Gideon pushed open the door to Nath, Nath & Powell, feeling unusually empty-handed without his laptop and briefcase—which he’d left at the office in his haste the day before. He stepped into the reception area just as Claire appeared from the back, and Helene Montgomery, the receptionist, looked up from her desk.

“Is everything all right?” asked Helene, her eyes concerned.

Gideon frowned, pausing in his route toward the hall leading to his office, just as Gideon Senior came barreling from the back, moving much faster than his grandson had seen him move in years. “Gideon! What happened? Is everything all right? I just saw you pull into your parking place.”

“Yes, everything is fine. Why do you ask?” He looked at the others—Helene, who still looked concerned, Claire, who looked extremely wide-eyed and innocent, and his grandfather, who seemed to be fighting a grin.

“It’s nine-thirty—we were worried about you.”

“I know what time it is,” Gideon replied, suddenly feeling the weight of their stares.

“But you’re over two hours late,” his grandfather continued, rubbing his hands together as if pleased about something.

“Two hours late? The office opens at nine. I didn’t have anything going on—what’s the problem?” He began to edge toward the hall, suddenly desperate to escape to his office.

“You’re always the first one here,” Helene said earnestly. “Seven o’clock, sure as the sun rises, you’re here. We were afraid something had happened to you!”

Gideon began to feel even more uncomfortable. “I decide to come in late one day and you automatically assume something’s wrong?”

“I even tried to call you on your cell phone to see if you were all right, but all I got was voice mail,” his grandfather added, watching him closely.

Gideon’s neck heated. “I—uh—forgot to charge it overnight.” He shook his head, stepping away from the group. That was so unlike him—he was always prepared, always thinking ahead.

“—was just getting ready to come over and check on you,” Gideon Senior was saying.

Gideon jerked to look at him, suddenly immensely grateful that Fiona had hustled them both out the door so she could get to her car and drive back to Wicks Hollow before he coaxed her back to bed again.

Having his grandfather show up and finding Fiona there would only open a huge can of worms.

No, a basket of rattlesnakes would be more like it.

And was that a damn twinkle in the old man’s eyes?

“Why didn’t you just call me on the land line?” he asked, his voice short and annoyed. He managed a few more steps before his grandfather replied.

“I tried, but no one answered.”

The flush rose up Gideon’s neck and over the back of his skull. He must have called while they were in the shower. The heat intensified as he remembered the short exchange afterward with Fiona, and he had to fight to keep from grinning like a schoolboy.

She’d stepped out of the shower, her hair a mass of sexy, wet zigzags plastered to her head and neck. A smile quirked her face when she caught his reflection in the mirror. “Somehow I pictured you as a Norelco man.”

Gideon allowed a grin to curve his lips, taking care not to crinkle the skin he was shaving. “No, I’ve always been a blade man.” He smoothed his fingers and thumb over his chin. “Much closer shave.”

Fiona wrapped her towel closer around her, and stepped over to touch his chin. “Mmm. Yes, I see what you mean.” Her hand slid from his chin down to the damp mat of hair on his chest, sending a renewed wave of lust through him.

He pulled her closer and her other hand came up to wrap around his neck. The thick towel slipped away, crumpling to the floor, and suddenly, they were skin to skin.

Something his grandfather was saying forced Gideon’s attention back to the matter at hand.

“—skeleton in the closet.”

“What? How did you know about that?”

The older man crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Not too difficult when it was on the six o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, and early morning news. Not to mention all over Yahoo! and CNN.com. Weren’t you watching?”

That did it. Gideon tossed a last annoyed, faintly embarrassed glare at his grandfather and stalked off to his office. He thought for sure he heard a snort of laughter just before he slammed his door.

He sat at his desk, turning to the credenza behind him to the laptop that had gone to sleep sometime yesterday. The computer sizzled and hummed as it woke up, and Gideon moved back to the stack of files on his desk that had to be attended to.

He opened the first beige file folder and began to peruse the contract, looking for anything that might be a problem for his client.

What a night.

The thought popped into his head, right in the middle of a clause about indemnification, and he smiled. Actually, it was more of a goofy grin than a smile.

