“If I’d gotten him off, he wouldn’t be behind bars.” Robert’s expression was pleasant, a sharp contrast to Detective Saxe’s rigid scowl.
“On a bullshit plea deal. He’ll be out within five years.” The detective’s attention returned to me. “You could do better with your friends, Dr. Moore.”
I ignored the dig. “Any updates on John Abbott?”
He squinted at me, and it wasn’t that sunny out. “Nothing to share.”
Nothing to share? What did that mean?
His gaze swept across my yard. “Well, looks like things are pretty calm here. If no one needs me, I’ll head on out.”
No one needs you, I thought, and delivered a thank-you through gritted teeth as he opened his car door, gave me a final, measuring look, then disappeared inside. I waved.
“Cheery guy,” Robert said. “I think he trusts you about as much as he trusts me.”
I turned to look at him. “He was joking.”
“Was he?” There was a moment of heightened tension, then he cracked a smile. I gave an awkward and uncomfortable laugh, then craned my head to the side, catching a glimpse of Officer Kitt in the doorway of my house.
“The house is clear,” he said, holding the door open.
“Thanks.” I moved past him and into the house, glancing around to find everything in order, my kitchen spotless.
“You have a locksmith coming?” The officer spoke from behind me.
“Yes.” I turned to him. “They should be here any minute.”
“I can wait until they arrive.”
“No, I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“I’ll stay with her.” Robert stepped in.
The officer looked between us, then nodded. We said our goodbyes, and I took his business card. Between his and Detective Saxe’s, I was starting to build a collection.
Once we were alone, Robert arched a brow at me. “So, it’s settled. Dinner tonight, say . . . seven o’clock?”
I hesitated, self-aware enough to realize that my biggest problem with Robert Kavin was my attraction to him. Even now, with my nerves still frayed from Luke Attens, and with a police officer backing out of my driveway, my body was responding to his presence. If he strode forward, if his hand cupped around my waist and pulled me against him . . . I wouldn’t be able to resist. And what then?
What if I slept with him again? Not as two strangers drunk off cheap beer, but as Dr. Gwen Moore and attorney Robert Kavin—business associates with a mess of secrets between us. What then?
CHAPTER 26
At three minutes before seven, my doorbell rang. I looked through the glass panes of the front door and let out a frustrated sigh.
Robert had brought flowers. Again. The last ones hadn’t even died yet. I swung open the door before I had a chance to rethink the action. “More flowers?” I gave the bouquet a questioning look.
He swatted at a mosquito. “I was raised to bring a gift when you visit someone’s home. I bring men scotch and women flowers. Don’t take it personally.”
“How sexist of you.” I smirked. “For the record, I like scotch, also.”
“I’ll remember that.” He pulled the door shut the minute he was inside and flipped the dead bolt. “The bugs are terrible.”
I tried not to stare at the locked door, the hardware new and shiny. He was here to protect me, I reminded myself. A bit of added muscle power in addition to the baseball bat I kept in the coat closet.
He paused in the foyer and sniffed. “It smells delicious in here. I’m sorry you had to cook, but I’m dying for more of your cooking.”
I didn’t respond, still emotionally opposed to this dinner. I had protested, he had countered, and it wasn’t easy to debate an attorney. In part because I couldn’t share the true reasons for my trepidation, which had less to do with my legal reputation and more to do with the vulnerable swell of hope and attraction that appeared whenever our eye contact held.
There had been a lot of eye contact, which was another something I needed to pull the reins on.
“I’m going to put these in water.” He headed for the sink, and I eyed the dining room table, grateful that I had skipped the candles and real china and stuck out some paper plates and disposable silverware. If that didn’t send out enough of an unromantic vibe, the sweatpants and baggy T-shirt I was wearing would complete the facade.
The water started to run, and I cracked my knuckles, a nervous habit I’d never been able to break.
“I’m assuming you haven’t heard anything from the client? The one who has your wallet?” He turned his head so I could hear him more clearly. He was still in his suit, and I pulled at the bottom of my T-shirt. Maybe I had overdone it with the casualness. There was the whole “Doth protest too much” angle to consider.
What had he asked me? About Luke? I cleared my throat. “No.” The police had gone to his house and questioned his housekeeper, but they hadn’t found the pizza heir.
“What’s your opinion on his state of mind?”
“I’m not sure,” I said honestly. “I need to talk to him and explain what he saw in my office. That’s the easiest solution to the problem. I’ve tried his cell, but he isn’t answering my calls.”
Luke’s final words, his fury over Randall, hung on my lips. I was dying to share them with Robert, but doing so would violate Luke’s client confidentiality.
He turned off the water, and I moved closer, watching as he combined the new lilies with the tulips he had brought earlier. “So you’ll tell him that you’re working for me?”
“I’ll tell him I’m looking at the deaths and creating a profile.”
He set the flowers on the windowsill above the sink and turned to me. “You mentioned that your profile is done.”
“My first draft, yes. I’m missing the application or nonapplication of it as it relates to the subject.”
“Randall,” he clarified.
“Yes. I’ll be ready to talk to him this week, if you can set that up.”
“Absolutely. Just let me know what day. I’ll make it happen.”
This week, I would sit across from the alleged Bloody Heart Killer. I had tossed out the interview mention as if I didn’t care, but the idea of it was constant. Would he fit my profile? How high was his emotional intelligence? How would he respond to me—and which questions should I ask?
“I’d like to see the profile so far.”
I opened the oven and peeked at the pot roast, which had another four minutes, according to my timer. “I just need to think through a few pieces of it. I can email it over tomorrow.”
He leaned against the counter and loosened the knot of his tie. “Do you still feel like something is off?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But there’s another thing I want to make sure you’re clear on.”
He raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“I’m going to be honest with my assessment. If you put me on the stand, I’ll deliver the truth, including how Randall Thompson might fit the profile.”
He held up his hand, palm facing out. “Whoa. If I expected a jury puppet, I wouldn’t have wasted your time in giving you the files. I would have just told you what I wanted you to say.”