Archer shrugged. “One of life’s little mysteries. Do we need to discuss the risks of hurting one of Elle’s friends?”
“Hell no,” Joe said, looking over his shoulder to make sure Elle had really left. “Nothing personal, boss man, but your woman is crazy.”
Archer smirked. “Man, if a woman hasn’t shown you her crazy, she’s just not that into you.”
While Joe processed that, Archer went on. “I put you in charge of the Rodriquez case,” he said. “You’ve got Lucas riding shotgun. You’ve got an opening to get into the family compound at ten for some surveillance—the notes are in the file. Don’t miss your window.”
Joe nodded. Lucas, a good friend as well as a coworker, was always a good choice. The guy was a sharp partner with even sharper skills, and as badass as they came. Joe would use the couple of hours before their meeting to catch up on the file, which was a probate case. Hunt Investigations had been hired to gather evidence to prove assets were being hidden from key family members. It was a large, dysfunctional family and there was a web of civil cases going on because everyone was suing everyone. It most likely wouldn’t involve a threat to life or limb—always a nice bonus. Leaving Archer’s office, he headed down the hall toward his own, texting Lucas as he went.
Joe: I’m e-mailing you the notes on our new case.
Lucas: Already got them. You were late.
Joe: Two minutes!
Lucas: You still owe.
Whoever was late owed doughnuts. Shit. Joe texted Tina, who owned the coffee shop downstairs in the courtyard, and put in another order because Lucas liked to be paid in either time in the ring or doughnuts. Joe had done some MMA and even he couldn’t beat Lucas in the ring. Plus he liked his face as-is. So doughnuts it was. He’d barely sunk into his office chair before someone stormed in.
Kylie.
She wore a sunshine yellow peacoat dusted with Vinnie’s dark dog hair, and faded jeans with one knee torn out that snugged to her sweet bod and were tucked into work boots. She was work-ready and a juxtaposition and a challenge all in one, and God help him, he did love a challenge. Especially one in such a pretty package. And the thing about her was this. She was a brilliant woodworker with an artist’s temperament, which meant she wasn’t afraid to say what she was thinking as she thought it.
She’d first come on his radar when she’d started working at Reclaimed Woods last year. He’d been insanely interested, even going so far as to occasionally stop by the store just to catch glimpses of her working those big tools—a ridiculous turn-on, he could admit.
But though he’d swear he’d seen an answering flare of interest in her eyes, she always squelched it so quickly he couldn’t tell if it’d been just wishful thinking on his part. So he’d not gone there.
Not until three nights ago at a party at O’Riley’s, the pub in the building courtyard. The party had been for Spence and Colbie, and it’d involved drunken karaoke and pool, and—to Joe’s ongoing disbelief—that one insanely hot kiss.
They’d stepped outside the pub for fresh air at the same time. One minute they’d both been standing staring at the fountain and the next they were in the alley. She’d turned toward him and laid one longing look at his mouth and the next thing he knew, they were attempting to swallow each other’s tonsils.
In the time since, he’d given up fighting the undeniable truth, which was that he’d wanted her for a long time now. Exactly when the power driving his urge had shifted from being okay with just the fantasy, to actually needing her and being so attracted to her, he had no idea. It’d happened before he’d even realized it was possible.
But ever since Kissgate, she’d gone back to pretending he was a bug on her windshield, which, he had to admit, rankled. “Morning,” he said easily. “Let me guess. You’re here for another kiss.” He smiled. “They always come back for more.”
At this, she stopped short halfway between the door and his desk and narrowed her eyes, and he had the single thought that she was sexy as hell when she was pissed. And then his next thought—he was grateful that her job as a woodworker didn’t require her to be armed, since she was looking as if she’d like to kill something. Or someone, anyway, most likely him. He had that effect on women. “Speechless,” he said. “I like it.”
She was hands on hips now. “I’m here in a business capacity.”
“Disappointing,” he said.
She let out a wry laugh. “Come on. We both know that I’m not even close to your type.”
She was smart. Tough. Sexy. All without knowing it. She was exactly his type. “Why do you think that?” he asked.
“Because I’m not half-dressed with oversized store-bought breasts.”
He grinned. She was teasing him, and for some sick reason he loved it. “You’re also not all that nice,” he said. “And I really like nice.”
“Uh-huh. I bet ‘nice’ is right up there on your list next to, let me guess . . . a good personality?”
He laughed. “So young and yet so cynical.” He tsked, enjoying the hell out of himself. “You’re assuming the worst of me.”
“I have a long habit of assuming the worst.” She slapped an envelope on his desk. “I need to hire you to find something.”
Since she appeared to be quite serious, he picked up the envelope. Nothing on the outside except her name. Inside was a Polaroid picture of what looked like a wooden penguin poised to fall off the Golden Gate Bridge into the water beneath.
“I need you to find that carving,” she said.
He met her gaze as he slid the picture back into the envelope. “Funny.”
“I’m not kidding.”
He took a second look at her. Her light brown eyes were solemn and serious, with shadows both in and beneath them. Her mouth—the one he could still feel under his—was grim. She was right. She wasn’t kidding. He pulled out the photo again. “Okay, tell me what I’m looking at.”
“A three-inch wood carving of a penguin.”
He made a show of looking around the room, beneath his desk, behind his chair.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Searching for the cameras. You’re punking me.”
“No, I’m not! Someone stole this from me yesterday.”
“So call the police,” he said.
“Are you kidding? They’ll laugh at me.” She sighed when she clearly read in his expression that he wanted to laugh too. “I want that wood carving back, Joe.”
“Yeah? Like I wanted to buy that mirror for Molly yesterday?”
She blew out a sigh as if maybe she’d expected this reaction and plopped into the chair in front of his desk. “About that,” she said. “Do this for me, find my carving, and I’ll build you a new mirror for Molly.”
“So . . . we’re making a deal?”
“Yes.”
Interesting. He met her gaze, the color of the whiskey he’d been drinking the other night just before their infamous kiss. And he thought sure, why the hell not. Given that his jobs usually involved death and mayhem along with dealing with the bottom-feeders and scum of the population, this might be some welcome comedy relief. He could help out the cute, crazy chick, and as a bonus he’d be able to get his sister the birthday present she wanted. “Okay.”