the rest of the year had been shifted around to accommodate a Christmas tree in front of the window. He’d seen it from the porch and figured at night it made a pretty view. Pretty and private, considering how her house was situated on the family property.
“My room is down the hall,” she pointed. “And the sunroom is back there. I use it as an office.”
“Guest room?” he queried.
She frowned again. “You’re not staying at the main house?”
“You are my priority,” he reminded her. Clients often had a hard time adjusting to that fact. “It’s best if you think of me as your shadow until we sort this out.”
“That’s how this works?” She pulled the cuffs of her sweater down over her hands.
“Are you cold?”
She just shook her head.
He rocked back on his heels, waiting. Resisting another swelling need to comfort her. “I can sleep on the couch or the floor if that’s better for you.”
“That’s just silly.” She started toward the hall on the opposite side of the kitchen. “I just assumed since Dad hired you… Never mind. The guest suite is this way.”
“Your parents did a great job with this,” he said when they returned to the kitchen. He sat down at the island, admiring the unique countertop. “What is this?”
“Recycled glass,” she replied.
“It’s gorgeous.” A wealth of hues—pops of deep blue to pale yellow—were embedded in the surface, lending interest to the distressed white cabinets and deep gray accents.
“I can get you a discount if you’re in the market for new countertops.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He swiveled on the stool. “Can I have a tour of your security system next? We’ll want to keep that armed at all times.”
Her lips parted as if she would protest, but she caught herself. “You were serious about being my shadow.”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine.”
It didn’t take a trained observer to know she wasn’t fine with the idea at all, but she gamely showed him the system, the sensors at all of the doors and windows, and even gave him the primary code.