"Maybe later?" He winked.
"Sebastian!" She was beginning to wonder if he'd been hired to distract her from her goal.
"Sorry." He adopted a serious expression. It lasted all of ten seconds.
She shook her head at him. "Give me twenty minutes to get showered and dressed then I'm ready to work." She emphasized the word "work" but the amused look in his eyes didn't convince her he'd take it seriously.
* * * *
Sebastian couldn't quite believe he was being paid to follow Amy Norton around while she chatted with the librarian, the postmistress, and the shopkeepers of Arundel, about the time the TV crew came to town. It was an absolute pleasure observing her, and he quickly noticed she had a knack of swinging the conversation around to see if anybody remembered anything unusual about Quentin or his crew. Her dad was right, she was great with people.
The way Sebastian saw it investigative work was a lonely job. He tried to keep a good sense of family amongst the team of investigators and security specialists that worked for him, to stave it off, but his gut instinct told him someone like Amy would not thrive in that world. It would be a shame to think of her out on the road hunting down facts, alone, or badgering the police to get the scoop she wanted, when she could be doing a more people-friendly kind of job.
Besides, he had a strong hunch she was barking up the wrong tree with her Quentin Edwards' investigation, and he was trying to figure out the best way to suggest that without appearing offensive or pushy. The main problem was she was approaching it as she would her normal line, acting on a press release or tip off. That might not get her the information she needed. It was her case, but his instinctive desire to help her demanded he do something positive toward her cause, whatever that might take.
Her dad hadn’t taught her much about investigative work. Richard Norton obviously didn't want his daughter to go into it full time, which Sebastian could understand. It would be good to see her get her scoop though. Maybe he could help her out, without her realizing?
After they caught a late lunch at one of the rustic pubs, he told her he'd go pick up supplies for that evening. "I'll give you some space. I don't think you'll come to too much harm, but keep me in touch with where you're at on your mobile."
Not surprisingly, she agreed.
By the time she headed back to him later in the afternoon, he'd planned the dinner menu and got the pool car running more smoothly. He'd even given it a quick wash and valet. He enjoyed the physical labor, he always did. He designated one weekend a month for a similar check and polish on his Land Rover. Every other fortnight he had his sister's kids to visit. The two scheduled events kept him from working around the calendar, something he could easily fall into since his ex, Catherine, had up and left with some bloke she'd met at her office, a year back. He'd been about to propose, blindly thinking she was content. He'd been ready to settle, make a home together and have a family.
When Amy caught sight of him polishing the car she waved with her notebook, smiling. The hem of the dress wavered around her shapely legs, drawing the eye. Sebastian was willing to bet everyone she spoke to would be eager to chat with her.
She nodded at the car. "They won't take it back. They'll say it's not theirs."
"Well, it's somewhere near roadworthy now. How did you get on?"
"You were right. It's all faked." She looked up the house. "The original site of the coven could be anywhere. Everyone thinks it's a hoot that the town was featured on the show. The whole yarn is down to a clever landlord who cashed in on a painting he found stashed in one of the local antique shops ten years ago, and no one remembers much about the Ghost Hunter crew aside from the space their equipment took up on the town square on the day of the farmer's market."
It was as he had suspected. Poor Amy, and she was so keen. He wanted to see her smile. "Do you like Thai food?"
"I love Thai food."
"I thought that might be a good way to start the evening."
"Are you thinking what I think you're thinking, Mr. Armitage?"
"I hope so." He reached for her hand and drew her fingers to his lips.
"So, Quentin is as vague a memory as any other tourist?" he asked as they went back into Hammer House. He'd decided he was going to try to guide her. It might blow up in his face, but he had to try. Best to get it over with.
"This has turned out to be a bit of a blind alley." She hung her shoulder bag over a chair in the hallway and stared ahead for a moment.
"Maybe you should think about going about the mystery in a different way."
She turned back to him, her eyes narrowing. "Are you questioning the way I'm working?"
He thought he'd broached it gently, apparently not. He'd expected a retort, but she looked mighty upset all of a sudden. Then he recalled her father's words of warning about her pride and her impetuous nature. "No, I'm not criticizing," he replied calmly as they made their way to the kitchen. "I'm only suggesting you look at the situation from a different perspective."
"I intend to look at it from a different perspective when I find something to look at." She sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, knotted her fingers and stared down at them, her mouth tense. She was disappointed at the lack of information she had turned up, and she was smarting. He hadn't helped. Perhaps he should have waited before he added his commentary.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound critical." He took a seat opposite her. He couldn't help smiling, though. She was an attractive hothead. He looked at her hungrily, reliving each exquisite expression that had passed over her face the night before and again, that morning, when she'd been in the throes of orgasm.
"Anyway," she said. "What can I do differently? I'm working in a logical fashion through the information I've been given."
He pounced on the window of opportunity. "That's exactly it. You're working with information you've been given."