The words on the page in front of him faded away as he sat there, smirking like a fool, remembering…

It was only the chime on his computer indicating he had email that pulled him back into the present.

Gideon shook his head and closed the file folder. He could look at that later. He spun in his chair to face the laptop and began to work his away through the programs to open his email.

He got through the first three messages, memories and sensations from sharing his bed with Fiona hovering in another layer of his consciousness. Then he remembered what she’d said about his drawings.

The warmth curling in his middle expanded, seeping up into his throat and heating his face—like he was a high school kid who’d just made the honor roll and was receiving kudos from the sexiest teacher at school.

She liked them.

She loved them.

She wanted him to sell them.

His thoughts plummeted. There was no way he was going down that path. It was certain to lead to trouble. He’d lose focus at the office, he’d spend all his time drawing, sleeping, drinking—trying to find that combination that would give him his Big Break, his Breakout—wealth and fame….

Foolish man. He let his forehead sink into his palm.

He wasn’t his father…but he could be. Very easily.

There was no chance of that. He wouldn’t do that to himself, or to his grandfather. He had to stay on the straight and narrow—work hard, be successful, find a woman to marry—maybe—in five years or so….

But his art.

“It has nothing to do with…Us.”

He’d spoken aloud, and without meaning to, he’d capitalized them, making it official. That, at least, he had no qualms about—no qualms whatsoever.

Damn. He wanted to see her again—tonight—five-year plan or no.

* * *

What if he wanted to see her again? Soon?

Fiona dragged a hand through her hair, yanking mercilessly through the thick curls. She sat at her desk in the middle of Charmed Antiquity, examining—or, rather, trying to keep her mind on examining—some bills of sale from the open house.

She pushed away the warm, mellow feeling that crept over her when she thought about lying in bed next to Gideon, touching his smooth, damp, warm skin after making love with him. This was so very unlike her—to dwell on the memory, to think of nothing but a man.

A dull pounding on the glass of the shop’s front door had Fiona’s thoughts jolting back to the present—thank goodness.

She removed her reading glasses and rose from the desk to make her way toward the front of the store, mildly curious as to who would be knocking when the sign said “Closed.”

Maybe it’s Gideon.

She’d kept Charmed Antiquity closed today because it had taken until well after lunch for her and Carl to clear out the mess that was left behind from yesterday’s investigation by the police, and also because of the news and public interest generated by the finding of the skeleton.

But now Carl had gone home, and she was finishing up some listings on eBay…when she wasn’t distracted and daydreaming about Gideon.

The door rattled in its hinges; whoever was knocking was growing impatient. Then Fiona saw who was there, and she gave a short laugh.

Well, that explained the impatience and determination.

Her step hitched, but by then, Maxine Took, Juanita Acerita, and Iva Bergstrom had all seen her through the glass.

It was too late for retreat.

She sighed in acquiescence, and opened the door. “Hello ladies,” she said.

“We heard about the skeleton,” Maxine said, barging past Fiona, her cane gripped tightly in her fist.

“Who is it?” asked Juanita, squeezing into the shop more carefully so as not to squish the bag carrying Bruce Banner, who peeked out with his bright black eyes. “Who’s the dead person?”

“Hello, Fiona,” Iva said gaily, pausing to embrace her in a cloud of White Shoulders. “I could hardly believe when I heard about it!”

Fiona could only blink as the tornado of Tuesday Ladies filled the small space near the front of her crowded shop. She peeked out to make sure that was all of them—apparently Orbra and Cherry, like normal people, had other things to do.

“How about a seat?” she asked quickly, envisioning a fiercely-wielded cane or large leather bag smacking into a table and upending a vase or porcelain lamp. She started to pull up a chair, but Maxine was already charging into the depths of the shop, with Juanita and Iva in tow.

“Back here, I suppose,” Maxine cried, as if going into battle. “I can see where the wall’s been torn down.”

Fiona followed, watching for stray cane swings and gasping quietly each time Juanita passed a fragile item with her dangling tote bag.

Miraculously, the three elderly ladies made their way to the newly revealed storage room with only one minor mishap—when Maxine’s cane caught under the leg from a chest of drawers and nearly sent her flying.

