“Ha-ha.”

Cate continued toward the door as Eve chuckled and ended the call. “I think this is Grace. Eve said she’s been frantic too.”

“You want me to answer it? That should put a damper on a long cross-examination.”

“No, I’ll handle it. She’ll want to see me.”

Cate verified the identity of her visitor through the peephole and opened the door. As she pulled it back, Zeke drew close and rested his hand on her shoulder in a proprietary gesture impossible to miss.

Grace opened her mouth to speak . . . saw Zeke . . . snapped it closed.

“Morning.” Amusement tickled his deep baritone greeting.

“Uh . . . good morning.” Grace looked at Cate. “I’ve, uh, been texting with Eve since dawn. She thought you might be in trouble.”

“I was . . . but all’s well now.”

“Yeah . . . I can see that.” Grinning, Grace took a step back. “Why don’t you give me a call when you have a free minute?”

“I’ll do that. I appreciate you stopping by. If you talk to Eve, will you reassure her I’m in one piece?”

“Oh, I’ll definitely reassure her. You guys enjoy your day.”

“That’s the plan.” Zeke ran his hand down Cate’s arm.

Grace beat a hasty retreat.

“Sorry about that.” Cate closed the door.

“Don’t apologize. Having people who care about you is a blessing.” He moved beside her, draped his arm around her shoulders, and led her into the living room. “Let’s sit on the aptly named love seat.”

She faltered. “I need a shower first.”

“It can wait. I can’t. My patience is gone.” He urged her forward. “I’ll scramble eggs while you clean up if you give me ten minutes first. I’ll toast your bagel too.”

“What a deal.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It is.”

She let him guide her to the love seat, trying to regulate her erratic pulse—but it was hard not to be nervous when you were preparing to leap off a cliff.

This time around, though, every instinct in her body told her Zeke would be waiting to catch her.

He sat and tugged her down with him.

She angled his direction, giving him her full attention.

For some reason, her rapt concentration seemed to discombobulate him.

He shifted his position. Ran a hand over the bad-boy stubble on his chin. Swallowed.

Interesting.

For a man who’d conducted two critical interviews with absolute calm and total control mere hours ago, he appeared to be very nervous.

For whatever reason, his discomfiture helped calm her.

“So . . .” He took her hand and lightly stroked a finger over a purpling bruise. “It’s Thursday, and the cases are winding down. Which means we can concentrate on us at long last. I know you have concerns about my staying power . . . and I realize I have to prove myself all over again to you . . . but I hope you’ll give me—”