In Safe Keeping by Lee Christine

his eyes. ‘Are to going to report me?’
    ‘Probably not.’
    The barista called her number.
    ‘Do you have time to see me now?’ he asked, as she made to leave. ‘You’re first on my list because of the problem you reported over the weekend.’
    She nodded. ‘Bring your coffee upstairs. My calendar’s wiped until midday tomorrow.’
    Tomorrow.
    The day of the Peyton mediation.
    An email had arrived late yesterday. A retired judge would oversee the matter at the family court.
    Nervous excitement ran through Laila’s body at the thought of seeing Evan again. Not that she was marking off the days or anything.
    Yeah, right.
    She picked up the coffees, used her elbow to push the lift button, and stepped inside. In the beginning, she believed her relationship with Evan meant nothing more than she was ready to have sex with an attractive man again. But now they’d parted, the idea of finding a new bed buddy to satisfy her needs held no appeal.
    As the lift passed the smoky third floor, Laila closed her eyes, nipples hardening beneath her silky work shirt at the memory of his parting kiss. Okay. She was horny as hell, and she was over the whole ‘he thought I was a groupie’ thing. He had kept coming back, and in all that time he’d never been rude or behaved like an uncivil boyfriend.
    Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes as the lift reached her floor. It was time she faced it. She found him irresistible, but it was more than that. She liked him — a lot. She hadn’t even looked at another man since she’d met him.
    In the reception area, she picked her way around rolls of damp carpet, and handed Mike his coffee. ‘Dickson Cross is on his way up. Can you send him straight in?’
    ‘Sure.’ Mike watched as a workman pushed a mop over the bare floorboards in an effort to soak up the last of the dampness. ‘The new carpet won’t be here until next week apparently.’
    ‘That’s fine. As long as we’re operational, I can put up with floorboards for a while.’
    Five minutes later, Dickson Cross was sitting opposite her, a pink iced bun and a cup of hot chocolate on the desk in front of him. He bit off a piece of the bun and added three sugar sachets to the hot drink.
    A sugar addict. No wonder the guy was hyper.
    He took a swig of hot chocolate.
    Laila had to admit, it smelt good — it masked the mildewy odour of sodden underfelt.
    ‘We found traces of accelerant,’ he said without preamble. ‘And we shouldn’t assume because the fire started on the third floor, someone down there was the target. It’s natural to think that, but criminals aren’t stupid. Well, not all of them.’
    ‘Accelerant.’ She’d been thinking an electrical fault was probably to blame. ‘That’s worrying.’
    ‘Hmm.’ Dickson consulted his notes. ‘You reported a break and enter. The uniforms were on their way here when the fire broke out.’
    ‘It wasn’t strictly a break-in — the door to reception was open. They forced some filing cabinets while I was in here with a client.’
    ‘Anything missing?’
    ‘No. I spent Sunday checking.’
    ‘You keep cash on the premises?’
    ‘Only a small float, and that was untouched.’
    Dickson pushed himself backwards, rocking slightly, balancing the chair on its two back legs as if he were in high school. Obviously someone had neglected to tell him how potentially dangerous it was, or he hadn’t listened.
    ‘Any disgruntled clients, bitter custody battles, that kind of thing?’
    ‘Not at the moment. There is something though.’ Laila proceeded to tell him about her concerns at home, including the problems with both telephones.
    Righting the chair onto all fours, Dickson pulled a small spiral-bound notepad from his shirt pocket, just like the detectives in the movies.
    ‘When was this?’ he asked, pink bun forgotten.
    ‘Friday night. I didn’t report it. I wanted to speak to my neighbour first. I live in a semi. It has a combined ceiling space.’
    ‘I know