cleared her throat. “Thanks, Zach, but no, really, that’s okay…”
Mariah’s words trailed off as she watched him make quick work of the plastic then begin to cover her with the nappy cotton. The back of his fingers skimmed her bare arm, making her feel like the plane had hit an air pocket as her stomach bottomed out. “I…um, can do it.”
His eyes scanned her face, making a whole different sort of goose bumps dot her flesh.
“Thanks,” she said.
She’d never seen a guy grin with his eyes before. But if anyone could, Zach Letterman was the man. A pure knowing seemed to lurk in the meadow-green depths, inviting her in, robbing her of both breath and words.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, then he returned his attention to the Wall Street Journal.
Mariah puffed out a long breath and settled the blanket over the upper part of her body. She turned to look out the window. Why was it that whenever he looked at her she found it suddenly impossible to breathe?
She shifted and made a face. P.I., her butt. If the man next to her was a private investigator then her name was Cindy Crawford. She surreptitiously watched him turn the page of his newspaper, her gaze lingering on his long, thick fingers and the springy dark hair that dotted the backs. He struck her as a man used to traveling. He barely looked at the flight attendant who offered a drink and a snack, while she had spotted the attendant the instant he began serving the passengers fifteen rows up. She never took her eyes from him for fear that he would miss her. Okay, so she wasn’t a frequent flier. This was her third time on an airplane and, admittedly, she didn’t much like being so far up off the ground. There was something…unnatural about it.
But it was more than Zach’s comfort with airplane travel that fueled her suspicions. Take the gun incident. Investigation training usually required the investigator to take at least one course in the art of using a firearm. She knew things worked differently up North, but she didn’t think they worked that differently. Then he had avoided answering her question on what had led him to be a P.I.
She made a face. Okay, so she hadn’t shared her reasons, either, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a licensed P.I. She was.
Maybe he just didn’t get out in the field much.
Still, a niggling part of her suspected that Zach Letterman knew as much about being a P.I. as she knew about weeding a flower garden, which was basically limited to whatever she saw when she tuned in to Martha Stewart. And that wasn’t all that often.
Her gaze slowly slid back to Zach’s handsome profile. While he lacked experience in the private detecting arena, she’d guess he had a whole lot of experience in other more intimate arenas. He was the type of male who would know exactly what a woman wanted from a man. And would be able to give it to her.
Zach folded his newspaper and slid it into the pocket in the seat in front of him. His gaze met hers and, as usual, her stomach bottomed out—especially when his eyes darkened, an unmistakable attraction lurking in the green depths. In fact, for a moment she thought he might even kiss her. She caught herself licking her lips in preparation.
“So what do we do once we get there?” he asked.
“Hmm?” Mariah slowly blinked, his words taking even longer to register. “Oh. We rent a car and drive the forty miles from Huntsville to Scottsboro to visit the Unclaimed Baggage Center.”
The gleam in his eyes turned into a grin, making Mariah’s own mouth suddenly go dry. “I’d gathered that. I meant, will we be checking into a hotel?”
Checking into a hotel? With what had to be the most attractive guy she’d come across since she used to pin up pictures of rodeo stars on her bedroom walls?
“No. No, I don’t think a hotel will be necessary.” She swallowed hard and wished she could pull the little blue blanket up over her head. “If luck is on our side, we’ll find the bag and be on the next flight back to Houston.”
“And if luck isn’t on our side?”
“Then we should be able to ascertain that the bag isn’t in Scottsboro, and be on the next flight back to Houston.”
He glanced at his watch, making her crane her neck to look at the sleek crystal as well, completely forgetting that she wore a watch of her own. “Well, then, we’d better make quick work of getting to the center, because the last flight out to Houston is at six.”
Mariah’s eyebrows shot up.
He seemed to notice the move. “I asked back at Hobby.”
“Oh. Good. Good.”
That was a P.I. move, wasn’t it? Either that or he was a man used to being prepared.
The question was, prepared for what?
Okay, what was it with her today? Her thoughts seemed to bounce all over the universe and back again. Then she remembered Justin’s announcement and collapsed against the chair and frowned. So, this was what being a reject did to you. It made you look, feel and act like a fool.
Or maybe being a fool was exactly the reason she couldn’t land a forever guy to begin with.
SO MARIAH CLAYBORN WASN’T the chatty type. As Zach watched her climb out of the rental car outside the Unclaimed Baggage Center, he told himself he should be thankful. He wasn’t much for small talk himself. In fact, he told himself he should be glad she wasn’t asking him too many questions. He’d decided early on that he was going to keep his real reason for being in Texas, and working for Jennifer Madison, to himself. Yes, while the entire P.I. business intrigued him, he had no intention of making a living as a P.I. He reminded himself that he was down here strictly to get the feel for the territory so that when he returned to Indiana he’d be prepared for the task of opening satellite offices of Finders Keepers.
He was, however, used to letting other people do the talking. Ask a couple of questions, and most people went off on long tangents that usually left him knowing more than he’d like.
But with Mariah, he found he didn’t know nearly enough. She’d been quiet ever since they’d left her office in Houston. Throughout the drive to the airport, the plane ride, then the drive to Scottsboro, the few questions he had asked had received little more than one-word answers.
Zach rubbed the back of his neck as he closed the cab door, watching Mariah lead the way to the door of what looked like a retail store about as big as a city block. While he didn’t consider himself a ladies’ man, he certainly thought he knew a whole lot about women. And one of those things was that they loved to talk. All you had to do was find the key word. Shopping usually did the trick. But he’d tried no fewer than ten of the regular conversation words on Mariah and she hadn’t bitten on a one of them. Not even politics had gotten more than a small smile from her.
He shrugged and followed after her. Okay, so she wasn’t interested in idle conversation. It was a new one for him, but Zach could handle it. Well, he could if there wasn’t the whole P.I. angle to think about. He’d like to get to know more about the business. And he’d like to get to know a whole lot more about Mariah Clayborn.
They talked to a clerk who told them that the type of baggage they were talking about wouldn’t be on the sales floor yet, but back in the warehouse behind the store. She made a phone call then walked them back to a large door. “Go on in. You’re expected. You’ll find James somewhere in the piles.”
Piles? Zach scanned the countless objects for sale, the place looking like a garage sale lover’s paradise, then stepped through the door the clerk held open. He immediately saw what she was talking about. Everywhere he looked were mountains of luggage. Big pieces, small pieces, expensive pieces, cheap pieces. All things that belonged to somebody somewhere and held cherished memories from their trips.
“Oh boy,” Mariah said, next to him.
“You can say that again.”
“Oh boy.”
Zach