Rory walked into the small room, completely oblivious to what had just been going on. “Ah, Mr. Grant, there you are. I was just bringing you these files.” He held out several coloured folders.

  “Thank you,” Cameron responded evenly, taking them and glancing at me with a mix of desire and regret.

  After he left, Rory turned to me with a smile that said he wanted something. “Maisie, just the person I was hoping to see. I have a stack of closed cases that need to be filed. I was wondering if you’d mind taking them off my hands?”

  Normally, I’d say yes, sure, happy to help, but this time I paused, reconsidering. I didn’t want to change who I was, but I had to admit I could stand to be a little less of a pushover. Rory fobbed extra work like this off on me all the time. Then when I tried to sit with him at lunch on days when Lilah was out in the field, he’d completely ignore me in favour of gossiping with Jenny and Miles.

  Well, I wasn’t going to do him any more favours I’d never be thanked for.

  “I can’t, sorry. I have too much on my plate right now,” I said, grabbing my photocopies and heading for the door.

  “But—”

  “Maybe ask Miles. I’m sure he’d be happy to help you out.”

  With that, I walked out of the room, feeling decidedly proud of myself. What was this new sensation? For once I’d stood my ground, and it felt great. I hated to admit it, because I disagreed with his argument on the whole, but perhaps Cameron had a point about all the favours I did for people around here.

  Cameron.

  My mind returned to that unexpected, incredible, toe-curling kiss we’d just shared. What had come over him? He definitely fancied me. I mean, he had to. The kiss had been so out of the blue, like he’d acted instinctually rather than rationally. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about our agreement to forget we had sex. Then again, neither had I. My body had taken over, reacting to him in ways I didn’t know was possible.

  After Raymond and I broke up, I’d optimistically re-entered the dating world, only to have that optimism die a slow, painful death. I spent months going on Tinder dates and attending singles nights, meeting countless men who were either rude or weird or a combination of both. Don’t get me wrong, there were some nice guys, too, but unfortunately I never met anyone I shared any chemistry with.

  This was why for years I’d shied away from dating. And in a way, I’d been comfortable in my single life. I didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I also didn’t have to worry about being hurt again. I could simply focus on my home and my work, creating a cosy yet affection deprived little world for myself. Now Cameron had bulldozed his way into my feelings and there was quite a high risk of being hurt. Or jeopardizing my career. Or both.

  Did he feel for me like I did for him, or was this all sexual? I thought about our interactions in the past. He’d always given me these hard, intense sort of looks, which I’d interpreted as disapproval, but perhaps I was looking at it wrong. Maybe he looked at me like that because he liked me and resented the fact that he did.

  Or maybe I was imagining things.

  However, there was no mistaking the lusty way he stared at the wet patch on my blouse. Speaking of which, I needed to take care of that. Heading for the bathroom, I made quick work of drying my top with the hand dryer. There were still some mascara stains, but it would have to do.

  When I emerged, I heard someone having a heated argument. I deducted it must’ve been over the phone since I could only hear one side of it. Turning around, I saw it was Ross Moretti. He was here for an update on our investigation into Claire.

  “You’ve completely screwed me over here. You need to fix it,” he said, desperate.

  Who was he talking to?

  “Don’t you fucking dare. You knew exactly what you were doing,” he went on, then abruptly hung up the phone. With his back still to me, he dragged his hand through his hair and swore under his breath.

  Careful not to make a sound, I backed away. For some reason, I felt like he wouldn’t appreciate me listening to his phone call.

  At my desk, I gathered my research on Claire and headed to the conference room where Cameron and I were to meet with Moretti. Lilah was out sick for a second day, so it was just the two of us working the case. After what happened at the photocopier, I suspected things could be awkward.

  Cameron was already there, alone, when I entered the room. His eyes flicked up, and I swallowed and went to take a seat.

  “Maisie, about what happened earlier—"

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” I cut him off awkwardly, focusing on the papers in front of me.

  “Hey,” he said, and it sounded like he was closer. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  Now I looked at him. “It wasn’t?”

  “I was going to apologise for kissing you like that. It was completely inappropriate, and I understand if you want to report me to HR.”

  He did? I mean, technically speaking, the kiss was inappropriate, but I’d liked it. I’d more than liked it. I stared at him, his handsome features drawn into a brooding frown.

  My voice was quiet. “I don’t want to report you.”

  “Oh.” Cameron’s eyebrows jumped like I’d surprised him, then he sounded relieved. “Okay.”

  I inhaled deeply. “Maybe we should…”

  The door to the conference room opened. “Mr. Moretti is here for your update,” Nadia announced.

  Great, interrupted again. This office was the worst sometimes. Cameron and I shared a look, a silent agreement to talk later. Then we both stood to greet Ross Moretti.

  Cameron gave him a quick rundown of our findings and detailed his suspicions about the jewellery store. “We believe that Claire blackmailed her former employer, stealing two of the most valuable rings in his shop and making away with them without being reported to the police. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to see security footage to confirm this, since we’d have to go through Harrington for that and he insists the rings were sold, not stolen.”

