The Perfect Victim

Deciding it wouldn't be wise of him to answer the question truthfully, Randall took a deep breath and plunged. "I came here to offer a truce."

 

A frown tugged at the comers of her mouth as she studied him. "You came here to ask me to call off the BBB dogs."

 

''That, too."

 

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized with some dismay that she was enjoying this more than he was. "Surely you can do better than that," she said.

 

"All right." He added tough to the growing list of traits he liked about Addison Fox. She knew better than to trust a man like him. He couldn't blame her. Gazing at her steadily, he folded his hands on the bar in front of him. "I came here to apologize."

 

Something resembling sympathy sparked behind her eyes. ''That didn't hurt so bad, did it?"

 

"No worse than the time I broke my leg skiing."

 

"You do have an ego, don't you?"

 

"Groveling isn't my style, but whatever works."

 

She regarded him coolly.

 

He was starting to wonder if she was going to let him off the hook. "Look, the day you came into my office was an innocent case of mistaken identity—"

 

"There was nothing even remotely innocent about what happened in your office."

 

Even as she said the words, her cheeks bloomed with color, a fact that told him more about how she felt about that fateful day than anything she might have said. Bingo, he thought, and realized with a sense of relief he wasn't the only one who'd been aware that something had gone on between them.

 

Pleased by this new morsel of information, he offered his hand. "Apology accepted?"

 

She ignored the hand. "I'd like my ten dollars back."

 

He'd forgotten about the money. Sending her a look he hoped relayed that he was only going to let her push him so far, he withdrew his wallet and dug out a ten-dollar bill. "Do you want interest, too?"

 

She reached for the bill. "No."

 

Taking him completely by surprise, she offered her hand. His fingers closed around hers. A pleasant jolt of awareness ran the length of his body on contact. Her hand was warm and small encased within his. The palm was slightly damp, but her grip was substantial. His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth. Her lips were full and red and he couldn't help but remember how close he'd come to kissing her that morning in his office.

 

She released his hand, and the spell broke. Momentarily stunned by his reaction, Randall raised the cup to his lips and sipped, wondering if she had any idea how profoundly she'd just affected him.

 

Lowering his gaze, he spotted the manila folder he'd brought with him, and decided this might be a good time to see if his intellect still functioned. "You left this in my office."

 

Her eyes flicked to the folder. He didn't miss the spark of recognition. Nor did he miss the quick flash of another emotion he couldn't readily identify. He wondered what secrets she had buried behind those pretty eyes.

 

"Thank you for returning it," she said, pulling the file to her, but not opening it.

 

"If you're interested, that is, if you haven't already hired another firm, Jack and I are willing to take a look at your case." He hadn't planned on saying it; he hadn't even discussed it with his brother, but there it was. Admittedly, he was more interested in getting to know her than he was in her case, but given the circumstances—mainly the way that turtleneck swept over her body—he wasn't holding himself responsible for anything he said.

 

"How much of the file did you read?" she asked.

 

"All of it." Three times to be exact, but he thought it best if he didn't mention it. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

 

Picking up the folder, she strode to the end of the bar and dropped it in the trash. "You couldn't have known, Mr. Talbot, but I've since found who I was looking for."

 

When she turned back to him her eyes were huge and filled with a kind of defiance that contrasted sharply with the vulnerability he discerned just below the surface. He was no judge of people, even less of character, but he knew there was more going on than she wanted him to see.

 

From the notes in the file, he'd been able to deduce that she was searching for her birth parents. Belatedly, he realized the subject could be an emotional one for her. It was an area as foreign to him as the moon. "You were looking for your birth parents," he said.

 

"My birth mother, actually." Her eyes darkened. "I ... located her just a few days ago.”

 

 

 

Whoever she'd found, she wasn't happy about it. Randall let the thought pass. If she needed his help, she'd ask. "I'm glad things worked out for you," he said.

 

Casting a glance at the front door, she crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm sorry, but I really need to close the shop."

 

Rudeness had always come naturally to him. It pleased him that she had to put forth so much effort to manage it. Charmed, he winked. "I can take a hint." Pulling out his wallet, he laid a five-dollar bill on the bar.

 

*

 

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