But the old lady caught herself on the solid top of the dresser, and no harm was done. Thank God, Fiona thought, envisioning the elderly woman crashing to the floor amid shattered lamps, bulbs, and vases…

“This is where you found it?” Iva asked, taking Fiona’s arm as soon as she got close enough and urging her forward. “How startling that must have been!” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “To find a skeleton hidden away for decades.”

Fiona had the feeling Iva had been a Nancy Drew fan as well.

“Yes,” she replied, and, having no choice, went on to describe in detail how she’d come to discover the gruesome find.

“And they have no idea who she is? Was, I mean?” Juanita asked. She’d set Bruce Banner’s bag on the floor, easing some of Fiona’s concerns about antique casualties.

“Not so far. From her clothing, she looked as if she’d lived during the fifties.”

“Must have smelled awful in here when she was decomposing,” Maxine growled. “Don’t know how no one could stand it. Would have been weeks, if not longer. Depends on the humidity and the temperature, and all that, you know.” Her voice was accusing, as if there was no excuse for Fiona not to know.

“The stench would certainly drive away customers,” Iva said, slowly lowering herself to a crouch so she could examine the floor—presumably for clues. Fiona didn’t have the heart to tell her that the forensics team had swept up anything that might have been important, and she and Carl had then cleaned up in their wake.

“Don’t even know what the building was at the time,” Maxine snapped. “Mighta been something else back then. Not an antiques shop.” She spun a look at Fiona, startling her by the sharp, discerning expression in her dark eyes. “When did Valente buy the building?”

“Uh…I’m not certain. I believe someone mentioned he’d owned it since he moved from Chicago to Grand Rapids in the Fifties,” she said, trying to remember who had made the comment. “That means he might or might not have owned the building when she was—uh—locked up.”

Maxine’s eyes glinted with interest and sass. “Needs looking into, missy. If you ain’t got the time, I’ll take Juanita to the library and we’ll look at them old newspapers. Damned microfishers are hard to read, but at least we can blow’em up big enough on them screens. Poor Neety can’t see hardly nothing, you know, without her glasses.”

“I can see enough to beat your patootie in Scrabble,” Juanita, who was not wearing eyeglasses, retorted. “That reminds me, dear,” she said, looking at Fiona. “I’m so sorry I missed your grand re-opening last week, but Maxine and I were at a Scrabble tournament in Kalamazoo. I kept my 1500 rating,” she added with a sly smile at her partner in crime.

“But you lost two games,” Maxine snarled. “And I only lost one.”

“The rating’s what matters,” Juanita replied archly. “As you well know.”

“Well, I—”

There was another rattling at the front window, and Fiona was relieved that, apparently, someone else had paid no attention to the sign. “Excuse me,” she said, slipping away from the two bickering ladies—and at the same time, wondering how Iva could tune them out, as she appeared to have done while creeping along the edge of the wall where the skeleton had been found.

When Fiona saw a tall, half-shadowed figure at the front of the shop, her heart leapt before she could stop it. She had to plant her feet firmly on a faded wool rug to keep from rushing to the door.

Gideon.

Quelling her anticipation and pleasure that he had, indeed, wanted to see her again, even though it went against her very grain to wish for that, she walked casually to the front of the shop.

She had every intention of throwing open the door and saying, “Can’t you read the sign? The shop’s closed,” and giving a coy smile. Then he would sweep her into his arms for the kiss he’d been waiting for all day….

It wasn’t Gideon.

“Mr. Sternan?” Fiona opened the door to the investment banker and nephew of Nevio Valente, ignoring the way her heart now sank to her knees.

Of course it wasn’t Gideon. And she was a fool to have her hopes riding on it being him.

“Ms. Murphy. I’m sorry to bother you—could I come in?”

As her brain processed that it wasn’t Gideon but Arnold Sternan standing there outside her front door, Fiona blinked, then stepped aside for him to enter.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m guessing you heard about my little surprise, then.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” He glanced at her, then swept his attention over the shop. “You’ve certainly done some nice work here, Ms. Murphy.”

“Thank you.” A little uncertain as to what he wanted, she merely stood and waited.

