Page 8 of Thick as Thieves

And somehow that added an unintended innuendo to what she’d said. She was quick to explain. “I saw your ad. On the internet. I Googled local contractors, and you were listed.”

“Um-huh.”

That was all he said, displaying no particular interest in whether or not he could secure her as a customer. S

he plunged on. “I called yesterday and left a voice mail, asking that you return my call. I guess you missed it.”

“I got it. I’ve been busy.”

She looked beyond him at the newly halved board. “Yes, I see. Well, I had another errand to run in town, so I decided to try and catch you here, since it was on my way.”

“On your way?”

She gave another light laugh. “A winding way. Granted, you are off the beaten path, and I almost missed the turnoff. But I found you.”

“Lucky I was here, or you would have come all this way for nothing.”

“I consider it a stroke of luck, yes.”

“Well, now you’re here, what do you need?”

“I have a home project, a rather extensive one. It will require considerable time and a lot of hard work.”

Finished with the rag, he tossed it down onto the worktable. “How many contractors did you call before me?”

Abashed, she ducked her head. Then, realizing she owed him no explanation, she again met his gaze, which was cobalt blue and unwavering behind an unfriendly squint. He was younger than the image she’d formed in her mind, but she figured that the threads of gray in his dark hair, the squint lines, and the unsmiling mouth added years to his actual age.

His physique certainly wasn’t that of a man settling comfortably into his middle years. No paunch overlapped the waistband of his jeans. Well-defined biceps stretched the short sleeves of his black t-shirt. He was tall and lean and, overall, looked as tough as boot leather and as cuddly as a diamondback.

“He was a soldier, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“Afghanistan. Iraq before that.”

“He was in combat, then?”

“Oh, yeah. He saw action, all right. Might have spent a little too much time at war, if you know what I mean. But he’s all right. Not dangerous, or crazy, or anything.”

In the ad, a former client of Mr. Burnet’s had left his name as one to call for a reference. Arden had. In addition to his endorsement of Burnet’s craftsmanship and trustworthiness, he’d volunteered the information about his military service.

In truth, she hadn’t known what he’d meant by his comment on Burnet’s spending too much time at war. Now, she wished she had asked him to elaborate.

Maybe war had left L. Burnet taciturn and borderline rude. Or perhaps he was standoffish by nature. But, as long as he could do the work, she didn’t care whether or not he had an engaging personality. She wasn’t hiring someone to entertain her.

His stare was piercing, but she didn’t detect any madness behind it. Quite the contrary. She sensed intelligence, acute attentiveness, and a perceptiveness sharper than an average person’s. Little would escape him, and that was a bit discomfiting. However, she was willing to take her chances that he was of reasonably sound mind.

But—and this was the bottom line—what really recommended him was that over the course of the past two months, she had interviewed many contractors, and he was the last on her list of candidates for the job.

Thanks to the trust fund her late brother-in-law had established for her, she could afford to hire anyone. However, as a matter of principle, she wanted to finance this project using money she had earned, which put a ceiling on how much she could comfortably spend.

In answer to his question, she said, “Honestly, Mr. Burnet, I’ve consulted several others who were qualified.”

“They couldn’t fit your project into their schedules?”

“I couldn’t fit them into my budget.”

“So you called me.”