Runaway Colton. Karen Whiddon
sixteen-year-old.
It seemed he’d barely adjusted, his life finally evening out when Renee took off. The last thing he needed would be to form any kind of attachment to Piper Colton, whether emotional or sexual.
While he placed the teakettle on the stove top to heat the water and emptied the little packets of cocoa into mugs, he reminded himself that she was his bounty. Or a client. Actually, both. Either way, she was off-limits.
The kettle whistled and he poured the water into the cocoa powder, stirring. He didn’t have any whipped cream on hand since the only time he bothered to buy that was for pies. Plain old cocoa would have to do.
He carried the mugs back into the living room and placed one down on the table in front of her. “Cheers,” he said, raising his in a mock salute.
Her smile caused something to twist in his gut. “Cheers,” she replied. “Thank you for making the cocoa.”
“You’re welcome.” Placing his mug on the hearth, he pretended to fiddle with the logs and the fire so he wouldn’t start grinning like an idiot.
“I’ve been working on a plan,” she said, offhandedly scratching a pleased Truman behind his ears.
Surprised, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. She lifted a spiral notebook to show him. “Just some ideas at this point.”
“Ideas of who might have actually killed Eldridge or where he might be?”
“No.” She shook her head. “About places we might look for Renee.”
“Seriously?” To keep himself occupied, he grabbed his mug and chugged some of his cocoa. The instant he did, he realized his mistake. Too hot. Somehow he managed to swallow, inwardly cursing the burn on his tongue.
Piper didn’t appear to notice. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I figured you’d want to work on your stuff first.” He shrugged, and then took another, more careful, sip.
“I thought we could do both.” Patting the coach cushion next to her, she opened her notebook. “Come sit. Let’s go over these notes.”
As he debated the dubious wisdom of sitting so close to her, the doorbell rang. Truman immediately leaped to his feet and charged the door, barking.
“Truman, come,” Cord ordered. Once Truman had reluctantly complied, Cord gave him the hand signal for sit and then stay. Piper watched, her expression amazed.
Now that the barking had quieted, Cord checked the peephole. “Fowler,” he said out loud.
Piper gasped, jumping from the couch so quickly she nearly spilled her cocoa. She fled, heading toward her room. Cord waited until he heard her door close before he opened the front door.
“What are you doing here?” Cord demanded, blocking the entrance so Fowler would have no choice but to remain on the front stoop.
Fowler peered at him, swaying slightly. He wore his usual suit, though his tie had been loosened. “I thought I’d check to see if you’d made any progress.”
Was that a slight slurring of his words? Not that it was any of his business, but as far as Cord knew, Fowler didn’t drink.
“This is my home.” Cord kept his tone firm. “It’s after nine p.m. If you want to discuss business, you’ll need to stop by my office during business hours. I’d suggest you call first and make an appointment since I’m often out on the road.”
None of his words appeared to register. “I know.” Fowler gave him a lopsided grin. “But we were passing right by here and I decided to stop in and check with you.”
We?
“Have you been drinking?” Peering around the other man, Cord tried to find Fowler’s car. There it was, blocking his driveway. He couldn’t tell if there was someone else inside or not.
“I have. But I’m not driving. Tiffany is. And she doesn’t drink.”
The difference from the uptight, overbearing businessman to this inebriated, regular guy made Cord wonder if he’d misjudged the other man. Either way, he knew he couldn’t let Fowler inside the house.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Cord began closing the door. To his annoyance, Fowler stuck one foot, clad in expensive Italian leather, in the way.
“I’d suggest you move that foot,” Cord warned him. “It might hurt if I stomp on it or slam the door with it still inside. You might even sustain a broken bone or two.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” There. That pompous tone was 100 percent the Fowler everyone loved to hate.
“Try me.” Cord checked his watch. “I’m going to count to three and then the door is going to close. One.”
“You work for me,” Fowler declared, his expression a strange combination of pinched and sloppy. “I demand you give me a status update.”
“Demand? Wrong choice of words. I’m not on the payroll 24/7. Two.”
“Damn you.”
“Three.”
Fowler jerked his foot back so hard he stumbled. Cord slammed the door, secured the dead bolt and took a deep breath. He peered through the blinds, wanting to make sure the other man actually left.
Only once he’d witnessed Fowler climbing into the passenger side of the car did he go and fetch Piper, Truman tagging along behind him.
Tapping lightly on her bedroom door, he turned the knob and peered inside. “He’s gone.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She sat perched on the edge of the bed as if about to take flight, her face pale. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I sent him away.” As he took a step into the room, he realized she was trembling. Damn. “Are you all right?” This was so unlike the brash, confident Piper he’d begun to know, it worried him.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
One more step closer. “You don’t look fine.”
At that, she jumped to her feet. “All right, I’m not. As soon as I realized Fowler was here, I figured you’d give me up.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you work for him.” The way she spoke made him realize she’d clenched her teeth.
“True. But I already told you I wasn’t about to turn you over just yet, remember? Legally, since you haven’t missed your court date yet, I don’t have to. I don’t go back on my word. I told Fowler you’d be back before your court date. You agreed to this. We’re good.”
She shook her head, hands clenched into fists at her ides. “Tell me the truth. Is Fowler out there waiting for me?”
Though he knew he should keep his distance, he took yet one final step, stopping a few feet from her. “Let’s get one thing straight between us, Piper Colton. I’m a man of my word. I don’t lie. If I tell you he’s gone, he’s gone.”
At his words she made an angry puff of sound before she spun and stalked to the other side of the room, away from him. Truman the traitor followed her, tail wagging. She reached down and petted the dog, scratching just above his collar. “You’ve just contradicted yourself. If you don’t lie, how’d you get Fowler to leave?”
Though damned if he didn’t feel he were hunting her, he followed. “He didn’t ask if I’d found you or if you were here. He demanded a status report, which I refused to give him. Nothing but the truth. That’s the one thing you can always count on from me.”
“Braggart.”
Not