“I’m rather surprised you didn’t contact me or Brad—or any of us—when you made the—er—unpleasant discovery,” Sternan commented.

She nodded. “It didn’t occur to me, quite frankly—but I can see why you’d be interested. The detectives took it—her, I mean—yesterday, and they’re going to try and identify the body. If you haven’t heard the details,” she looked up at him, raising her eyebrows in question—since he’d obviously heard something, “it’s a woman and she’s been here about fifty or sixty years.”

“I wondered about that.” Sternan leaned against a table, crossing his arms. “Incidentally, how are you doing, Ms. Murphy? I’m sure it was quite the shock for you to find a skeleton hidden away.”

“Please, call me Fiona. And I’m fine. I was a little freaked out at first, as you can imagine—but, well, she’s been dead a long time.”

“Yes. So, the authorities are saying she’s been dead for more than fifty years? I certainly hope that they don’t try and attach Uncle Nevio to this mess.”

“I hardly think that a fifty-year-old skeleton in your deceased relative’s shop is going to ruin your reputation.” She smiled to take any sting out of the comment.

Sternan chuckled, and he appeared more pleasant than she’d ever seen him. “I suppose you’re right. But it’s difficult to know what will affect one’s reputation and what won’t—and I work with a lot of very important, very rich, and very powerful people in my line of work.” His smile faded suddenly.

Fiona felt a little chill skitter over the back of her neck. Had that been some sort of warning? Or had all of this activity made her exceptionally sensitive?

“Well, nothing was found with the body; at least, nothing to identify who she was,” Fiona told him.

“Er…well, then, I expect they won’t be making any assumptions about how the skeleton got there. I’m just concerned my uncle’s name will be dragged through the trash.”

“Do you actually think your great-uncle smashed her on the head and stuffed her in a secret room for fifty years?” Fiona said, a giggle bubbling up inside her.

“Certainly not. Uncle Nevio might have been odd, but he wouldn’t have hurt a fly,” Sternan replied in a tone that sounded far too hearty to be real.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes as she became aware of a sudden chill brushing her cheek.

And was that the scent of roses?

The hair on the back of her neck and arms prickled. The temperature had definitely dropped.

“It was so long ago, I’m sure he didn’t even own the property at the time,” Fiona said, a trifle louder than necessary. “Surely he didn’t.”

A loud crash startled them, and she whirled. “Oh dear.” An antique china shepherdess lay in smithereens on the floor, several yards away—and nowhere in the vicinity of the Tuesday Ladies, who remained huddled in the rear of the shop.

She spared a worry as to what they were discussing or planning, but then she was distracted when she realized the shattered figurine had been close to that old walnut desk with The Lamp on it. Fiona swallowed.

“How on earth did that happen?” Sternan asked in astonishment, staring at the mess.

Fiona forced a nervous laugh. “It must have been the cat—Gretchen. I wonder where she went.” She made a show of stooping as if to look under the nearby tables, but she knew the cat hadn’t knocked over the figurine.

But the fringe on the white milk-glass lamp was swaying slightly, as if a breeze—or something else—had passed by. Yet the door and windows were closed, and there weren’t any fans to stir up the fringe.

And still, the air had cooled. Suddenly and noticeably. The tip of her nose felt icy.

“I’d best get a broom and get that cleaned up,” Fiona said, hoping to take advantage of the diversion to bid her unwelcome guest goodbye. “Thank you for coming by, Mr. Sternan. I’m sure you understand, but I have to get back to work. The forensics team left quite a mess. Thanks again for stopping by.” She moved toward the door and opened it, letting the cooling evening breeze sift into the store.

Left with little choice, Sternan nodded and began to walk out, but, like Colombo, paused for one last entreaty. “If you don’t mind keeping me in the loop on what’s going on with the body, I would appreciate it. He was my uncle, you know.”

“Yes, of course I will,” Fiona promised. He was a relative, after all. “Have a good night.”

