The Detective

A second later Brodey stepped into the doorway, his head snapping back at the sight of her. He wore black track pants and a heavy sweatshirt. No jacket in this cold? The man was insane. His sling was gone and he held a manila envelope in his left hand.

Lexi blew out a hard breath and tossed her pencil on the counter. “Goodness’ sake, Brodey. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

His gaze traveled over her cashmere sweater, worn jeans and loafers, then came back up, lingering on her face, making her cheeks fire. My goodness, the man had a way. Had she known she’d be seeing anyone, particularly the intriguing detective, she’d have dressed more appropriately. But at 4:00 a.m. that thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “The colors for the kitchen were driving me mad. Where’s your sling?”

“You’re here by yourself?”

“Of course.”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous for a woman to be driving around a city alone in the middle of the night?”

Prior to her panic a minute ago, she hadn’t even questioned it. Maybe she should have. But that was the trusting part of her. The part that didn’t include the male species and wanted to see pretty things instead of danger. She wasn’t a complete lunatic and understood the world to be a dangerous place, but when it came to her creative process, certain things, like possible danger, couldn’t get in her way. “I live ten minutes from here.”

“A lot can happen in ten minutes.”

Time to get back to work. Arguing with stubborn people never accomplished much. This, she knew. She resumed drawing a roman shade on the kitchen window. Tangerine would work beautifully.

Brodey wandered to the island, where her discarded sketches smothered the top. Immediately, she snatched them up, but he set his hand on one, tilted his head one way, then the other. “You drew these?”

“Yes, but they’re my discards.”

“They’re pretty good to be discards.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but trust me, they’re discards.”

He pointed at the almost-complete sketch on her pad. “That one looks great.”

“Thank you. I was stuck on which colors to use. Sometimes when I put it on paper it helps me work it out. When the sun lit this room—” she swooped one hand “—it was spectacular. I think I need bursts of tangerine in here.”

“Uh, okay.”

Lexi laughed. “You didn’t tell me where your sling was.”

“Home. It annoys me. I’ve been trying to do a few hours each day without it.”

“Maybe you should check with your doctor about that?”

“Nah.”

As suspected. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those know-it-all stubborn males.”

He gave her one of his cocky grins where one side of his mouth quirked, and she immediately wanted to draw it. “Don’t call me stubborn.”

Once again, that smile, a little devilish, a little charming and a whole lot irresistible, turned her liquid. It had been months since she’d had even a remote interest in a man. Finding your so-called soul mate sprawled across his desk with another woman tended to do that to a girl. Made her a little less inclined to trust males in general and a whole lot more inclined to demand absolute honesty. No secrets. At all.

And now, tough guy Brodey Hayward had released her smothered sexual desire. On the bright side, at least she wasn’t a dead loss and still felt something. Even if it was only lust. “What are you doing here so early?”

He held up the envelope. “My dad got me copies of crime-scene notes. I wasn’t sure if you worked on Saturdays, but figured I’d get here early and get out of your way. Who knew you’d be here at the crack of dawn?”

“You rolled out of bed this early so you didn’t mess up my schedule?”

He shrugged. “You compromised with me yesterday. I owed you one.”

All that female desire inside her whipped into a frenzy and she damn near needed a cold shower. “Please tell me you’re single because I could kiss you smack on the lips.”

“I am most definitely single.”

She snorted, then waved him off. So much for her hoping to make him blush. Huh. How she loved a man participating in a little verbal swordplay. “Brodey Hayward, I think I like you.” She gestured to the laundry room. “I don’t need to be in there yet, so help yourself. I can work around you for an hour or so.”

He held up the file. “Thanks. I read the detective’s notes, but I need to see the room. Something isn’t right.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have the photos yet. Can’t picture the scene. If I set it up, it’ll make sense. Want to be my dead body?”

Ew. “Are you kidding?”

“Actually, I’m not. I brought tape, but it’ll help if I could see an actual body. All I need is for you to lie on the floor.”

She glanced at the sketch desperately waiting for her attention.

He held up his hand. “It’ll take five minutes. Promise.”

“Five minutes?”

“That’s all. I need a visual.”

A visual. Considering her early-dawn sketching, she could relate. “Fine. But only because I understand about visuals.”

“And, uh, after you play the dead guy, I’ll take your place on the floor and maybe you could sketch it for me?”

A frustrated laugh burst free. This man. “What happened to five minutes?”

He grinned. “That’s just for lying on the floor. The sketching is separate. Look at it this way. The faster I know what the scene looked like, the sooner I form opinions and hand this thing over to my sister. Then I’m out of here and you’re free to do your thing.”

Now this boy was talking. And good for him for being intellectually competent enough to figure out how to motivate her.

“If I sketch and lie on the floor, you’ll let me get to work in there? Including tearing up that tile?”

“Assuming we don’t discover evidence that needs to be collected, yes.”

Lexi sighed.

“Hey, I know,” he said. “But I won’t promise that until I know what I’m dealing with. At the very least, it’d be irresponsible.”