Who knows… I was on the phone with him when you emailed.”
“Good for you, girl.”
“But don’t worry—I’m always your girl first, Jude.”
Jude replied, “You’re a good egg, Hannah.”
“I’m the best.”
He eased back in the chair, and then sat forward again, emailing the likeness to himself. Then he rose, looking at her strangely. “Thanks. Yes, we’ve had some sketches done. But…this is—detailed. It’s as if she could walk off the page. I don’t know if we can find out who she was, and if we do, if that can help us catch her killer, but…hey. Everyone deserves a burial, and no one deserves to die like that.”
Whitney nodded. “Sure. I agree.”
She felt as if they shared a bizarrely awkward moment. He had discovered that he didn’t dislike her and she just might be useful.
She had just discovered that she liked way too much about him.
“Listen, I have a two-bedroom place in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re more than welcome to come back with me. I’d appreciate it, actually. I don’t like thinking about you down here by yourself.”
“You live in Hell’s Kitchen, too?” she asked him.
He laughed. “The apartment next to my father. He was bright enough to buy when things went co-op a couple of decades ago, and I just pay him a minimum rent—his pleasure money, as he calls it. I think he charges me because he knew I wouldn’t accept the place if I didn’t pay him something. And, hey, I’m sure he’d be happy to have you for the night, too.”
She was tempted. Really tempted. She wasn’t afraid of Blair House, or of being alone. She was afraid that the more she was with him, the more she liked him, and the more she was close to him, the more she realized that he was really an attractive man—and she was attracted to him. Not a good thing on the first day of a new investigation.
Whitney certainly had no desire to appear to be afraid just to be with him—or anyone.
And he probably didn’t understand that she needed to be in the house by herself for the night.
“I’m all right, honestly. Like I told you earlier, I’m not the fearful type. And I have some work to do tonight. I have to decide where I think we’ll need our camera equipment, and just what we may want to film or record on tape…”
He stared at her blankly.
“We always keep track of what happens around us,” she said. “And, of course, we’ll want to watch the property next door.”
He still stared at her.
“Oh. For shadows and ghosts and things?” he asked. His tone was polite.
“For anything that’s going on,” she said. “Trust me—it’s good.”
“I believe you.”
“Good. And I’m okay, really. I’m not a fool.”
He smiled, and it was a real smile.
“Maybe not staying here would make you the intelligent type,” he told her.
She grinned at that. “Thank you. Sincerely, thank you. But I have a phone. There are cruisers in the street tonight. I’m not going back out, and I’ll sleep with my gun under my pillow.”
He nodded; her words were rational.
“All right, then. I’ll be here at seven-thirty, sharp. You need a wake-up call or anything?”
She laughed at that. “No, but thanks again. I have an alarm on my phone. I’ll be fine. Honestly.”
She walked him to the door. “Good night, and…”
“And?”
He hesitated just a minute, gray eyes guarded. “I look forward to meeting the rest of your team.
“Thank you,” she said.
Again, the moment felt slightly awkward; almost as if they’d been on a strange date all day.
She made sure he heard her sliding the bolts on the front door as he left, and she watched through one of the etched-glass windows in the door as he walked back out to his car.
When he was gone, Whitney walked through the house, leaving the large hallway light on as she wandered the downstairs. She could well imagine that it would be a fine tourist attraction when the renovations were done.
She didn’t have any of the equipment; that would
“Good for you, girl.”
“But don’t worry—I’m always your girl first, Jude.”
Jude replied, “You’re a good egg, Hannah.”
“I’m the best.”
He eased back in the chair, and then sat forward again, emailing the likeness to himself. Then he rose, looking at her strangely. “Thanks. Yes, we’ve had some sketches done. But…this is—detailed. It’s as if she could walk off the page. I don’t know if we can find out who she was, and if we do, if that can help us catch her killer, but…hey. Everyone deserves a burial, and no one deserves to die like that.”
Whitney nodded. “Sure. I agree.”
She felt as if they shared a bizarrely awkward moment. He had discovered that he didn’t dislike her and she just might be useful.
She had just discovered that she liked way too much about him.
“Listen, I have a two-bedroom place in Hell’s Kitchen and you’re more than welcome to come back with me. I’d appreciate it, actually. I don’t like thinking about you down here by yourself.”
“You live in Hell’s Kitchen, too?” she asked him.
He laughed. “The apartment next to my father. He was bright enough to buy when things went co-op a couple of decades ago, and I just pay him a minimum rent—his pleasure money, as he calls it. I think he charges me because he knew I wouldn’t accept the place if I didn’t pay him something. And, hey, I’m sure he’d be happy to have you for the night, too.”
She was tempted. Really tempted. She wasn’t afraid of Blair House, or of being alone. She was afraid that the more she was with him, the more she liked him, and the more she was close to him, the more she realized that he was really an attractive man—and she was attracted to him. Not a good thing on the first day of a new investigation.
Whitney certainly had no desire to appear to be afraid just to be with him—or anyone.
And he probably didn’t understand that she needed to be in the house by herself for the night.
“I’m all right, honestly. Like I told you earlier, I’m not the fearful type. And I have some work to do tonight. I have to decide where I think we’ll need our camera equipment, and just what we may want to film or record on tape…”
He stared at her blankly.
“We always keep track of what happens around us,” she said. “And, of course, we’ll want to watch the property next door.”
He still stared at her.
“Oh. For shadows and ghosts and things?” he asked. His tone was polite.
“For anything that’s going on,” she said. “Trust me—it’s good.”
“I believe you.”
“Good. And I’m okay, really. I’m not a fool.”
He smiled, and it was a real smile.
“Maybe not staying here would make you the intelligent type,” he told her.
She grinned at that. “Thank you. Sincerely, thank you. But I have a phone. There are cruisers in the street tonight. I’m not going back out, and I’ll sleep with my gun under my pillow.”
He nodded; her words were rational.
“All right, then. I’ll be here at seven-thirty, sharp. You need a wake-up call or anything?”
She laughed at that. “No, but thanks again. I have an alarm on my phone. I’ll be fine. Honestly.”
She walked him to the door. “Good night, and…”
“And?”
He hesitated just a minute, gray eyes guarded. “I look forward to meeting the rest of your team.
“Thank you,” she said.
Again, the moment felt slightly awkward; almost as if they’d been on a strange date all day.
She made sure he heard her sliding the bolts on the front door as he left, and she watched through one of the etched-glass windows in the door as he walked back out to his car.
When he was gone, Whitney walked through the house, leaving the large hallway light on as she wandered the downstairs. She could well imagine that it would be a fine tourist attraction when the renovations were done.
She didn’t have any of the equipment; that would
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