“No.” Eva slid over to where her coat was draped across the back of the couch, found her holster, and unhooked her gun. Then she moved soundlessly to the window and peeked out. Her spine straightened. “It’s that guy Mom had with her in Vegas.”
Shelby went to the window on the other side of the door. It was the same man, but now he was dressed in business casual—trousers, shirt, blazer, no tie—under a long trench coat. A scarf hung loosely around his neck, the ends flapping in the January wind. At his feet was a large cardboard box. He must have noticed her moving behind the curtain because he picked up the box and turned toward the window, tilting it to show her what was inside.
She gasped. “He has Reece’s laptop.”
Eva didn’t put away her gun, didn’t even bother hiding it as she opened the door. “Can I help you?”
He nodded once, a quick up-down jerk of the chin. “My name is Miles Weiss. We met briefly at your wedding.”
“I remember. Why are you here?”
He looked past Eva at Shelby. “I’m returning some things that belong to you.”
“How did you get them?” Eva demanded before Shelby had a chance to open her mouth.
Weiss push out a long breath. “It’s a complicated story.”
“We have time.”
He set the box down, nudged it forward with his foot. Eva didn’t so much as glance at it and crossed her arms over her chest.
Shelby bent down and did a quick inventory, her heart jumping into her throat when she opened a small padded envelope and found her ring. “Everything’s here.”
“Well?” Eva said.
Weiss smoothed a hand over his silver hair. “Listen, I was just doing my job. Your husbands are private investigators too. They know how it is.”
“You’re a PI?”
“Yeah, and I was hired to dig up dirt on her husband.” He motioned to Shelby with his chin. “First time I saw them together the night that coffee shop burned down—and after I watched the surveillance video before giving it to my client—I figured she was the best way to get close to him.”
“And you thought what better way to get close to her than through her mother,” Eva finished, her lip curling.
“Only I didn’t know how fucking insane Katrina is,” Weiss said. “When I realized it, I broke it off. That afternoon, she shows up at my door with all this stuff, begging me to take her back, saying she can help me. Didn’t take long to figure out the laptop was hot, or who it belonged to.” He shook his head. “Batshit crazy woman.”
Shelby stood, and her stomach rolled over in disgust. For such a handsome man, he was an ugly, ugly person. “And it took you this long to return everything?”
He held up his hands in defense. “Hey, I had to track you down.”
“Right,” Eva muttered. “You’re an unethical jackass, and I should report you, have your license stripped.”
He dropped his hands. “I don’t want any trouble now. I was just doing the job I was hired for.”
He turned away but Shelby wasn’t about to let him leave without more answers. She shouldered past her sister. “Who hired you? Lena?”
He snorted out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know anyone named Lena, but if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Client privilege.”
Wait. It wasn’t Lena?
She grabbed his arm hard enough to spin him around on the icy steps. “If you don’t want my sister riding your ass—and believe me, you don’t—then you will fucking tell me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I was an idiot,” Reece muttered and knocked back the two fingers of Maker’s Mark Dylan had poured him. They sat in the living room of Dylan and Alicia’s townhouse, surrounded by the antiques passed down through Dylan’s wealthy family and the expensive artwork that Alicia collected. It was a home, a place where two people had melded their personal styles into something welcoming and cozy. He’d been on his way to that with Shelby and her crazy pillows and paintings and…
Fuck.
“You look like hell,” Dylan said and leaned forward in his seat to grab the bottle of whiskey. He held it out in offering, and Reece shook his head. His stomach was too sour, and the alcohol wasn’t settling well.
“I feel like hell.”
Dylan nodded and refilled his own glass. “You can stay here as long as you need, buddy.”
“Just for tonight,” Reece said. “I have a couple home security installations in Virginia Beach. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should reschedule.”
“No.” Now more than ever, he needed to work.
Dylan gave a half laugh. “That’s what I figured you’d say—hell, it’s what I’d say in your shoes—but as your friend, I was obligated to pitch the idea.”
“Dammit!” Alicia’s voice floated out from the kitchen, and she appeared a second later, hands on her hips. “Hon, where are the tomatoes I asked for?”
“I got spaghetti sauce.”
She pushed out an exasperated sigh. “I am not making your mother’s lasagna recipe with canned sauce. If she found out, I’d never hear the end of it.” She pointed to the door. “Grocery store. Now.”