Page 56 of Thick as Thieves

“Why are you so angry?”

“I don’t like people meddling in my business.”

“Well, you’ve had a heyday meddling in mine,” she said loudly. “Imagine my surprise when I got back from Dallas this afternoon to find a locksmith’s van parked in my driveway.”

Shit. In light of everything else that had happened, he’d forgotten about that. He’d called a locksmith from his truck immediately after leaving the memory care center. It had scared him to think that if Rusty chose to, he could get just as close to Arden as he had to Henry. Not that door locks would protect her, but he’d acted on a compulsion to take at least one preemptive action.

But he’d gotten snagged by something else she’d said. “You made a round trip to Dallas today?”

“To talk over something with Lisa.”

“Something you couldn’t talk over by phone?”

“You’re getting me off the subject. Why did you take it upon yourself to order new locks for me?”

“Because you didn’t take it upon yourself. You needed stronger door locks, and now you have them.”

“He said you told him that it was an emergency.”

“If something had happened to you, at least I would have a clear conscience. I’d have done my best to protect you from an intruder.”

“The only intruder I’ve had was you.”

“And you should be damn glad it was me,” he shouted.

In the sudden hush that followed, he could hear her breathing as she forced it to slow down. Then, speaking quietly, she said, “He gave me a receipt. He had already charged your credit card. I’ll pay you back.”

“Whenever,” he mumbled.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

After another laden silence, she said, “It didn’t really qualify as an emergency.”

That’s what you think. Rusty fought guerilla-style. He struck without warning and in nefarious ways. Likely, she would never see him coming, and it sickened Ledge to think how creative Rusty could be, he who had no scruples.

She seemed a lot smaller here in his cavernous workshop than she had in her kitchen. The glow of the light fixture gave her a fairy-like quality. She looked even more delicate and vulnerable than she had in her insubstantial nightgown. Her hair looked softer, her eyes larger and more innocent.

But he realized that it wasn’t the setting or the lighting that made her look more fragile here and now. It was her contrast to him. Big and mean him, shouting, incautiously slamming back shots, trying to keep a leash on rampaging lust.

He needed to get her away from him. “What have you decided about the house?”

“Who is Crystal?”

He didn’t actually reel backward a step or two, as though he’d taken a blow right between the eyes, but that’s what it felt like. Vulnerable, fairy-like, fragile? Like hell. She was a steamroller.

He didn’t answer her question.

“The reason I ask,” she said, “is because when I called the bar, and you weren’t there, it was suggested by the person I talked to that I should check with Crystal, that you might be with her.”

“I wasn’t.”

“She’s…?”

“A friend.”

“With benefits?” When again he didn’t respond, she said, “Given that you kissed me last night, it’s a fair question.”