"I want you," she blurted.
The words hung between them like a thunderhead. His fingers closed around the parka, but he didn't pick it up. Addison saw his inner struggle clearly, but she didn’t understand it.
Scowling, he cut her a hard look. "Why?"
She met his gaze levelly. "You saved my life."
"Don't discount your instincts about me," he said darkly. "They're probably not far off the mark."
"Right now my instincts are reminding me you nearly took a bullet for me."
Surprise flashed in his eyes before he could shutter it. "Don't make something out of this that isn't there. I was in the right place, at the right time—”
"And I'd be dead right now if you hadn't been.”
His harsh expression faltered, and for a moment he looked uncomfortable. She wondered why it was so hard for him to accept her gratitude.
"If you're looking for a hero, you've got the wrong man," he growled.
"Look," she began, "I'd like to hire you. I want you to look into my birth mother's murder." Starkly aware of his nearness, the faint scent of his aftershave, Addison pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining room table. "I want you to make sure the local sheriff is doing his job."
Never taking his eyes from her, he took the chair opposite her. "You don't know anything about me."
"All right. Then I'll just ask you a few questions." Trapped beneath his gaze, she felt a moment of awkwardness, not quite sure how to proceed with an impromptu interview. "How long have you been a private detective?"
"Now you're going to interview me?" he asked incredulously.
"I thought since I'm going to hire you I should get some background information." When he merely stared at her, she added, "That's usually how it's done, isn't it?"
"What's it going to be, Ace. Do you want me or not?"
"I already said I did." She swallowed. "How long have you been a P.I.?"
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, for crying out loud."
"How long?"
"All right, dammit." He shifted in the chair. "About five years."
"How long have you been with Talbot Investigations?"
"Five years."
"Do you solve most of your cases?"
"Most of them aren't a matter of being solved, but merely gathering information."
"I see."
"It pays the bills. Well, most of them, anyway. Do you mind if we get down to business now?"
"I'm ready when you are."
He looked down at the file and opened it. "How long had you been searching for your birth parents?"
She sighed, relieved that they were back on business. "A little over nine months."
"Did you know them at all?"
"I was adopted at birth."
"Anything in particular prompt your search?"
"I dabbled at first." Aware that he was watching her, she reminded herself that the pain wasn't as acute as it used to be. "Then my parents were killed in a car accident. After their deaths, finding my birth parents became a lot more important to me, and I started searching in earnest."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "So, your lawyer helped you find your biological mother way up in Siloam Springs, Ohio. When you get up there, you find out she's been murdered."
She nodded.
"When you get back here, some crazed robber in black shoots up your shop, tries to kill you, then forgets to take the bank bag."
An eerie sense of foreboding snaked through her. She shivered with a sudden chill. "Yes."
"Do you know who your biological father is?"
"I ran into a dead end searching for my birth father. He wasn't named on my amended birth certificate. The court documents were sealed at the time of my adoption."
"Is that typical?"
"The only way Jim—my lawyer—was able to find my mother was through birth records." The image of Agnes Beckett's tiny mobile home flashed in her mind's eye. "She was ... poor. Her standing in the community wasn't the best. I want to make sure her case gets the attention it deserves."
"You want someone to light a fire under the local cops asses."
"Well, yes."
He closed the file, then gazed at her steadily. "I'll do it.”
Addison returned his gaze, relief and a newfound sense of rightness settling over her. "Thank you."
"I'll need the rest of the documents from your lawyer."
"I'll pick them up tomorrow."
"You can pay the advance tomorrow, too. Six-hundred dollars. I'll bill you for expenses."
Disappointment drifted through her when she realized he was thinking of money rather than her safety. For a moment, she'd almost fooled herself into thinking he was actually concerned about her well-being. Stupid thought. Business was business. Men were men.
He rose and walked to the French door that led to her rear patio. He checked the lock, then turned to her. "Keep this locked. Keep your phone handy. Don't let anyone in unless you personally know them.”
"Of course. I'll be careful."
Snagging his coat off the back of the chair, he started for the door. She followed, hating that she suddenly felt uneasy about being alone.