a lost cause, Reed shrugged and pointed toward the couches. “Do you mind if we talk for a few minutes? I do have some details on Barrington I’d like to ask you about.”
The warmth of her excitement faded. “I’d like Lilah to be here with me.”
“Sit down. I’ll go get her.”
* * *
Lilah smoothed another sheet of fondant, already envisioning the elaborate ivy that would rise up along the side of her latest project. The shade of green had come out perfect and the slender white lines she’d experimentally painted on a few of the leaves cut from the first sheet gave just the look she was going for.
Adrenaline kicked in her veins as the vision began its slow progression into reality and she danced toward her already-blaring docking station to switch from the always-kicky Donna Summer to some Aerosmith.
Steven Tyler’s voice had just screeched when she let out a screech of her own as a large hand settled on her shoulder.
Immediately, she swung out, her arm a hard arc against the muscled, solid chest behind her.
“Whoa!”
Fear and panic warred with confusion as Lilah twisted once more to see her attacker, reality pushing through the moment as the image of Reed Graystone registered in her mind.
He had backed up several feet and was already reaching for the music dock on the counter when she stopped, her heart racing like a Thoroughbred.
“What the hell are you doing?” His loud voice echoed even louder with the loss of music.
“What are you doing sneaking up on me?”
“I’m not sneaking! You were dancing like a manic fairy in here and I was trying to get your attention. I hollered your name about four times.”
“Oh.” Lilah stilled, the initial panic fading into a wash of embarrassment.
Which only managed to piss her off.
Her shoulders hunched and she mentally shook off the weight, standing straighter, even though her voice remained petulant and gruff when she spoke. “Why not just turn the music off, then? I regularly carry a knife in my hand. You should watch yourself, Detective.”
“So noted.” The light of battle still sparkled in his gray eyes, but she saw something else.
Concern.
“I need to talk to Cassidy about something and she’ll do better with someone with her.”
The lingering panic in her belly faded in full at the mention of her friend, along with that gentle awareness in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got some questions about Barrington. I also have an update.”
Lilah glanced at her workstation, then to Reed. “Give me a minute to cover everything and I’ll be right out.”
He followed her to the counter, his gaze on the work already laid out. “Those are gorgeous. They look like real leaves.”
“That’s sort of the point.”
“But I mean, really real. Like I could smell them if I were close enough. Are they edible?”
“Yep.”
“Can I try one?”
She lifted one of the already completed leaves with a small cake knife. “Take this and go. I’ll be right out.”
The leaf had already disappeared through his lips and Lilah struggled to hold back a smile at the grimace on his face. “It’s chewy.”
“It’s fondant.”
“Do people really like that?” That deep voice was still distinctive, even around a mouth full of gummy sugar.
“Some people do. And it makes for stunning decoration, which is why it’s one of the weapons in a baker’s arsenal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He swallowed hard, then backed toward the door. “Speaking of weapons... Why don’t you do me a favor and leave the knives in here?”
Lilah watched him disappear through the kitchen entry into the main store. The urge to go to her friend was strong, but she gave herself a moment to give in to the equally strong urge to linger.
Every time she thought she had a handle on her reaction to Reed Graystone, the damn man showed up again and had her rethinking her position.
Nearly beating him up in the middle of her kitchen likely wasn’t lost on the good detective, either, Lilah suspected.
Ignoring the embarrassment, along with that small swirl of desire that flamed to life every time he showed up, she covered the leaves with plastic wrap and headed for the main salon.
No reason to keep the man waiting.
* * *
Lilah had known Cassidy Tate and Violet Richardson since the first day of college. The three of them had immediately bonded over their living space, their common interests and an innate ability to talk about anything and everything that struck their collective fancy.
So the wide-eyed friend who sat on the couch, her slender frame set in fragile lines, was a surprise.
Cassidy was many things, but delicate to the point of frail wasn’t it.
Lilah sat and took her hand before turning her attention fully on the detective. “What did you find out?”
“We’ve been looking into Robert Barrington’s background, especially who might have sprung for his bail.”
“His parents, I’m sure,” Cassidy said.
“I’m afraid not.”
Lilah listened to the details, shocked by the pervasive sense of something foul and malicious that filled Reed’s words. Paperwork they couldn’t quite find, signed off on by a nameless, faceless individual who had paid for Robert’s release.
All resulting in a second dead body in less than a week.
The fact they knew both of the deceased had only pushed the creep factor off the charts.
“So I need to ask you again, what knowledge do you have or could you possibly have on Robert Barrington?”
Fierce, protective urges rose up first at the leading question, stilled only when she caught the sincerity in Reed’s gaze. Measuring her words, Lilah kept her tone even. “We’ve been over this and over this. None of us had contact with Robert Barrington until he reappeared last week.”
“I understand that, but is it possible Cassidy’s former association with the man could lead to a few more strings to tug?”
“Tucker and I have discussed this, as well.” Cassidy offered up a tremulous smile before she leaned forward, her innate strength forcing itself to the surface. “And after I got over being mad at him for asking me basically the same question, I got to thinking.”
“And what conclusion did you come to?” Reed probed.
“There are connections and have been for a long time. How deep they run is the bigger question.”
Lilah sensed the shift in Cassidy’s demeanor before her friend took her hand, the grip of her fingers tight with support.
The whirling flash of panic that had come upon her in the kitchen returned in full force.
She knew that look.
It was pity veiled behind a layer of sympathy. She’d thought their relationship well past looks like that, but apparently she’d been wrong.
As wrong as thinking she could stay several steps ahead of her past.
“I think Lilah’s ex-husband, Steven DeWinter, might be the connection.”