a slow wave. She swallowed hard, straining to hear.
There was another long pause, another deep sigh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever, Felix. I should’ve known better than to call, really.”
Of course Uncle Felix wouldn’t help. She felt shame, like a cement block on her chest.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be visiting Ma at the home this week, either?” Her father’s dry, humorless chuckle sounded like sandpaper. “Yeah, you’ll try. You always say you’ll try. See you around.”
She was going to talk to Uncle Felix, that was damned clear. Possibly with a tire iron.
But first things first. She took a deep breath, started to head for the kitchen… then stopped, again, when she got to the doorframe.
Her father was sitting at the kitchen table. His heavy frame was slumped down, his salt-and-pepper hair trembling, his face in his hands. She could see his broad shoulders shaking, ever so slightly… could hear the small, gruff sounds of grief.
Her father, her tough-as-nails cop father, was crying.
She backed away silently. Then she walked to the front door, opened it, and shut it with a firm slam. “Dad?” she called, her voice deliberately chipper. “You home?”
She gave him time. Lingered on the stairs, picking up and putting down her bag. Even waited, pretending she was searching for something in her purse.
When he emerged from the kitchen, he looked a little splotchy, a little tired.
She would’ve ripped out her own tongue before she mentioned it.
“You’re home early,” she murmured.
“So are you,” he said, then studied her. “Something wrong?”
Oh, crap. With her eavesdropped conversation fresh in her mind, she knew the last thing her father wanted to hear was that his daughter just quit and could not make the rent. And there was no way she was going to tell him about all the shenanigans going on in Fiendish’s basement. As a cop, he’d feel duty-pressed to do something—if he believed her.
She wasn’t ready. She needed to sort this out first, especially since she was reeling with this new bombshell. “Ah…”
The doorbell rang, startling them both.
“I’ll get it,” she said, grateful for the reprieve, and opened the door.
Thomas stood there. He’d taken the time to dry off, at least, she noticed. He was in a different dark suit, and his face was handsome… and enigmatic.
He doesn’t look pissed . That was promising. Then she remembered— she was pissed at him.
Of course, in light of recent events, could she really afford to be?
“Kate,” Thomas said. “We need to talk.”
…
Thomas looked over at an older man—Kate’s father, he assumed. Maggie’s quick check with her temporary agency had provided the address, but they couldn’t have known she was living with her parents. It also surprised him that her father was wearing a service revolver in an unsnapped shoulder holster, and that he was giving Thomas the hairy eyeball.
Damn it. How much had Kate told him? And how much damage control was he going to need to do?
“Kate? Everything all right?” the older man said, his eyes cold and flat, like he was stepping into an interrogation room.
Kate’s own gaze never wavered; she was staring at Thomas like she could somehow kill him with her glare.
“It’s fine, Dad. I’ll be right back.” She stepped out, pointedly closing the door between her father and them, and nodded toward Thomas’s limo. Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Start walking. I don’t want to have this conversation here.”
Thomas noticed one of the wooden blinds opening. Her father was going to be watching, protective. Well, Thomas wasn’t here to abduct Kate or threaten her.
Hell, all he was doing here was hiring her. No crime in that.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Thomas said smoothly. “I could have handled all that better.”
“You mean you could have come up with a better cover story if you’d realized that you might need one.”
That was true enough. “Let me
There was another long pause, another deep sigh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever, Felix. I should’ve known better than to call, really.”
Of course Uncle Felix wouldn’t help. She felt shame, like a cement block on her chest.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be visiting Ma at the home this week, either?” Her father’s dry, humorless chuckle sounded like sandpaper. “Yeah, you’ll try. You always say you’ll try. See you around.”
She was going to talk to Uncle Felix, that was damned clear. Possibly with a tire iron.
But first things first. She took a deep breath, started to head for the kitchen… then stopped, again, when she got to the doorframe.
Her father was sitting at the kitchen table. His heavy frame was slumped down, his salt-and-pepper hair trembling, his face in his hands. She could see his broad shoulders shaking, ever so slightly… could hear the small, gruff sounds of grief.
Her father, her tough-as-nails cop father, was crying.
She backed away silently. Then she walked to the front door, opened it, and shut it with a firm slam. “Dad?” she called, her voice deliberately chipper. “You home?”
She gave him time. Lingered on the stairs, picking up and putting down her bag. Even waited, pretending she was searching for something in her purse.
When he emerged from the kitchen, he looked a little splotchy, a little tired.
She would’ve ripped out her own tongue before she mentioned it.
“You’re home early,” she murmured.
“So are you,” he said, then studied her. “Something wrong?”
Oh, crap. With her eavesdropped conversation fresh in her mind, she knew the last thing her father wanted to hear was that his daughter just quit and could not make the rent. And there was no way she was going to tell him about all the shenanigans going on in Fiendish’s basement. As a cop, he’d feel duty-pressed to do something—if he believed her.
She wasn’t ready. She needed to sort this out first, especially since she was reeling with this new bombshell. “Ah…”
The doorbell rang, startling them both.
“I’ll get it,” she said, grateful for the reprieve, and opened the door.
Thomas stood there. He’d taken the time to dry off, at least, she noticed. He was in a different dark suit, and his face was handsome… and enigmatic.
He doesn’t look pissed . That was promising. Then she remembered— she was pissed at him.
Of course, in light of recent events, could she really afford to be?
“Kate,” Thomas said. “We need to talk.”
…
Thomas looked over at an older man—Kate’s father, he assumed. Maggie’s quick check with her temporary agency had provided the address, but they couldn’t have known she was living with her parents. It also surprised him that her father was wearing a service revolver in an unsnapped shoulder holster, and that he was giving Thomas the hairy eyeball.
Damn it. How much had Kate told him? And how much damage control was he going to need to do?
“Kate? Everything all right?” the older man said, his eyes cold and flat, like he was stepping into an interrogation room.
Kate’s own gaze never wavered; she was staring at Thomas like she could somehow kill him with her glare.
“It’s fine, Dad. I’ll be right back.” She stepped out, pointedly closing the door between her father and them, and nodded toward Thomas’s limo. Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Start walking. I don’t want to have this conversation here.”
Thomas noticed one of the wooden blinds opening. Her father was going to be watching, protective. Well, Thomas wasn’t here to abduct Kate or threaten her.
Hell, all he was doing here was hiring her. No crime in that.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Thomas said smoothly. “I could have handled all that better.”
“You mean you could have come up with a better cover story if you’d realized that you might need one.”
That was true enough. “Let me
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