A footfall sounded from upstairs. Kate was awake and moving around. Even though the soundproofing was generally pretty good, occasionally he heard a thump or a crash. He figured she was moving furniture around on her own, refusing to ask for his help. Independent as ever.
Pocketing his phone, with the photo cued up, he downed the rest of his coffee and pulled a sweater over his head. He’d done Kate a huge favor by buying her some time. The least she could do would be to answer some very reasonable questions.
Then again, so far he’d never had any luck predicting what Kate would do.
Chapter Twelve
Kate wasn’t quite prepared for the high-octane impact of Darius at her door first thing in the morning. In a heathery-brown hand-knit sweater, with his sweatpants molding to the hard muscles of his thighs, he was just…a lot. A lot of man. A lot of gleaming silver-blue eyes and husky shoulders and thick, mussed hair.
Given her two years without sex, shouldn’t she be renting to someone a little lighter on the testosterone?
She sighed and tamped down her automatic reaction to him. “Good morning. You’re up early.”
“It’s not really that early. I’m surprised you aren’t at the farm already.”
“I was up late.” No need to tell him that her sleeplessness was partly his fault. “What’s up? Urgent landlady business?”
“Not exactly. I had a visitor this morning.”
“There’s a lot of that going around, apparently. What’s wrong with people?”
A good smell wafted from him. Coffee was somewhere in the mix, along with freshly showered skin. He must have shaved, because for once she saw no dark stubble on his jaw. Morning Darius—clear-eyed and clean-shaven—was just as attractive as all the other Dariuses she’d encountered.
He didn’t respond to her jab the way he usually did, with light humor. His firm lips didn’t curve into that smile she’d come to anticipate. “This visitor was from out of town. California, in fact.”
Fear stabbed through her, hot and fast. She reared backwards, away from Darius.
Shut the door. Get him out.
She nearly slammed the door in his face, but he stopped it with one hand. Before she could get a word out, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Kate, it’s okay.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“What? No.” He frowned in confusion. “Why would he threaten me? He was quite friendly and professional.”
Professional. A professional assassin maybe? She shook herself back to reality. Her father’s crew might be criminals, but they weren’t killers.
“Who was he?” she asked. Might as well get this over with. “Did he give a name?”
“He’s a private investigator named Ethan James, from Los Angeles.”
A private investigator! Her eyes went wide. She’d been careful not to give anyone any forwarding information, just in case it got into the wrong hands. Apparently it had taken an investigator to track her down.
“He was looking for you,” Darius went on. “Two different names came up.”
“What did you tell him?” she asked nervously, biting on a fingernail. She had no clue what an investigator wanted with her, but it was clear what Darius wanted. Answers.
“Nothing. I got rid of him. I figured I’d let you tell me what was going on.”
Oh God, this was bad. Darius probably thought she was on the run from the law, using a fake name, or some other nefarious thing.
His eyes held hers. She read concern in them, but also some suspicion.
She couldn’t blame him for that.
She wrestled back the impulse to tell him to butt out and mind his business. He’d done her a favor just now. If any man was trustworthy, it might be Darius Boone. It was worth a shot, anyway.
She hauled in a long breath. “Better come in.” She led the way to the living room, which she’d just finished furnishing a few days ago. The infamous carpet was now covered with a coffee table, along with a few strategically placed throw rugs.
Morning light poured through the window and danced across the hardwood floor in honey-colored beams. Her mug of coffee sat steaming on the coffee table, next to her laptop. She’d been peacefully answering emails, sipping her hazelnut French roast, before Darius had shattered her calm.
Darius went to the sliding glass door that let onto the deck and scanned the street out front. “Just making sure he’s gone.”
“Did he say what he was after?”
“Like I said, he was looking for Catriona Fletcher or Catriona Robinson. He showed me a picture.” Darius came toward her and showed her his phone. Her old work photo from the law firm. Wonderful.
“Crappy photo, huh?” she said lightly. “Why are work photos always so unflattering?”
He didn’t smile. “It’s from your old job? When you were a lawyer?”
“Yes. From the law firm of Bustos, Bagwell and Gonzalez. I was a lowly second-year associate when I left. And yes, they knew me as Catriona Fletcher. I used that name for…” she made a face. “Reasons.”
“Reasons,” he repeated flatly.
She tried a winning smile, but it made no impression on him.
“You’re going to give me more than that, right? Because I have his number right here on this card and all it will take is a phone—”
“Extortion? Really? You’d stoop so low?”
“Legal terms? Really? You’d stoop that low?”
She pressed her lips together and turned away from his gaze, which seemed to see right through her. “It’s…it’s embarrassing. The kind of sordid story you’d read about in a tabloid. But if you really want to hear it…”
He plopped himself down on the couch, his thighs spread like twin oak trees. “I really want to hear it.” That voice left no room for doubt.
She sighed and sank down on the couch cushion farthest from him. “I don’t even know where to start,” she groaned.
“How about this? I’ll ask questions. I’ll start with why you looked so scared when you heard about Ethan James.”
“No, no, that’s a terrible place to start. That’s practically the end.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Good God, you’re stubborn. Start wherever you want. How about your name. Why the two names?”
But that didn’t feel like a good place either. “Just…” She waved him away. “Let me tell it. I’ll start with the day I was emancipated. I was seventeen years old and I got tired of being yanked around between my father the grifter and my mother the gypsy. So I emancipated myself and I chose my own last name just to make the point extra clear.”
She snuck a glance at his impassive face.
“I used Catriona Fletcher all through college and law school and at work. I didn’t want my professional reputation associated with my father. He’s slightly notorious in Southern California. I didn’t want people connecting me with a small-time criminal. I mean, I had my own issues, you may have heard.”
“Naughty Kate.”
She cringed. “Exactly. But that was kid stuff, and I wanted to put it behind me. Kate Robinson was a pile of trouble. Catriona Fletcher, on the other hand, had her shit together.”