their meal. All the while, she was acutely aware of his steady gaze on her as she moved around the kitchen work island dicing ham and cheese.
“No box?” His question caught her by surprise.
“Nope. Scratch.” She tossed the cheese and ham into the pot with the drained pasta, added some milk and stirred.
“Isn’t a box easier?”
“Not really, and this tastes a whole lot better.” Satisfied with the progress of their meal preparation, she turned her attention to the next item on her agenda—securing Cabrini while they ate. “Which hand do you eat with?”
The wicked twinkle in his eyes told her he was remembering the rest stop and her logistical error. A slow smile curved his lips. An answering heat crept up her neck.
Manitoba. She hadn’t blushed this much since…ever.
She had a bad feeling she better get used to the heat.
Chapter 4
Frank lounged back against the cushioned kitchen banquette. In spite of her warning, the meal had been rather tasty, if heavy on the dairy products and lacking in the vegetable food group.
The handcuffs rattled as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. His dining posture left something to be desired. The table leg she’d cuffed him to was positioned too far under the table for him to sit upright.
He rattled the cuffs again, drawing her attention. “Could I interest you in undoing these?”
“Why would I do that?” Eating hadn’t noticeably improved her disposition.
“It’ll be easier for me to do the dishes without the bracelets.”
“You want to do the dishes?”
“I’ve never known anyone who wants to clean dishes. It just seems a fair offer to make since you did the cooking. It was quite good, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had macaroni and cheese since I was twelve.”
“Hmph.”
“Figure out your problem yet?” They’d eaten their meal in silence. Neither of them had offered any conversation openers. He’d spent the time mulling over the situation and trying to come up with a plan.
“What problem?”
“Whatever it is that’s been eating at you for the past half hour.”
“The problem part is easy. It’s the solution that has me stumped.”
“Let me guess. I’m your problem?”
“Perceptive, aren’t you?”
“Still haven’t decided if you believe me?”
“Whether or not I do, I’m still stuck.” She dropped her head into her hands and dug her fingers into her hair. “Which agency did you say you work for?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you take the cuffs off and I’ll answer all your questions while I deal with the dishes.”
She didn’t answer.
“Consider it a test.”
She blew out a breath and pushed away from the table. “You’ll answer all my questions?”
“All that I can without jeopardizing my investigation.”
She snorted. “That’s convenient. Anything I ask that you don’t want to answer, you just claim classified, is that it?”
“Even if it is, you’ll still get the dishes washed and the kitchen cleaned up. That must be worth something.”
“Fine. Turn around.”
He complied, twisting his right arm behind him as he faced the wall. She was still plenty wary and not taking any chances. Every time she uncuffed him, she made sure he was in as awkward a position as she could come up with.
The cuff loosened and he waited for her next direction. He really wanted to win her trust, and figured it would be in his best interest to comply with her requests and not move until so ordered.
“Stand up.”
He turned slowly and found her standing across the table from him with her gun drawn. Laying both hands on the table, he slid to the end of the seat and stood.
“I didn’t find any soap for the dishwasher, so you’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. There’s dish soap in the cabinet under the sink.”
He nodded, gathered up the dishes and moved to the sink. The black of night beyond the glass turned the window over the sink into a mirror. He could watch her as he worked with his back to her. Water splashed, suds grew and silence fell.
“No questions?” he prompted.
She stood behind him, her arms crossed, her gun resting at the ready. “Who did you say you work for?”
Time for a little more trust-building. “Actually, I never said.”
“You aren’t really a Fed, are you?” An undercurrent of anger shaded her words.
“No.”
He heard something that sounded suspiciously like “Sanibel.” Was she more pissed off that he hadn’t told her the truth or that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion? “If it makes you feel any better, I was with the ATF up until about a year ago.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” Nothing he’d talk about. “Just time for a change.”
“Are you freelance or part of an agency?”
“The Diamond Group is a moderate-sized, highly respected private investigation firm in Washington D.C.”
“Isn’t that nice. What’s it got to do with you?”
No more assumptions on her part. He smiled. She learned quick. “I’m on the staff.”
“So, what are you doing in Minneapolis?”
“We’ve been contracted to look into an old case that never closed.”
“Who hired you?”
He shook his head. “There we’re getting into client confidentiality. You can appreciate that, I’m sure.”
The distortions of the window didn’t lessen the impact of her glare at him. He waited for her next question.
“If you can’t tell me who your client is, will you tell me what you’re investigating?”
“Arson.”
She straightened and their eyes met in the dark glass.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what you’ve learned.”
“Sorry, Elf. I’m a long ways from writing the final report. Especially with this unexpected interruption in my schedule.”
Her sigh told him his little dig had landed on target. He wiped his hands and draped the dish towel over the dishes in the drainer. When he turned around, he caught her in midyawn.
“Tired?” He glanced at the clock on the wall then double-checked the time with his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. “Strange. It’s late, but I’m not that tired. In fact, I’m feeling rather well-rested.”
She scowled at him. “We’re back to my problem. How am I going to secure you for the night?”
“Do you suppose the owner of this place is into bondage? Maybe he has an extra set of cuffs….”
Elf turned a furious red from her collarbone to her scalp. He grinned. “Guess not, huh?”
“I would find it highly unlikely.”
“So this place isn’t yours? Who does own