“You think Edith has a thing for him and he doesn’t return her feelings? That’s why she’s always so irritated with him but doesn’t lock her door?” Marie asked now, trying not to be hurt by Elliott’s distance.
He was working, she continued to remind herself.
And she, for one, was glad that he was.
“I think it sounds as though there’s something else going on there.” Elliott’s deep voice spread softly around them. “I can’t say what that something is.”
“Ask Grace,” Liam said, handing Gabi the bread basket before she’d even asked for it. “She’ll know.”
And so it went. They talked about the Arapahoe. About business at the shop. Even a little bit about Threefold’s finances. The trio had had to have a name for the LLC that bought the Arapahoe and Marie’s choice of Threefold had won the vote. The LLC currently held title to the building and all leases therein—including the one for Marie’s coffee shop. They had two non-senior citizen renters, both of whom paid on time, and a list of repairs that were waiting their turn. New wiring was going to be starting the following month. Enough to get the entire building up to code. It was only during that business discussion that Elliott had seemed to fully participate in their evening at all. But Marie wasn’t fooled. He’d asked seemingly pertinent questions—many of which were similar to ones he’d asked before—so she knew he hadn’t really been engaging with them.
When everything with Liam’s father had first gone down, Elliott asked to see the Threefold paperwork. Liam and Gabi had been racing the clock to prove to the FBI that Liam was not involved in his father’s company’s illegal dealings. Marie had gone over Threefold’s files with Elliott.
Their waitress stopped to offer more wine. Everyone declined. And before they were through their main course, they’d exhausted historic Arapahoe conversation and moved on to the weather.
No one mentioned the stalker out to get Liam. Or Elliott’s episode with danger that morning. No one mentioned anything that would bring tension to the table.
But it was there anyway.
* * *
ELLIOTT MEANT TO push the button for the second floor. Drop Marie first. And then ride up one floor to see Liam and Gabrielle safely inside their more luxurious apartment.
Habit had his finger on floor three as soon as he was in the elevator. His work for Barbara Bustamante Connelly didn’t require him to visit Miss Bustamante’s apartment often. Generally he was on the third floor with Liam.
He was overeager to get home. Made a tactical error. Not one that put anyone but him in any danger.
It was late. He’d seen the worry in Marie’s eyes that evening. Remembered how concerned her friends had been over her worry about him earlier in the day. Thinking he should have called her. As if there was something between them.
It had felt good. For a second there. Having a woman worry about him.
Too good.
He shouldn’t be alone with her.
But alone he was as soon as he did a well-being check of Liam and Gabi’s home and reentered the ancient elevator with Marie. It took thirty seconds for the door to close, the elevator to bump its way down a floor and reopen her doors. Seemed like five minutes to Elliott.
“Did I do something to offend you?” she asked as he held out a hand for her key and unlocked her door—as he’d done with Liam moments before.
“Of course not,” he said, all business as he strode through the flowery-smelling apartment and tried not to notice all the colorful, homey, soft touch arrangements everywhere. From the painted glass in one room, to the colorfully flowered ceramic décor in another, he focused on safety concerns.
“You didn’t have to check my place,” Marie said. “I’m not, nor have I ever been, in any danger. Liam’s the target, not me. Besides, in case you didn’t notice, I have one entrance and two dead bolts. Courtesy of my mother. You think my worrying is bad, you should meet her.”
She’d tossed her clutch on a light-colored leather sectional filled with pillows.
He shouldn’t meet her mother. Ever. Didn’t need to. He knew her too well via phone. And mail. Her paychecks came right on time. Every time.
He also didn’t need the reminder that he was working.
His mind had been fully aware of that fact every single second that evening.
“Everything’s fine here,” he said, hoping he could get her sweet scent out of his senses as quickly as he was going to make it out her door. He made a straight shot.
Had his hand on the doorknob.
“You’re sure I didn’t do something to make you mad?”
She looked like a siren standing there. And with that blond hair, she was an angel.