“I think you want to, and if you don’t, you’ll regret it.”
As usual, Gabi was right.
But Marie was still getting used to the idea of falling for someone. She wasn’t ready to take that plunge yet.
CHAPTER TEN
ALMOST A WEEK PASSED. The Denver police had no leads on the man who’d hired a two-bit criminal mechanic to debilitate Liam’s car. George Costas, the corporate attorney charged with fraud in conjunction with the Ponzi scheme that had been uncovered at Connelly Investments, still had no plea deal.
And Elliott Tanner was in real danger.
Marie Bustamante was not only a big part of his waking hours; she was appearing in his dreams now, too.
“What’s up, Elliott? You look like I made your coffee too strong.” The woman, dressed in black leggings, a cinched-in white top and her Arapahoe apron, slipped into the chair opposite him Thursday night. It was late. The shop was closed. Her last employee had left an hour before.
As had become their routine, she’d made him a cup of coffee—on the house—while he waited for her to tally up her day’s income and make out the bank deposit that would be picked up the next morning by the free courier service provided by her bank. He’d then see her upstairs to her apartment before he
ading up to spend another long evening alone in his own room.
Liam and Gabrielle had invited him, every single night he’d been there, to join them. He’d politely excused himself.
He was working. And, until he’d met Marie Bustamante, he had always had very clear boundaries where his clients were concerned. The boundaries were blurred, but he was still determined to hold on to them.
“We should be getting upstairs,” he said, picking up the napkin he’d dropped to the table when he carried his coffee over.
Her hand touched his. “Wait.”
As carefully as he could, he extracted his hand. Picking up what was left of his coffee—cold now—and taking a sip.
“I...wanted to talk to you for a minute.”
And her apartment wasn’t the place to do it. He got where she was going with this. And relaxed. “What’s up?”
Shuffling in her seat, she looked as though she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. Fold them together. Or leave them open on the table.
He voted for folded. In her lap.
They ended up on the table.
“I just...how much longer do you think this is going to go on? I mean, it’s been almost a week and...nothing.”
“If you remember, I told you last Saturday, in the office, that it’s not all that unusual to have a period of inaction after an arrest. And this guy, while the frequency of his attacks might be escalating, doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to let Liam off the hook. Either by hurting him or ending the harassment.”
“So we could be living like this for months? Or longer? I got the impression last week that this was a very temporary arrangement.”
“I expect it to be.” Was she that eager to be rid of him?
Disgusted at the inane thought that he’d had it at all, and that there’d been real emotion attached to it, Elliott continued. “There was a surveillance camera at a shop across the street from the garage where our slasher was hired. I thought we’d get something from that.” He hadn’t told them before. Not while it had been part of the investigation.
“They didn’t?”
“No.” He’d just heard from the detective that evening. “But I believe, as do my contacts in the Denver Police Department, that once Costas pleads guilty, this guy’s either going to back off completely, go after Costas or show himself again.”
Marie nodded. Her brown eyes shadowed as she looked at him. Was she having trouble sleeping? Or was she just tired from a long day?
“Anyway,” he said, feeling an uncharacteristic need to lighten the moment, “it’s not like having me around is a death sentence or anything.”
Was he actually asking for reassurance? From her?