  Moretti frowned. “But what could she possibly have on Mr. Harrington?”

  “We’re still looking into that,” said Cameron. “This is all just conjecture, but if it turns out we’re right perhaps we can get Harrington to admit he was blackmailed, then we may be able to find some information as to Claire’s whereabouts. Also, we’re searching for places where she may have sold the rings. That could lead us to her, too.”

  Moretti seemed satisfied now. “Good. I can’t wait to see her face when she goes down for this.”

  His venomous tone startled me a little. It reminded me of how he sounded on the phone earlier when I’d listened in. Then again, if someone stole that amount of money from me, I’m sure I’d be experiencing anger issues, too.

  We assured Moretti we’d be in touch soon with further developments and then he left. Cameron and I were alone again, and I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I’ll apologise to Jenny,” he said, breaking the silence.

  “You will?” I asked, surprised.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with her. At least, not in front of the client. I should have reprimanded her in private, and in a less upsetting manner.”

  Wow. Had I actually broken through to him? It was clear he was making an effort and it touched a small piece of my heart to know he’d listened to what I’d said, thought about it and decided to act in a way to make up for his poor behaviour.

  “Well, what she did was fairly sloppy,” I allowed. “I can understand why you were annoyed.”

  Even I had to admit that neglecting to investigate one of the prime characters in a case was pretty bad.

  “She’s suffering the bereavement of a pet, and I’ve recently been enlightened as to the fact that animals are people, too, so an apology is in order.”

  I smiled, unable to help it. When he smiled back, a whoosh of air fled my lungs. I was locked in his dark, sexy eyes for a second before he said, “I take it back.”

  “Take what back?”

  “What I said about your smile.” He reached out and caressed my cheek. “It’s not off-putting at all, it’s captivating.”

  My eyelids fluttered. My pulse thrummed, and my cheeks flushed. I couldn’t believe he’d just complimented me like that, touched me. Right here in the office of all places. Thankfully this was the one room without glass walls.

  “Well,” I whispered. “Your smile’s not so bad either, when you choose to use it, that is.”

  He held my gaze a second longer, caressed my cheek one last time, then gathered his things. “We should get back to work.”

  “Yes, right, work,” I said, sobering. I felt a little unsteady on my feet, lightheaded, too. Something had shifted between Cameron and me, and it thrilled me. It also concerned me, because now I didn’t know where we stood in regard to our agreement.

  I felt his eyes on me as I returned to my desk. When I sat down, I chanced a peek across the room and found him watching me still. Butterflies invaded my stomach. I looked away again, not daring to look back in case I discovered he was still smouldering at me.

  And when Cameron Grant smouldered at you, it sent all your womanly parts into a frenzy.

  Turning to my computer, I tried to focus and think of what was niggling at me. It took me a minute to remember the phone call I’d overheard Moretti having before our meeting. He’d sounded angry and desperate and something about it just didn’t sit right with me.

  I knew our job was to investigate Claire, but I decided to take a little detour and look into Moretti himself. After about a half-hour of digging, what I found astonished me. Moretti was in debt, serious debt. Several of his restaurants were in bad financial trouble and on the brink of closing down. I couldn’t believe it, especially since I remembered him mentioning how well his businesses were doing in our initial meeting.

  I unplugged my laptop, carried it into Cameron’s office and closed the door behind me. He looked up, eyebrows furrowing.

  “Maisie?”

  “There’s something you need to see,” I said and set my laptop down in front of him.

  Cameron quickly scanned the screen then let out a low curse. “He’s broke,” he said, sounding just as surprised as I was.

  “Yep. Ross Moretti is on the brink of financial ruin, so why did he pretend like his business was booming?”

  Cameron met my gaze. “I have no idea, but you and I are going to find out.”

  Five

  The Lead

  December 22nd

  Thursday and most of Friday passed with few developments in the Ross Moretti case. We’d established he’d lied about his financial situation, but we couldn’t be sure if it was simply to save face or if there was a more duplicitous reason. Anyway, Cameron was looking into it.

  Speaking of, we hadn’t spoken much over the last two days. Most of the time he was either in his office or out investigating, and I had a pile of research to complete before the Christmas break. I was also still contemplating Georgia’s offer of a promotion. My little discovery about Moretti had boosted my confidence, and everything else aside I was starting to think that maybe I could be cut out for the job.

  Late on Friday afternoon, Cameron appeared at my desk. He wore a deep, troubled frown that put me on alert.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I just had a call from Moretti.”

  “Oh?”

  “He wants to drop the investigation,” Cameron said and my eyes widened.

  “But he seemed so determined to find Claire. Did he say why he’s dropping it?”

  He came to sit at the edge of my desk, his wristwatch glinting in the corner of my eye. There was something sexy about the dark hair on his wrists, like unnervingly sexy and manly. The way he loosely folded his arms and crossed his legs at the ankles was also highly distracting.

  Cameron’s voice brought my attention back to the matter at hand. “He didn’t give a reason, just said he’s no longer interested in proceeding with the case.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Very odd,” he agreed.

