“Slower than I’d like, but she’ll come through.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“She’d be crazy not to. I have a great concept and the right connections to carry it off.”

She didn’t miss the determined set of his jaw. In Coop’s mind, once he’d decided on something, it was as good as done.

After that, they worked together without saying much other than “Stop hogging the sink” and “Where’s the sriracha?” She sautéed the vegetables in a little olive oil, tossed in the eggs she’d beaten, and topped them with the herbs he’d chopped along with a generous handful of grated cheddar. He took plain white plates from the cupboard and extracted the bread he’d put in the toaster.

By the time everything was ready, the domesticity of the scene had started making her itchy. She wished she didn’t like him so much, but how could she not? Coop was the man she’d have wanted to be if she’d been male. Setting aside his money and fame, he was smart, he understood hard work, and, except for being stubborn and dictatorial, he was rock-bottom decent.

“Let’s eat outside,” she said as he poured them coffee. “But only if you zip your sweatshirt first.” She needed a good reason other than the real one. “Those bruises aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Your sympathy for human suffering warms my heart.”

“I’m a giver, all right.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled.

Even on a chilly October morning, the nook he’d created in the corner of the garden was inviting. Its vine-covered latticework made a natural windbreak, and the purple canvas chair cushions were thick and comfortable. It had been a long time since she’d had anything as tasty as the fluffy omelet she’d made with the ingredients he’d gathered. She was almost . . . happy.

***

Coop watched her across the table. Pipe didn’t believe in picking at her food, and even though she took small bites, she managed to consume the omelet in record time. When she remembered to eat, she gave it all she had, the same way she did everything. How could someone so tough, so determined, and so ballsy be so intrinsically female?

It was too damp and overcast for comfortable outdoor dining, but he’d been so conscious of the inviting bed above their heads that he hadn’t protested moving out here. It was a good place to cool off. Except all he’d done so far was heat up.

Pipe set her fork on her plate. He’d noticed before how dainty her hands were and made a mental note never to use that word to her face.

Earlier, he’d seen her staring at his chest. He’d initially assumed she was checking out his bruises, but then he remembered her attraction for that particular part of his body and decided something more interesting was going on in her head. But leaving his sweatshirt open on purpose was one of the biggest cheeseball moves he’d ever made. Still, anything that gave him an edge was fair game.

“Annabelle Champion doesn’t seem to think you have any crazed ex-girlfriends lurking around,” she said.

“Now what were you doing talking to Annabelle?”

“Satisfying my curiosity.”

“Well, stop it. You quit, remember? And I’m not hiring you back.”

“Who else do you trust enough to investigate what happened? She also said there’d been a couple of crazies.”

“Most recently? A loony named Esmerelda Crocker.”

“Totally harmless.”

“Are you?” He leaned back in his chair and took her in. Her face was so full of life. Those bright eyes had a whole world going on behind them. And that wide mouth . . . So much he wanted to do with that mouth. So much he wanted that mouth to do to him.

She took too long to look away. He smiled to himself. She wasn’t as detached as she liked to pretend.

She reached for that ratty messenger bag she carried around and pulled out a notebook. “You’ve been in the public eye for years. You have to have gotten your fair share of hate mail.”

“The Stars office still screens my mail. If they’d gotten anything they thought was serious, they’d have let me know.”

“Who do I talk to there?”

“You don’t talk to anybody. And put that notebook away. This was a random attack, and you’re trolling for a job.”

“A job that needs doing.”

“Really? Then why haven’t you brought up the most obvious suspect? My pal, the Prince of Darkness.”

She toyed with the edge of her notebook. “I’m getting there.”

“Very slowly. And I know why.”

She nodded. “Because I feel responsible.”

“You aren’t, but I like your guilt.” He appreciated the way she stepped up to the plate with none of the pretend ignorance so many people hid behind. Pipe was a straight shooter. Except when she chose not to be.

She balled up her napkin. “How was I supposed to know you were going to give Prince Aamuzhir a phony Super Bowl ring? And he’s in London now. Yes, I checked. Not that it means anything. And, yes again, I’m worried. It’s one thing dealing with a disgruntled former employee or a Broncos fan who’s still holding a grudge over that Hail Mary you threw against them on fourth-and-ten. It’s another thing entirely to deal with a foreign dignitary—and I use that word loosely. He could easily have hired that thug.”

“Look, Pipe. I know your heart’s in the right place, but the bottom line is that you’re an investigator without a job, and you’re trying to manufacture one.”

As soon as he’d said it, he wanted to take it back. Her eyes darkened, and her wide mouth collapsed at the corners, if only for a moment. She’d always been impervious, even amused, by the insults he’d enjoyed tossing at her—insults about the way she dressed, her ballsy attitude—but he’d insulted her integrity, and her hurt was painful to watch.

She rose from her chair, back straight. “I gotta go.”

He got up and blocked her way. “Hold on. That didn’t come out the way I meant.”

“I think it came out exactly the way you meant,” she said quietly.

“No, it didn’t.” He cupped her shoulders. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she lifted her head and stared him down, daring him to insult her again.

Her shoulders nestled in his palms. Her personality was so big that he sometimes forgot how small she was compared to him. “Pipe, you love what you do, and all I’m saying is—that could be impairing your judgment.”