No Unturned Stone (The True Lies of Rembrandt Stone 2)

“Of course you were.” He set the bag down. “You work too hard.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” He stepped back from her, his gaze roaming her face. “You’re so amazingly smart, and someday everyone will figure that out, I promise. But you don’t have to kill yourself to get there.”

She stared at him, nonplussed. “How do you…how do you do that?”

“Do what?”

And she didn’t want to say it because it sounded just so…so… “You just know me.”

He smiled then, his eyes warm. “I…yeah. Well, I want to, I guess. And it doesn’t take a detective to figure out how hard it might be to stand out in a family of overachieving brothers. And, to be the only other cop in the family. I’m sure your mother wasn’t thrilled.”

“No, she wasn’t. In fact, she forbade us from being cops. The night my father was shot, she was so angry with him. Called him reckless and…and, well, she’s told me more than once that I’m just like him.”

“Oh, no, Eve, you’re nothing like Danny. You’re not reckless or stubborn, okay a little stubborn, maybe but—”

She swatted at him.

He dodged it. “Listen. You’re a great CSI. And you’re going to be at the top of your game.”

“You mean I’m not already?”

His mouth opened.

“I’m playing with you, Stone.” Then, and she couldn’t put her finger on why, she said, quietly, “Can I tell you something?”

He nodded.

“After the coffee bombings, after you were nearly stabbed, I…well, I felt like I should have done a better job. I should have helped you find the location, maybe even the bomber—”

“Eve.” He took her by the shoulders. “Stop. That was an accident—”

“What? Finding the right coffee shop?”

His expression turned a little pale. “I got lucky.”

?

?No, you didn’t. You got stabbed.” She took his hands. “You could have been killed.”

And for a second, the same hollow look from last night came over his face. Then, “Naw. C’mon. You’ve met me. I’m indestructible.”

She gave him a look, but he winked at her.

There it was. The guy her father warned her about. Cocky, arrogant, and disarmingly charming.

“Besides, Eve. Don’t tell me that you didn’t stay up for days afterwards picking through the evidence to confirm the bomber.”

Huh. Because yes, she had. “I connected him to all three bombings, just like you said. But, the one thing I’m still looking for is his designer.”

Rembrandt frowned. “What?”

“The guy who designed the bombs. Ramses Vega made them, for sure, but he didn’t design them. That guy is still in the wind.”

The words settled on Rembrandt like an anvil and he took a breath. “Right.” Then he looked at her. “Maybe we’ll find him together.”

Maybe. “You trust me?”