"What terms?"
Randall liked the stubborn set of her mouth and the way she raised her chin every time he pissed her off. He wondered if she could kiss as well as she argued.
Forcing his mind back to the business at hand, he said, "Look, Addison, I'm not sure what you've stumbled into, but it's serious and apparently dangerous. Not only for you, but for the people around you and anyone involved in your adoption. I want you to understand that fully before we delve any more deeply into this."
She seemed to sink more deeply into the cushions. Reaching for a pillow, she hugged it against her. "What terms, Talbot?"
He studied the shadows of fatigue marring the porcelain skin beneath her eyes. She didn't look as though she'd slept much in the last couple of days. He wondered how well she would hold up if things got really rough. "Until I figure out what's going on, I don't want you to be alone. I don't want you staying here alone."
"You're serious?"
He'd expected an argument, and he was prepared. "You can stay with somebody until this is over."
"Just in case you need a reminder, I'm missing some vital components of the family structure. No siblings. No parents."
"What about friends?" Discomfort flickered in her eyes, and for the first time he realized how very alone she was—and how much that disturbed her.
"My best friend is sixty-two years old with a daughter about to give birth to twins," she said. "Albeit she keeps a double-barrel shotgun next to her bed, I can't ask her to baby-sit me."
"A shotgun?" Had-the situation not been so dire, he would have laughed.
"She's from Missouri,” she added, as if every grandmother from Missouri wielded enough lead and gunpowder to blast a man in half. "Besides, I plan on taking an active role in this investigation."
"Active role, huh?" His hackles rose. "We're not talking about a purse snatching. We're talking about murder. An active role might just get you killed.”
She met his glare in kind. "You're working for me, remember?"
"I guess that settles it."
''I guess it does."
"You'll have to stay with me."
Indignation flashed in her eyes. "You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"You have no idea." He admired her tenacity. It didn't help matters that she was so damn good to look at. He wondered if she had any idea what she was up against or how drastically this could change her life. "Jack and I can take rotating shifts. Those are my terms."
Ignoring the protest in her eyes, he looked around, taking in the room. The apartment possessed the bold character of the fifties modernized by clean, contemporary lines and a touch of feminine clutter. The red plaid loveseat and sofa were separated by an antique chest that served as a coffee table. Above the fireplace, a Matisse abstract flared in red and black and hues of gray. A slightly worn wool rug softened the hardwood floors and gave the entire room a sense of warmth and comfort.
The apartment spoke volumes about her. From the galley style kitchen with its incessant aromas of coffee and spices to the bathroom with its pink heart soaps and frilly hand towels. It was her home. Her refuge from the world.
A place where she was no longer safe.
"I don't want you at the coffee shop, either." He wondered how in the hell he was going to work the case and keep his eye on her at the same time. He and Jack would just have to work it out.
"I've got a business to run," she said levelly. "I can't just close the shop. I need to be at the shop."
"You'll be closed for the next couple of days, anyway."
"Look, I'm not going to put my life on hold for a suspicion that's unfounded at this point," she tossed back. "We don't even know for sure if this is all connected, much less that he's coming after me."
"He's already come after you at the shop. Beckett is dead. Bernstein is dead. Come on, Ace. You're smart enough to know when you're out of your league."
Her chin went up, but he knew she was about to concede. "I hate this."
"So do I. We've got to deal with it."
"Dammit." She released a frustrated breath. "I'll keep the shop closed for a few days."
"Good girl"
"But only until my equipment is replaced."
Randall shook his head. He wasn't sure if the reality of her situation—or the inherent dangers of it—had penetrated that stubborn brain of hers yet, but he knew it would. He wanted to make sure he was there for her when it did.
*
Over take-out fried ride and egg rolls, Addison and Randall sat at her dining room table and pored over the file of papers she’d accumulated while searching for her birth parents. There were legal adoption papers. A copy of her amended birth certificate. Correspondence from Jim Bernstein.