moved on to the next aisle. And noticed, as they rounded the corner, the shocked look on the face of the middle-aged woman who’d been standing in front of a display of pots and pans. She looked from Elliott to her and back to Elliott again. Eventually she turned back to the cookware, leaving Marie with a huge dose of defensiveness where Elliott was concerned.
He didn’t say anything, so neither did she. And on they shopped. Not saying much. It was just past dinnertime and employees were out with little metal carts, serving samples of many of the food items the warehouse had for sale that week. As always, she passed them by. Elliott didn’t skip a single one of them—earning him another stare or two.
She earned herself one—from him—when she made a stop at the candy aisle and added a ten-pound bag of little individually wrapped chocolate bars to the cart.
“You serve all homemade food.”
“I know.”
“Surely you don’t go through that amount of candy at home.” She noticed him look at her figure.
“It’s not for me,” she said. “You’ve met Janice Maynard and her mother, Clara.” Janice, a seventy-three-year-old spinster, who lived with her ninety-five-year-old mother, had been in the shop one of the days reporters had swarmed the place after news of Connelly Investments’ fraudulent activities hit the internet. Janice had been upset by the cacophony and Elliott had personally escorted the two women to the private elevator and up to their apartment.
“Janice and her mother are almost as small as you are.”
Maybe. Though Marie had never thought of herself as small. Gabrielle was small. Neither of them was overweight. They both had good figures. But Marie took two sizes bigger on top, which made it difficult to share clothes.
“Janice’s mother has a penchant for snatching candy out of bowls or off from tables and hiding it in the seat of her walker,” Marie said. “I make it a habit to always have some on hand for her to snatch. It’s harmless.”
It was only as they were waiting in line to pay that Marie realized how much of a kook she must look to him. And wondered why the idea bothered her so much.
She’d never really cared before what other people thought of her. She liked herself, and that was what mattered. Or so her mother had always said.
But as a little girl gave a bit of a yelp when they approached her in the parking lot on the way to the car, hiding behind her mother’s leg as she watched them walk past, Marie couldn’t help being bothered. “That’s why you were apologizing, earlier. You get this a lot, don’t you? People staring at you?”
His shrug made her curious. More than curious. She wanted to know what it hid. Wanted to know everything he didn’t say to her.
“I’m larger than what most people are used to,” he said with no inflection as he began to load her purchases into the back of his SUV. “I’m not only tall. I’m broad. I have to special-order my pants and shoes.”
The words were personal. She wanted more. “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Sixteen and a half.”
Marie glanced at his feet. They were huge. She’d never really noticed before. Because they fit his body.
And she’d made him feel uncomfortable. Which wasn’t her way at all.
“Burton’s in love,” she blurted as soon as they were buckled into the SUV for the drive home. She hadn’t meant to tell him. It wasn’t as if Burton’s love life had anything to do with him.
But the news had depressed the heck out of her.
And she’d had to say something to get rid of the awkwardness that had arisen between her and Elliott.
He looked over at her before he’d even started the vehicle. Tall, bright security lights popped on around them as dusk was turning to darkness.
“That’s why he asked me to lunch today,” she babbled, to fill the silence. “He wanted to tell me that he won’t be able to accompany me to the theater anymore. He and Rebecca are getting season tickets together.”
There. She’d told someone. She hadn’t even been able to keep a boring mama’s boy faithful to her.
Not that she’d tried. She’d told Burton, quite emphatically, that she was not and was never going to be interested in a romantic relationship with him.
“I’m happy for him,” she blurted next. Why didn’t he turn on the car? Get them home where she could take a hot bath and forget life’s little embarrassments?
Or cry in a glass of wine?
“The timing kind of sucks, though,” she added when he just sat there.
“Why’s that?”
He’d been listening to her. “You know, with Gabi and Liam all newlywed-like. At least I could count on Burton for a night out when I needed it.”
She couldn’t believe how selfish that sounded. Out loud. What about what Burton needed?
“I really am happy for him,” she said, feeling better for no reason whatsoever. As evidenced by the smile she sent Elliott’s way. She’d just needed to talk the whole thing through. Would have done so with Gabi by now if her friend were around more.
“I think you really mean that.”
“Of course I do. He’s a nice man. A good man. He deserves to be happy.”
He’d probably be faithful, too.
Marie kept that last thought to herself.
LIAM, WHO’D GRADUATED with a degree in finance and business administration, but a minor in journalism so he could pursue his first love—writing—had a full day at the Connelly Building on Thursday. Jeb Williams, his father’s bodyguard and also a financier on the top floor, had Liam’s back while he was in the building, but Elliott insisted on seeing the man to and from the downtown high-rise. Gabrielle first, then Liam. Reverse on the return. With time in between to watch the neighborhood around the Arapahoe. To talk to people. Get a report from the security guard checking residents in at the back door. Something was amiss. He just didn’t know what.
So there’d been a blue car with a stolen plate that had left when he approached. Didn’t mean it had anything to do with Liam Connelly. Or was any threat to Marie.
His gut was telling him not to walk away from this one. Not to let go.
Because there was something he hadn’t seen yet? Something he’d missed?
Or because he needed to believe there was still danger so he’d be forced to stay on this job?
Liam waited inside the employees’ private parking garage entrance to the Connelly Building until Elliott pulled up in the SUV. Finally. He’d been telling his client to take his safety more seriously since news of his father’s duplicity—and the company’s criminal activities—first broke.
“Williams is going to be calling you,” the expensively suited man said as he settled casually into the seat. Before Elliott could ask why, his cell rang and Williams’s name popped up.
“You got Connelly there with you?” The man, whom Elliott had first visited during his initial investigation of Liam on behalf of Barbara Bustamante, didn’t introduce himself.
“Yes.”
“Has he told you about the reporters?”
“No.” He didn’t look at his charge.
Pulling out of the darkened garage into bright sunshine, Elliott turned left, making another quick left to head toward the building that housed the public law offices where Gabrielle worked.
“He