As soon as she closed the door behind him, Fiona returned to the scarred, oaken desk in the middle of the shop and began to yank open the heavy drawers.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that Valente—that harmless old man—could have been responsible for the woman’s death, if it was indeed murder, until Arnold Sternan had appeared so concerned about it. But now that the thought had struck her, she agreed with Maxine: she needed to know when Valente had bought the shop.

“If it was less than forty years ago, he’s innocent,” she murmured, bending almost double to look in the back of the bottom-most drawer.

“Who was that?” demanded Maxine Took.

Fiona nearly shrieked as she bolted upright. How had the old woman sneaked up on her like that? Usually, you could hear her shuffling feet and thumping cane from miles away. Not to mention her peremptory voice.

“That was Nevio Valente’s nephew,” Fiona replied. She looked at the elderly woman, who was frowning and staring around the shop. Iva and Juanita joined them. “You—uh—did any of you notice how chilly it got in here a few minutes ago? Was the back door open by any chance?”

“Chilly?” Maxine replied. “It was downright cold back there. Like being in a freezer.”

“That wasn’t the back door, dearie,” Iva said, patting her arm with a soft hand. “That was a Ghostly Presence.” The final two words were, very obviously, capitalized.

“The sudden cool breeze, the scent of roses…of course that’s what it was,” Juanita put in. Her eyes were wide and earnest.

Fiona stared at them. They all seemed perfectly lucid. “So you noticed the roses too,” she said after a moment of resetting her brain.

“Of course, dearie. Obviously, some spirit has been disturbed,” said Iva. “Probably the skeleton.”

Maxine’s voice was more of a screech than a comfort. “What did you—”

“Did these sorts of things happen before you stumbled upon the skeleton?” Iva spoke over her in a gentle but firm tone.

“Um…yes. A little.” Fiona couldn’t help but look up and around as if expecting to see some evidence of the Ghostly Presence. “There’s a lamp—”

“Well, we gotta find out who it is. Who’s haunting the place.”

Fiona nodded. She couldn’t argue with that.

“A Ghostly Presence means there’s something unresolved,” Iva told Fiona, patting her hand as if she was consoling her over the loss of the figurine, which, now that Fiona thought about it, was probably due to said Ghostly Presence.

“I suspect it means whoever killed that woman killed her here, and locked her up in that room to disintegrate,” Maxine said, looking around. Her eyes were sharp and clear, and her voice matched them.

Fiona knew that back in the late Sixties, Maxine had earned her PhD in chemistry and worked as a chemical engineer in an industry nearly exclusively populated by white men—not unlike the women of Hidden Figures. In this moment, the sharp, brainy, determined woman she’d obviously been was evident as she looked at Fiona and said, “And once you figure out who’d do such a thing, you’ll damned well know why there’s a ghost.”

“Then,” Iva said, “you’ll have to find a way to set things right.”

“That’s right,” Juanita said earnestly. She’d once again taken up her bag with the beady-eyed Bruce Banner peeking out of the top.

Fiona knew better than to reach out and pet the darling pooch. Despite his sweet face, soft fur, and butterfly-like ears that were too big for his face yet fit him perfectly, she knew from experience that he was aptly named. Bruce Banner was no fun when he was angry—and an unexpected pat on the head was a sure way to turn him into a small canine version of The Hulk.

“How does one set things right?” Fiona asked.

“It depends,” replied Iva, “on what’s out of order. I’m sure it will all come clear.”

I just hope I don’t go mad before it does.

“I want to look at one more thing before we go,” Iva said, gesturing to the back of the shop. “And then we’re out of here.”

“Knock yourself out,” Fiona said, finally returning her attention to the paperwork she’d been doing before all of the interruptions. As she slid her reading glasses into place, she said, “Lock the door behind you, please.”

Sometime later, she pulled off the glasses and put the last sheaf of papers aside. Bending over at the desk to stretch her back, she went on to do a few minor yoga twists in her chair, then and stood to stretch tall on her toes.

She stepped back to the desk. Fiona was just reaching across its wide expanse for a new pen when a firm touch at the base of her exposed back sent her snapping up and around.

She shrieked in surprise, and banged her elbow on the heavy side rail of the desk as she looked up, flinging her hair away from where it’d stuck to her mouth, to see a silently-amused Gideon, arms tucked behind his back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she sputtered, trying to swallow her heart back to where it belonged.

