“What’s going on?” Mia stepped out onto the wide, brick porch. “How’d you get him to leave?”
“Made him an offer,” Dave said as he walked toward her.
She blinked at him. “You paid him off?”
“I did.” Dave took the porch steps and stood directly opposite her. “Bought his camera and recorder.”
She looked up at him and he could see disdain in her eyes. “It’s easy for you, isn’t it? Just buy people if you have to.”
“I didn’t buy him,” Dave corrected with a smile. “I bought his stuff.”
“And his silence,” she added.
“In theory,” Dave agreed. “But there’s nothing to stop him from spreading this around, despite his lack of evidence.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Then paying him off accomplished nothing?”
“It bought me some time,” he said, mind still racing.
“Time for what?”
“That’s something we should talk about.” The more he considered his idea, the better he liked it.
When Alex had disappeared, Dave had hired an investigator. He’d seen the writing on the wall and had known that sooner or later, people would start suspecting him. As always, he’d figured it was better to be prepared. The investigator hadn’t turned up much information on Alex, but Dave now knew enough about Mia to convince him he could get her to go along with his plan.
“But first,” he said, meeting her eyes, “tell me. Do you think I should be a suspect?”
She looked at him for a long, silent minute. He knew she was thinking that over and it irritated him more than a little that it was taking her so long to make a judgment call. “Well?”
She slumped one shoulder against the doorjamb. “Probably not.”
His mouth quirked. “A resounding testimonial.”
“I don’t know you well enough for that.”
“Right. Well. That’s something else we should talk about.” He glanced over his shoulder at the empty yard and scanned the tree line looking for another sneaky reporter. He’d learned over the years that reporters were like ants at a picnic. First you saw one. Then two. Then the picnic was over.
“Can I come in?”
“All right.” She stepped back, allowing him to pass by. Dave caught the faintest whiff of a light, floral scent that reminded him of summer.
Once in the house, Dave headed for the living room. He’d been here before, to meet with Alex. It was a nice house. Plush but tasteful. Cream-colored walls, bold, dark red-leather sofas and chairs and heavy dark tables. The windows looked out across the yard and were tinted, making it easy to see out but almost impossible to see in.
“What’s this about?” Mia asked.
Dave turned to look at her. “I’ll come right to the point. Alex being missing is hard on both of us.”
“Is that right?” she asked. “How are you suffering?”
“Gossip.” He tossed his hat onto the nearest couch, then shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. “The whispers and rumors about me might screw up a deal I’m working on.”
“A deal?” Her eyes widened. “Alex is missing and you’re worried about a deal?”
“Life goes on.” He said it flatly. Cold and hard. He saw reaction glitter in her eyes and he could appreciate that. He admired loyalty. “I didn’t have anything to do with Alex’s disappearance and I don’t think you did, either.”
She laughed shortly. “Well, thanks very much. I didn’t know I was a suspect.”
“Why wouldn’t you be? You’re his housekeeper.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not?”
The look on her face was pure astonishment. And no, he wasn’t serious. No one would ever suspect Mia Hughes of anything illegal. She was quiet, shy—or at least she had always seemed so until this morning—and she didn’t exactly come off as a femme fatale. First, she was too skittish to be involved in any kind of plot. She’d blow the whole thing in minutes if it came down to it. And secondly, she was just too all-American-girl-next-door.
Shiny red toenails notwithstanding.
But throwing her off balance was just what Dave needed. Because he needed her. In fact, she was damn near perfect. The plan that had occurred to him while he was dealing with the would-be reporter actually depended on her. If she agreed—and she would—then he had a way to explain him being here—should the kid decide to go ahead and post to his blog anyway. And it might also appease Thomas Buckley and his narrow view of life. What Dave needed was a wife. Not a real wife, mind you. But something temporary. Something that would buy him the time he needed to clinch the deal he wanted. But the women he normally went out with would never convince Thomas Buckley they were the home-and-hearth type.