“Let’s do it.”

Blake gets up to grab his laptop, setting it on the edge of his desk in front of me. “So let’s start over. What could cause Ol’ Dick to have these metals in these quantities?”

His question leaves me fluttery. Not because it’s all that unique. I’ve been asking myself the same thing. But once again, he’s letting me be the lead. Most folks in the department are so ready to get out of my presence that they don’t ask me anything other than ‘where’s the written report?’ before laying tracks for the nearest door.

He looks at me expectantly, waiting patiently for my input, and right in the middle of my chest, I feel another flutter.

Which reminds me . . .

“I think we need to leave out the heart attack as a symptom for our initial inquiries because it’s an acute event. More like the signpost, but not the road. The metal levels are indicative of a longer, chronic condition. Maybe if we can figure out how it started—”

“We can figure out how it ended,” he finishes. “Makes sense.”

I click into a browser and begin searching out possibilities. I know most of them, but there have to be some that I haven’t crossed off yet.

Blake watches me, reading over my shoulder as I jump from website to website. We discuss dozens of possibilities and discount them all.

Hours later, or so it seems, we’ve reached a dead end.

“So the oddest thing is the presence of this particular combination of heavy metals. Typically, exposure is to one metal, but Dick’s insides have basically been doused in everything—lead, mercury, and arsenic.”

“Arsenic?” Blake repeats. “That’s been used as a poison for centuries. Before it was traceable, it was known as ‘inheritance powder’ because it was commonly used by beneficiaries if dear old Dad wasn’t dying fast enough. Slip him a mickey and boom, you’ve got the keys to the kingdom. Is that what Mrs. Horne’s trying to do?”

He’s talking about murder for money, and all I hear is his pulling out historical trivia like a boss. A very sexy, smart boss. I stumble over my factual response, trying to let the heat his intelligence ignites die down. “Doubtful. We’ve all got some arsenic in our bodies. A lethal dose, though . . . definitely unusual. Arsenic is easily and routinely screened for now, so it’s a pretty stupid murder weapon.”

“Yvette Horne doesn’t strike me as the intelligent sort,” Blake retorts with a smile. It’s so distracting, so easy and light. I want to smile like that, as though the world isn’t a cruel place where things get ripped away from you as soon as you get attached to them.

Focus, Zoey. Think about Richard Horne, lying face down in his morning breakfast with juice puddled in his lap.

That image is enough to bring me back to our research. “True, but we can’t discount the other two metals.” Blake nods, and we go back to clicking and reading, reading and clicking.

Sometime later, I have no idea if it’s been minutes or hours, Blake puts his hand over mine to stop my mouse scrolling.

I glance up at him and have to blink away the dryness in my eyes from staring at the screen. “What?”

“C’mon. We might not get the answer tonight, but I need to feed you.”

My brows knit together, confused. “I’m not hungry. And what if the answer is in the next paragraph? Or on the next website?”

“Then that paragraph and website will be there tomorrow,” Blake reminds me. “And what if it’s not? Plus, your stomach’s been growling for the last fifteen minutes.”

I slap my hands over my belly, feeling heat flush my cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t notice.”

“I know. And you looked so cute, lips moving along as you read and light sparkling in your eyes as you considered every word. I couldn’t bear to stop you. But I need to get home to Chunky too.”

“Oh!” I exclaim. “Sorry! I’ll let you go. I just . . .” I trail off, standing and scrambling to grab my purse and the toxicology report printout. “I lost track of time. I’ll let you get home. Sorry.”

I try to hand the paper to Blake, and he tilts his head, eyeing me with a questioning look as he takes my hand instead of the printout.

“Zoey.” His voice is firm and quiet, stopping me in an instant.

Even my brain shuts up and tunes in to Blake. “Yes?”

“I’m not telling you to go. I’m saying ‘let’s go’. The both of us.”

There’s no question mark in what he’s saying, but the question is in his eyes. Along with his desire. “Oh.”

Apparently, that’s all I can say, but he doesn’t need any more. He closes his laptop and puts it in a bag, which he throws over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he tells me. No questions at all this time.

I consider arguing, once again trying to save his ass if he’s not inclined to do it for himself, but then he turns, and when confronted with that ass in slim-fitting business slacks, all I can do is follow him out the door like he’s the Pied Piper.

Hopefully, not to either of our deaths.

Chapter 13

Blake

For the third time, I glance up into my rearview mirror, but Zoey’s right there, just as she’s been since we pulled out of my office’s lot. She’s following me, and I count it as a major victory.