Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [30]
“You’re not staying here,” she told him.
“I’ll bet if Jack were here—”
“He’s not.”
“What are you afraid of, Perdue? Afraid you’ll succumb to my many charms?”
She groaned, and then burst into laughter.
He didn’t know whether to be insulted or just laugh along with her. He chose the latter.
Chuckling, he looked her right in the eye. “I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor.”
Her laughter died away, but the smile remained.
“We’re both grown-ups, both professionals,” he said. “We’re going to be working together for as long as it takes to find our killer and put him behind bars. That could be weeks or even months. You’re going to have to find a way to put aside your personal feelings for me and—”
“I have no personal feelings for you. None.”
“Prove it.”
She huffed again as she narrowed her gaze and glowered at him. “Dare I ask how?”
“Let me stay here.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Separate bedrooms, of course.”
Her big blue eyes widened for a split second and then she grinned. “Were you always like this, even as a kid? God, if you were, I don’t know how your mother put up with you.”
“I was. And she didn’t. I’ll have you know that I’m a trust-fund baby. I was reared by a series of highly trained nannies and first-class private schools.”
“Of course you were. Pardon my ignorance.”
“And you grew up in this house, didn’t you, you and Jack?”
Her smile vanished and a storm-cloud frown darkened her expression. Instead of replying to his question, she shoved back her chair and stood. “Come on. I’ll show you to one of the guest bedrooms. You can unpack and then we can discuss the new information that just came in at the agency.”
“What sort of information?”
“Several things, but the most interesting is the title of the only movie that my client, Lorie Hammonds, ever made. The stars of that film were Dean Wilson and Hilary Chambless, aka Woody Wilson and Dewey Flowers.”
“Some stage names, huh? So, what was the title of the movie the three of them made together?”
“Midnight Masquerade,” Perdue said.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Lorie and Cathy usually closed up shop at six on Friday and Saturday nights, but with Easter fast approaching, Lorie had extended the closing until seven for both nights. Three lingering, undecided customers, who wound up buying nothing, had pushed closing time to seven fifteen. Just as she waved good-bye to the last to leave—Paul Babcock, one of their regulars—and was in the process of closing and locking the front door, she saw Mike Birkett park his truck directly in front of Treasures.
What the hell was he doing here?
She stood in the open doorway and waited for him to emerge from his Ford F-150 pickup. He got out and walked toward her. Her heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to be so damn good-looking? And why, dear God, why did she still want him more than she’d ever wanted any other man?
“Closing up?” he asked as he approached.
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Got a few minutes?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
After he entered Treasures, she locked the door and placed the CLOSED sign in the window. When she turned around, she almost bumped into him. He stood so close to her that only a few inches separated her body from his. She sucked in a startled breath and eased backward, intentionally putting some space between them.
“I won’t keep you long,” he said.
“That’s all right. I’m in no hurry.”
“I just thought that maybe you…Well, it is Friday night, and—”
“I don’t have a date.”
“Good.” His cheeks blotched with embarrassment. He coughed and then cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean it’s good that you don’t have a date. I meant it’s good that I’m not keeping you from anything important.”
“I knew what you meant.”
He nodded. “You didn’t move in with Maleah last night.” He worded it as a statement of fact, not a question.
“No, she actually spent the night at my house and left early this morning. She was expecting Seth over for breakfast. And Derek Lawrence was supposed to arrive sometime