“I’m sorry I couldn’t be a team player,” she said as she slid up onto a barstool. “But you weren’t exactly available for consultation.”

“You’re forgiven.”

She held up the wine goblet he gave her. “Here’s to being innocent.”

“Not in that dress.”

The dress’s wide neckline extended all the way to her collarbones, but the rest of it hugged her body. “I was talking about you.”

“I know.” He smiled. “How did you figure it out?”

She told him about Noah’s license plate.

“Not much to go on.”

“And intuition. He hovered around Deidre, and there was something about his attitude toward you that felt more personal than professional.”

He rested his hand on the bar and gave her one of his brain-piercing looks. “How did you get his computer?”

He’d brought up the thing she most didn’t want to look at. “Not legally.” She stared into her wineglass. “I’m turning into somebody I don’t respect. One of those people so focused on the end goal that they don’t care how they reach it.”

“It’s called passion.”

She had another word for it. Unethical.

***

Coop watched her sip her wine. She wasn’t happy, and he wanted her to be. She should be.

He took a platter of meats, cheeses, olives, and summer rolls from the refrigerator under the bar and carried it to the closest banquette. She followed him with their wine goblets, steady as can be on those stilettos she detested. She hadn’t believed he’d assaulted anybody. Not for a moment. She’d been impatient when he’d pressed her about it—as if he were wasting her time by bringing it up. No one had ever had such blind faith in him. What the hell was a man supposed to do with a woman like this?

She slid into the banquette, her skirt riding up on her thighs enough for him to lose his train of thought. Even without tonight’s mascara, her eyelashes were long and thick, and her glossy cinnamon mouth was an invitation. He loved her face best scrubbed clean, but he also loved knowing that she’d bothered fixing herself up just for him.

“This feels ceremonial,” she said.

“It is. A celebration.” She’d put her investigator’s license in jeopardy doing whatever it was she’d done, and that bothered him even more than knowing he’d needed someone else to solve his problems.

“You don’t look happy,” she said.

“I’m very happy.”

“Then why are you frowning?”

“Because I’m trying not to act like the animal I am by picturing what’s under your dress. I’m not proud of myself.”

She smiled.

He set down his drink. “Let’s dance.”

“Really?”

“Why not?”