  “Maybe it’s because he’s broke and can’t afford to pay us.”

  “Possibly, but why come to us in the first place if he can’t afford us? Also, he sounded weird on the phone. Tetchy.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s annoying. I’ve wasted a number of hours researching this case, and I hate loose ends.”

  Something like affection came into his eyes. “Me, too.”

  I held his gaze. “We have that in common then.”

  “And some other things,” he added in a low voice that made the skin at the back of my neck tingle. I blinked and looked away, needing to break whatever spell he had me under.

  “I guess now we have more time to focus on our other cases,” I said, voice sober.

  Cameron moved away. “True. I’ll leave you to your work.” There was a pause before he continued stiffly, “I hope you have a good weekend, Maisie.”

  I watched him as he walked away, noticing that he’d started calling me by my first name instead of the formal Miss Wilkins. When did the change happen? And why did he no longer feel the need for the professional boundary?

  Turning back to my computer, I tried to concentrate on work, but something about the whole Moretti thing kept bothering me. I thought of the picture he’d shown us of Claire, and how she’d seemed familiar. I knew I’d seen her somewhere before, but where and when lingered on the edge of my brain, just out of reach.

  I was still wracking my brain when I got home that evening. I slipped off my shoes, hung up my coat and handbag then went to change into something more comfortable. I ran my hand along the pale pink cashmere throw that was strewn across the end of my bed, savouring the softness. About two years ago, I became obsessed with the concept of Hygge, which was a Scandinavian practice of creating a home that brought about a feeling of cosiness, wellness, and contentment. Since I was always happy to come home after a long day at work, I had a feeling I’d achieved the effect.

  Claire remained on the periphery of my mind while I was chopping some carrots for dinner. Then, like a miraculous apparition, it finally hit me. I put down the knife and ran to pick up my phone, quickly dialling my parents’ house.

  “Maisie, what a nice surprise,” Mum answered. “Are you still dropping over for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Hi, Mum. Yes, I’m coming to dinner. I was just calling to ask if you still have any of my old photographs from school. Remember those class pictures they used to take every year?”

  “I think they might be up in the attic, but I could probably root them out for you.”

  I smiled, eager to discover if my hunch was correct. “Thanks, Mum. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow, honey.”

  The following day I drove to Barnstaple to visit Mum and Dad. When I walked into the living room, the coffee table was piled high with old photographs.

  “I found all of these while I was looking for your school pictures,” Mum said. “I decided to reorganise them all to be put into albums. Did you know there was a brief period in the seventies when your father had a perm? We both got a good giggle out of it when I found the pictures last night.”

  “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Dad called from where he was cooking dinner in the kitchen. “I’ll have you know, people were jealous of my hairstyle back in the day.”

  “Okay, I need to see evidence of this,” I said, chuckling.

  Mum proceeded to produce several hilarious pictures of both her and dad in the seventies. They’d been big disco enthusiasts and the fashion was…well, interesting was one word for it. I spent the next hour poring over childhood photographs and pictures of my parents when they were younger, sitting side by side with Mum as we shared a glass of wine.

  Dad announced that dinner was ready just as I finally got around to going through my class photos. My pulse pounded when I found the one I was looking for, the tiny hairs on my neck standing on end as I studied it. I must’ve been about twelve or thirteen and was wearing my navy-and-grey uniform. The teacher had lined us all up to sit on the bleachers in the gym. I smiled at how young everybody looked. We hadn’t yet settled into ourselves, still in that awkward early teenage phase. Then I zeroed in on a girl in the back row.

  “There you are,” I murmured to myself.

  She had bright, curly red hair, gigantic braces, and thick glasses. She’d been a quiet student, and we hadn’t really been friends. I struggled to recall her name.

  “Mum, do you remember this girl?” I asked, pointing to the redhead in the photo.

  Mum peered at the picture, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I think that’s Myleene Crowley’s daughter. She sent her off to boarding school not long after this was taken. Her name was Christina, though you probably don’t remember her very much. Odd little girl. Janie Thompson told me how she’d come into her shop and steal chocolate bars and such. She was always getting herself into trouble. That’s probably why her mother sent her away.”

  This was definitely her. There was no denying it. When I’d first seen the picture of Claire, I sensed something familiar about her, it just took me a while to remember. I liked to think of the brain as a filing system, and all the old, unused information was stored way in the back, so it took a while to find it again.

  I brought my attention back to the picture, flabbergasted. I couldn’t believe I’d gone to school with her. What a stroke of luck! Then again, it wasn’t like Devon was the biggest place in the world.

  “I have to make a call,” I told Mum and headed out into the hallway. I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should even be bothering Cameron since technically this wasn’t our case anymore. Moretti no longer wanted us to find “Claire”. Still, I was excited to share my discovery with him. It just seemed way too important not to tell him.

  Cameron’s phone rang several times before he picked up. “Maisie?”

  “Hi, um, I’m sorry for calling you on the weekend.”

  “Are you okay?”