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“Anything having to do with you or Lucia interests me. You don’t have to thank me for something involuntary.”
“Involuntary?” I let out a self-conscious snort. “Like a sneeze?”
“No. More like breathing.”
His quiet response abruptly halted that very bodily function to which he referred. I shoved the folded paper into my pocket. “Um, great. Okay. Thanks.”
“The investigating officer’s going to want to talk with you,” Liam said. “I told her you were on your way over here. But you haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”
I floundered, thrown off course. “I, ah … what?”
“Breakfast?” His subtle smile flashed. “First meal of the day? Familiar with it?”
“I’ve had coffee,” I offered.
“You’ve got me beat, then. There’s that diner downtown. We could get some food into you before you talk to the detective. Might not be a bad idea.”
I started groping for excuses. Calm down. At mealtimes, normal people get food. They don’t read hidden significance into it. Lighten up.
“Some food would be great,” I said faintly.
Chapter Eight
Nancy
I regretted my decision once I was seated across from Liam in the mirrored pink interior of Luigi’s Diner. I also regretted that I hadn’t left my hair loose or worn contacts instead of glasses. And something a little lower cut.
Not that I had cleavage to speak of, but still.
He just waited patiently across the table from me, sipping his tea. After a couple of minutes of that, my control snapped. “What?” I demanded. “What are you waiting for? What are you looking at?”
He discreetly looked away. “I was looking at you. You look ...”
“What?” I demanded. “Unapproachable? Aggressive?”
His mouth twitched. “Not at all.”
“What, then?” I demanded.
“Great. You look great, Nancy.” His velvety voice was low, caressing.
I wrapped my arms across my chest. “I’m sorry. Long, significant silences make me twitchy. I appreciate you being nice, but I look like hell, so please stop saying that.”
His eyes narrowed. “You look stressed and scared, but that doesn’t keep you from looking good. And I’m sorry about the long, significant silences. They’re hardwired into me. I’m not much of a chatterbox.”
“Oh. That’s okay.” I stared down into my coffee and fished Liam’s copy of Lucia’s letter out of my pocket, unfolding it. “And yes, I am scared. Very scared. Mostly, I’m scared that things didn’t happen the way the cops think they did. Lucia wrote this letter, but we never received it. Someone took it during the first break-in. And your classic dickhead burglar looking to trade a TV or a diamond ring for a hit of meth? That guy is not going to take this letter. That guy does not give a shit about this letter.”
Liam nodded. “Agreed. He absolutely doesn’t.”
His quiet agreement rattled me even more. I’d been half-hoping that he would talk me down from this terrifying line of reasoning, but now it looked like I had to face it head on.
“So who took it?” I went on. “And what is this ‘thing’ she’s referring to? What’s the deal with these pendants she gave us? And if she had this great big hairy family secret, why didn’t she tell us before, goddamnit?”
Liam cleared his throat. “Maybe she was?—”
“What the hell does she mean by that crack about ‘what it did to her father’? And who even knew she was married at all? What kind of mom just sort of forgets to mention that pesky detail to her daughters? Even if they are adopted?”
Liam waited patiently for me to get my ya-yas out. People were starting to peek at the scene I was making. I hunched over my coffee cup, embarrassed. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m freaking out on you in public. The breakfast date from hell.”