Mollie gave it to him. As she reached over to hang up the phone, her shoulder brushed Jeremiah’s arm, immediately sending warm shivers through her. To be this close to him when she was this vulnerable wasn’t too smart.
“There,” he said. “Duty done. Feel better?”
“Marginally.”
He slid off the desk. “It’s a start.”
She remained seated, blood rushing to her head as another impulsive plan took vague shape. “I have a dinner tonight in Boca Raton. Friends of Leonardo’s invited me. It’s at a private home on the water, probably about thirty guests.”
“Our thief hasn’t hit anything that small. Smallest was seventy-five.”
“I know, but if I’m…” She inhaled, hating the word. “If I’m involved in any way, perhaps we should look at my pattern of activity, too, and not just the thief’s.”
Jeremiah went still. “We?”
She got to her feet, took a breath, and felt more certain about her still-in-progress plan. “I leave Leonardo’s at six-thirty. I intend to keep my eyes open. If anything strikes me as suspicious, I will do what I have to do.”
“Nancy Drew strikes.” But there was no humor in his voice.
“Don’t patronize me, Jeremiah. I’m your ‘common denominator.’ I was attacked. I received that nasty phone call.”
“Precisely why you should skip the dinner tonight and stay home and watch TV. Throw darts. Drag out your flute and play some tunes.”
She raised her chin to him, aware of his penetrating gaze, unintimidated by his relentless intensity—or the sense he was making. “That would be giving in.”
“That would be making an intelligent decision.”
“Maybe, but you do what you have to do, and I’ll do the same. Thank you for your time,” she said, and started briskly across the newsroom.
“When you said we,” he called quietly to her, “did that mean I’m invited tonight?”
She ignored him and kept on marching, and if he was frustrated and even a little irritated with her, so be it. She had come to him in the misguided hope he could be a friend, and he’d gone dictatorial and protective on her. Call the police. Stay home and throw darts.
Damn it, she thought, she half-hoped the thief would show up tonight and she could catch him herself.
“Nancy Drew,” she muttered, and exited the newsroom, aware of every eye in the place on her.
But when she got to her car, Jeremiah was already there, slouched up against its gleaming hood as if he owned it. Mollie sputtered. “How did you get here ahead of me? How did you know where I was parked—”
“I know all the shortcuts, and you’ll notice there are no other back Jaguars in the visitors’ lot.” He eased off the hood. “You’re on my turf now, sweet pea.”
“So?”
“So I want to know why you drove all the way down here to tell me about this nasty little phone call. I want to know,” he said, moving closer, “why you told me about your dinner tonight and said we should look at your pattern of activity and not just the thief’s.”
“The we was just a slip of the tongue. As for the call—” She met his gaze, ignored the flutter in the pit of her stomach, the deep, unfathomable, undeniable yearning she had to connect with this man. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t already know about it.”
He had no visible reaction. “Why would I know about it?”
“Or the guy who tipped you off about me. Maybe he knows about it.”
“You mean maybe he’s the one who made the call,” Jeremiah said, his tone steady, neutral. “And I knew about it.”
“It’s possible, isn’t it? And if you have to keep an open mind, so do I.”
“It’s not possible I knew about it. If I had, I’d be throttling him right now. Is it possible he made the call? Theoretically, I suppose so, but my gut says no.” He considered a moment. The line of his jaw seemed harder, the muscles in his arms and shoulders leaner, tougher. Ten years of digging into crime and corruption seemed to have affected him physically, not just mentally. “But it’s good you’re keeping an open mind. Now. I’ll be at your place no later than six-twenty-five.”
“What? Why—”
“That’s why you told me about your dinner tonight, isn’t it?” His voice softened. “So I’d be there.”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking—”
“Think now.”
She sighed. “I can’t stand not knowing what’s going on. I can’t stand sitting around waiting for the next phone call. I guess I wanted to find a way to help you—or for you to help me—”
But he was shaking his head. “Mollie, we can’t be a team, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I don’t work that way.”
“I know. You don’t need to remind me.” She hoisted her handbag onto her shoulder, tried to ease the lingering effects of the eerie call. “I understand. Really. Thanks for putting me in touch with Frank. Maybe the police will find this guy.”