“Fair enough. I’ll have my team go through Stephanie’s car to see if they can find anything.”

“How are you going to do that? Are you going to tell Stephanie that she’s a suspect?”

“There’s no need for that. Don’t worry, Hannah. I have a way to get her car so that my guys can go through it, and it won’t arouse either Stephanie’s or the mayor’s suspicions.”

“You’re going to do something sneaky?”

“Some might call it that. Others would call it brilliant.” Mike gave her the devilish grin that always made Hannah’s knees turn weak. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

Hannah couldn’t hide her look of surprise. “Are you inviting me out to dinner when you’re in the middle of an investigation?”

“No. I’d like to ask you out to dinner, but I’m on call until this case is solved. I just want to know where you are at all times. I worry about you, Hannah.”

“That’s really . . .” Hannah paused, trying to come up with the perfect word. “That’s really sweet.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s necessary. You’re really good at identifying the killer, but that usually gets you into trouble. I just want a little warning, okay? One of these times I might not be around to protect you. And I do want to protect you, Hannah. I care about you.” Mike reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I don’t want to see anything bad to happen to you.”

Hannah’s first instinct was to bristle. She wanted to recount the number of times she’d confronted a killer alone and taken the proper action to save herself. She wasn’t some kind of delicate tropical flower that had to be kept in a hothouse and cosseted. But Mike did have a point. She’d gotten into trouble a couple of times and Mike had been there. He had saved her. There was no denying that. And she had no way of knowing the future. It was possible that a similar situation could happen again.

“Okay,” Hannah told him, although it went totally against her fiercely independent nature. “I’ll be glad to give you my schedule for the evening, if it’ll make you feel any better.”

Mike pulled out the small notebook that he always carried in the shirt pocket of his uniform, and unclipped his pen. “Okay,” he said. “Shoot.”

“Isn’t that a rather dangerous thing for a cop to say?” Hannah asked him, unable to resist the joke.

“Not to you. I know you don’t keep a gun in The Cookie Jar. Where will you be, Hannah?”