“My…I would have thought after last night…and this morning,” he said, giving her a very slow, sensual smile, “I’d have a warmer welcome than that.”

“Stop doing that!” She glowered at him, angry at herself now because the erratic, merry tripping of her heart had nothing to do with being startled.

“What? Walking up behind you?”

“Stop showing that you have a sense of humor. And sneaking up behind me.” Fiona tried to hold it back, but the nervous giggle escaped and she succumbed to the smile while her heart did a little flip.

He moved, and suddenly a mass of pale purple tulips—at least thirty of them!—appeared just under her nose, sending their sweet scent to her senses.

Fiona couldn’t help the sigh that gushed from her throat. “These are gorgeous.” Smoothing a fingertip over one delicate flower lip, she looked up at him. “What a gorgeous color! Almost lavender. And tulips—well, it’s not spring, so they’re extra special. They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought roses—especially red ones—would be far too cliché for you.” Gideon sat on the edge of the desk and reached to pull her chin toward his mouth. Holding the flowers carefully so they wouldn’t get crushed, Fiona lifted her lips to his. After several moments of reacquainting themselves with each other’s kiss, they broke away and pulled back to look at each other.

Fiona was unnerved as she recognized not only the intense emotion in his eyes, but also the depth of feelings that swelled in her chest when she gazed up at him.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” she asked, frowning. She would have heard him if he’d come in through the front door.

He shrugged and half-grinned, and she couldn’t help but notice how his shoulders moved. And now that she knew exactly what those shoulders looked like, and how smooth and hard and broad they were, it had an even stronger effect on her than before. “Iva let me in. She and Maxine and Juanita were just leaving.”

“Of course she did,” she said dryly. “I meant to check that they’d locked up after them, but I got so distracted after Arnold Sternan dropped in—”

“Sternan dropped in?”

The tone in his voice had her stopping cold. “Yes.” Why did he sound so…annoyed? She lifted a brow as if in challenge. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Just…curious.”

Her lift of irritation eased. “He was curious about the skeleton. As one might imagine.”

“Yes. But I find it interesting that he should drive all the way down here to ask about it.”

She gave him a flirtatious smile. “You drove all the way down here.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “I came down to see you. Not to nose around about a skeleton. As you very well know.” Before she could stop him, he tugged her to him by the shoulders, nearly crushing the tulips between them as he covered her lips with his.

If the earlier kiss made her melt like hot wax and want to collapse into a pile of nothing, this kiss made her nerve endings sing and singe with heat.

When she pulled away this time, she was breathing heavily, and he looked as though he’d willingly toss the cost of three dozen out-of-season tulips aside, just to get to her again. In fact, he reached for her, staring at her with some dark intensity in his eyes, but she slipped away.

Keeping the flowers between them like an aromatic, yet delicate, shield, Fiona forced her scattered thoughts into order. “Gideon, when did Valente take over this shop? When did he buy it?”

He blinked as though trying to refocus, looking at her for a moment without comprehension before frowning slightly. “I have no idea.” He reached for her again, but she thrust the flowers at him.

“All right, then. There’s a big vase in the back, by the sink—would you stick these in water for me? I’ve got to find something that shows when Valente took over here.”

Aware that Gideon hadn’t moved, she fought with a desk drawer containing old files she hadn’t yet gone through. The ancient drawer groaned like wind through the trees as she forced it open.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked, perching his very fine ass on the edge of the desk. “Even if Valente was involved, you didn’t even know the man.”

Barely glancing up at him, she rifled through an old, yellowed file and replied, “Because I’m a curious sort of gal. It’s a mystery—and it’s fascinating. I feel like Nancy Drew—you probably don’t even know who she was, do you?”

“Girl detective,” he retorted immediately. “Very goody two-shoes.”

Fiona snickered as she thumbed through old, yellowing files. “That would be true. She never even kissed her boyfriend that I remember. And she was a red-head!”

“Foolish, foolish girl,” he murmured, lifting a coil of her hair to spin it around his finger. He had, she noticed, conveniently forgotten her suggestion that he get a vase for the flowers.

