C.J. Carmichael - Seattle after Midnight

She flicked on the hallway light and climbed the stairs. She hesitated, then reached into the bag to pull out Pierce Harding’s business card. In her bedroom, she switched on a lamp, then sat on her bed. She liked that it was a no-frills card, sensible and somehow manly, too. She wished she could believe that he’d handed it to her because he wanted to hear from her again. But when she remembered his vaguely aloof farewell, she knew that explanation wasn’t likely. He’d offered his card as a courtesy, in case that flower turned out not to be an innocent gift after all. In fact, he may have intended for her to consider hiring his services.

She felt her face grow hot with belated embarrassment. Of course, that was what he’d intended. She dropped the card into the wastepaper basket, disgusted with herself for feeling so disappointed.

She’d only just met him. Why should she care if he’d been courting her business, rather than her?

WHAT A NIGHT.

At two in the afternoon, Georgia pulled herself out of the warm covers and sat on the side of the bed, her feet flat on the cold hardwood floor. She hadn’t slept well at all, unable to stop thinking about the man she’d met last night.

Had Pierce Harding really been as incredible as she remembered? In the cold light of day, it didn’t seem possible. Her mother had always said her unrealistic romantic streak would cause trouble for her one day. Falling for a dark, intriguing stranger who had rushed to her rescue fit in with that theory all right.

Georgia glanced at the rose. She’d left it on her dresser and it was drooping sadly, the petals blackened along the edges. Poor Jack. He’d gone to all that effort and she hadn’t even bothered to put the blossom in water.

Well, it was too late now. She dropped the rose into the wastepaper basket, then froze, as Pierce’s business card caught her eye.

Oh, heck, maybe she should keep it. Just in case.

She placed the card on her dresser, and began to plan her day. She’d buy groceries first, then put together several home-cooked meals for Fred’s freezer. Since she loved spending time in the kitchen, Georgia didn’t consider this a chore but something to look forward to.

An hour later, after marking three recipes and compiling a substantial grocery list, Georgia was at the front door, making sure she had money, the list and her keys. She glanced in the mirror above the painted wooden bench to check her lipstick, then opened the door.

Something on the porch floor caught her eye.

It was a rose. Another red rose.

She glanced around the neighborhood looking for something or someone who didn’t belong. But all was quiet and still. She stepped out onto the porch to check the blind spot behind the rattan chair and footstool she kept out here. Again, nothing was amiss.

Whoever had left her this rose was long gone. Georgia stooped and grasped the end of the stem, careful not to prick herself on the thorns this time.

Like before, a note had been wrapped around the stem. She went inside, closing the door and locking it, before she scanned the short missive.

Georgia, the typed message read. I heard the song you played for me last night. Did you know I was listening? Have you seen me watching you, too?

She frowned, trying to temper her rising anxiety. She had to stay calm. Think clearly. This had to be from Jack. She’d played a song for him last night. Of course, she’d known he’d been listening. But watching?

He must have followed her home. She shivered at the idea, then shoved the note into her bag. What should she do?

The image of Pierce’s business card came immediately to mind. He’d said to call if she had any problems. Was this second rose a problem?

Judging by the pounding of her heart and the sweating of her palms, it was.

PIERCE’S OFFICE space consisted of three interconnected rooms. One was his, another was shared by Jake Jeffrey and Will Livingstone and the third was for storage and reference materials. He had a computer with Internet access set up in there that he and his staff all shared.

The receptionist, Robin Housley, sat in the crossroads of the three offices. She had a computer that was supposed to be used to keep track of appointments and addresses and the bookkeeping records. Unfortunately Robin had no experience with even the most basic of computer accounting packages. She kept a manual ledger and was forever scribbling numbers on odd scraps of paper, which she stuck to the computer monitor. At least it was useful for something.

When she’d applied for the job of receptionist at Harding Investigations she’d stood in front of his desk and said, “I’m forty-seven and completely untrained for any type of job. My husband left me five days ago and I have an autistic child to provide for.”

It was quite the job résumé. He’d never heard another like it.

Unless it was Jake’s, the kid he’d hired as a general gofer and legman who came to him initially with his ankle in a cast. Or Will Livingstone, who’d been “retired” from his job with a bigger agency, but who couldn’t afford to stop working just because he was over sixty.

When he’d started his agency after Cass’s death, Pierce hadn’t intended to have one employee, let alone a staff. The point of leaving police work had been to work alone.

But his business had grown so quickly—mostly thanks to references from the cops he used to work with—that he’d been forced to hire. Now Pierce was happiest when his employees were doing the jobs he’d employed them to do without asking any questions or needing any help. That wasn’t often.

And then there was the cat.

Entering his office now, Pierce could see her curled in the top drawer of his filing cabinet. She’d claimed the space the first day she’d shown up, mewing at his door. He’d given her to Robin, instructing her to get rid of the damn pest.

An hour later, he’d spotted the stray drinking milk from his coffee mug. “What’s this cat still doing here?” he’d demanded of Robin.

“Ask her,” Robin had shrugged. “She won’t talk to me.”

And, though she never did talk to Pierce, either, she did seem to like him best, sleeping in his office, curling up on his lap whenever he sat still for more than five minutes, mewing when he first came in for the day.

She did that now, standing up, arching her back, stretching out her front paws.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered back at her, heading straight for his desk. Robin was on his heels.

“Do you have the time sheets from last week for me yet?”

“I do.” From his briefcase he pulled out the paperwork he’d finished earlier, knowing Robin would be drafting the invoices this afternoon. There would be errors, and he’d have to correct them, but that was the way things went around here.

Robin took the information from him, handing him a cup of coffee in exchange. When she’d first started, he’d told her she didn’t need to do that, wait on him like some kind of servant. But making coffee was the one thing she was really good at and so he hadn’t tried too hard to dissuade her.

“Thanks.” He took his first sip, only then feeling that he might be able to get through the rest of this day after all.

“You have a three o’clock appointment,” Robin told him. “A new client.”

He frowned. With around-the-clock surveillance on the Calder case right now, everyone was pretty busy. And he’d been planning to spend his afternoon in the courthouse, digging through land files for one of his lawyer clients.

“Hard to say over the phone, but she sounded young. And sexy.”

He raised his eyebrows at Robin, not changing his expression in any other way.

“I’ll start a file for her. Leave it on your desk.” Robin left his office, not bothering to close the door, which was just as well, since she was typically in and out so often there was little point in erecting a barrier between them.