It only made her painfully aware of how much she suddenly wanted to know more about him, the layers yet unseen.
The photo development had moved to stabilizing, a chemical process that uniformly dried the film, set the image permanently.
“So, my guess is that you became a detective to find your brother?”
“I couldn’t save my brother, and we never found his killer. If I can protect other people from that kind of pain, I will.”
“I get it.” She nodded. “I had a friend who was killed by a hit and run driver when I was thirteen. I always had this hunch she knew the person who killed her. But what did I know? I was a kid. And it might have been my overactive imagination.”
“Or, not. Maybe it was the budding investigator in you.”
“Or, it could have been my favorite Alfred Hitchcock mystery series going to my head.”
“Jupiter Jones, Bob Andrews, and Pete Crenshaw. I loved those books. I didn’t know you read those. Wow.” He sounded genuinely, oddly surprised.
Didn’t know? Why would he? Maybe it was just an expression. “I loved them. That and Encyclopedia Brown, and not a few Hardy Boys.”
“Nancy Drew?”
“The complete collection.”
“Hang onto them. The original books will be collector’s items someday.”
The film had finished processing and the machine churned it back out. She cut the strip and hung it on a tree. “Now it just has to dry. Then we’ll put it through the scanning mask and turn these negatives into positives.”
He wore a smile again, something warm and sweet, as if she’d said something clever.
“What?”
“You need to eat. Your stomach is growling.”
Oh. It had, but— “I’m fine.”
“You’re going to get all grouchy and frustrated. Listen, we’re not far from the Towne Hall Brewery. You love—I mean, you’re going to love the pretzels there. Beer cheese queso.”
“Maybe I’ll just have a salad.”
“We’ll see.” He was wearing the smirk again.
She considered him, feeling a weird tug to say yes. As if it was already a foregone conclusion that she’d not only have dinner with this man, but like he said, they’d become friends.
Still, they had a job to do. “We have about an hour before this is ready to run through the scanning mask…”
“Trust me, we’re coming back, Eve. He’s not getting away with this…not on my watch.”
A sudden darkness shifted into his eyes, almost a controlled rage and it spiraled down inside her, took hold.
She couldn’t shake the bone deep idea that Rembrandt Stone was oh, so much more than the cover of his book, that he meant his words, kept promises, and would track down the perpetrator of this terrible act.
“Okay, Inspector,” she said. And as they left, as they found Burke, waiting for them in the lobby, she made one promise to herself.
She would not let herself fall for Rembrandt Stone.
Chapter 9
I am cheating.
And I don’t care.