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Cady rests her hands on the table, staring at her nails for a long moment. “Noam liked the companionship,” she says softly. “That was it. Nothing else.”
“It’s none of my business,” I repeat.
“If his family knows I was with him, there will be an investigation. They don’t trust me because of… other reasons. I don’t want to deal with the fallout from this if I can avoid it.”
I lean in as well. “This might sound crass, but… was he alive when you left?”
She closes her eyes and nods. “Asleep, but very much alive.”
“And you don’t think anyone will believe that.”
Her gaze meets mine. Last night I pegged her eyes as brown, or maybe hazel, but this morning, I realize they’re a cool amber colour. “You didn’t believe it.”
The waitress returns with Cady’s tea, which gives me a moment to think about how to respond. Of course I didn’t think she did anything that would render him not alive—even as the ghost of her past career floats between us.
And that’s factoring in her worry over the rumours and speculation.
Facts can be worse than rumours.
“It’s not that I thought that,” I begin. “Circumstances being… it looks…”
“I shouldn’t have bothered,” she huffs and moves to stand.
“Wait.” I reach for her hand, and surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away from my touch. “I can’t seem to say anything right with you.”
“I don’t think I’m the problem.”
“You are for me,” I admit. “Not that you’re a problem… see what I do when you’re around? You’re… intimidating.”
“I’ve heard that.” She sounds sad.
“Your tea should be steeped by now,” I point out.
“I like it strong.”
“Duly noted. I’m sorry that you lost your friend. You were friends, weren’t you? You seemed close during your dinner. Not that I was watching or anything,” I add quickly.
“No, I definitely didn’t see you watching.” Her lips quirk for a moment but I can’t tell if it’s humour or disgust. Maybe both? “Thank you for your condolences,” she adds. “You can save them for the family. I assume you know his children.”
“I do.” I grimace. “And I can see why you don’t want to tangle with them. Sit down and let’s figure this out. What do you need from me?”
I’ve never felt much like the knight-in-shining-armour type, yet I can’t help but feel that way at the grateful expression on Cady’s face as she takes her seat.
And then it vanishes as—
“Mr. Steele?” I look up to see one of the police officers standing by the table.
I glance at Cady, at her now blank expression, eyes cool as she glances up at the officers. “Uh, hello?”
“Sorry to bother you.” He sounds about as unapologetic as Cady did when she showed up. “If you don’t mind, we need to ask Ms. Quinn a few questions.”
“Why would I mind?” I demand rudely. “You should be asking her if she has the time or inclination for you to bother her.” I slip neatly into the voice of Maximus Steele, son of Dalton Steele of Sandflower Resorts. It comes so easily.
I hate it. I hate that I can do it so well.
The officer, a heavyset man with a buzz cut hiding a thinning hairline, takes a step back at my tone. “Yes, well—”
“Do you mind?” I ask Cady, who stares at me with surprise. “If they take up your time asking you questions?” I turn back to him before she can answer. “What kind of questions?”