“True that.” She scanned an official-looking document that turned out to be nothing more than an old insurance policy. “Valente was a freaking pack-rat,” she muttered, noticing the expiration date was February 19, 1963. “Sternan was all worried that the skeleton in the closet here would be damaging to his career. I’m surprised Brad hasn’t shown up, worried about the same thing, to be honest.”

“He probably will,” Gideon said in a perturbed voice. “If nothing more, it would be an excuse to hang around you and invite you to another fundraiser, or to dinner, or—”

“Either way, I thought I’d better check and see if Valente did own the shop when the woman was murdered.”

“Fiona, we don’t even have a date yet for her death, let alone know whether it was foul play or not. Why don’t you let the cops worry about it—”

“What a great idea! Gideon, they’d tell you. You could ask for some official reason, couldn’t you—as my attorney or something—so they’d have to tell you what they’ve found out. Will you?” She looked up at him with pleading eyes—coming as close to batting her lashes as she’d ever done before—and she could almost hear her mother’s disgusted groan.

“Will I what?” The calm, cool, and collected Gideon actually seemed distracted by her fluttering eyelashes. Maybe Marilyn Monroe’d had the right idea.

“Call the police and find out what they know.” She allowed her lips to part just enough that he would notice, and she was gratified when she saw his throat convulse in a hard swallow.

He looked away, down at the cluster of flowers he still held. “Fiona, it’s not that easy—I’m not sure what grounds we—you’d have to have for asking. But,” he held up a hand as she began to protest, “I’ll try it. Okay, I’ll try it—but can we just drop it for tonight?”

Beaming, she nodded, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder. “Thank you Gideon. I really appreciate it.”

He smiled at her then—a slow, taunting one that sent a rush of heat through her. All at once, the distraction of playing amateur detective was not enough to ward off that heavy emotion—the emotion that was easing into need….

It was Fiona’s turn to swallow and she turned away, crossing her arms in front of her. She would not melt into his embrace again. She needed some space…before he got too close and she got lost.

“Let’s grab something to eat,” Gideon suggested, his hands settling on her shoulders from behind.

She was fumbling for an excuse when a soft buzz vibrated near his waist. His hands left her shoulders and he pulled the sleek phone from his trousers.

“Hi.” His familiar greeting told her it was someone he knew casually. There was a pause, then he flickered a look at her, then away. “Uh…well, all right. No, that’s all right…I’m sure you did. Where are you?” He was quiet again for a moment, then replied, “Okay. Give me at least forty-five minutes and I’ll be there. I’m…not in town.”

He disconnected the call and slipped the cell back into his pocket. “Fiona, I’m sorry—that was a friend of mine who’s stranded with a broken down car and asked if I could help out. I need to take off. Can we hook up later for something to eat?”

“No thanks, Gideon,” she replied, sensing that he was uncomfortable about the situation and wondered if the “friend” was a woman.

Rachel.

She felt her stomach tighten, then ease slightly. It shouldn’t bother her—he’d told her they were friends and that anything beyond friendship was over. She could handle this.

After all, all she and Gideon had done was sleep together. Once. Hell, if her mother had tried to put the ball and chain on every man—or woman—she’d slept with, Claudia would be living with more lovers than Fiona could fathom.

But still…the uneasiness moved in her stomach and settled there like a bowling ball. A big, murky green one.

She’d be brave and elegant. She twisted her fingers into her skirt, hiding them in the flimsy rayon folds. “I’m kind of tired after yesterday’s excitement, and I’m just going to head home—I’m staying at Ethan’s here in Wicks Hollow—and try to get to bed early.”

“Well, all right.” He still looked like something was bothering him. She could have made a comment to relieve his concern—that she understood, that it was no problem—but, perversely, she didn’t. “You’re going to close up now, aren’t you? I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“What, do you think a skeleton might leap out and grab me?” she countered, smiling slightly. “I’ll lock up if you’ll just give me a minute. I don’t want you to keep your friend waiting, but I appreciate you staying around.”

Moments later, he bid goodnight to her at her yellow VW, leaving her with a kiss that left her breathless…and with trembling knees.