need anything from me, Officer?”
“I think we’ve got what we need. I’ll radio and see if he’s been located.”
The instant the door jingled behind him, Piper leaned close to Jessie and whispered, “Check it out. I think we have a love connection here.”
Jessie followed the subtle nod toward Rafe and Amber, and she chuckled. Amber’s face—stained bright red—glowed with a beaming smile. What was more, Rafe radiated unmistakable captivation in return.
“Huh,” Jessie clucked. “Never saw that coming.”
“They’re cute, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah. They are.”
Adorable, actually.
A distinct sound came from Rafe’s cell phone, and he checked it. When he made his way toward Jessie and Piper, Amber timidly followed.
“Do you have any idea what he may have wanted to discuss with you?” he asked.
Jessie sighed. “I can’t imagine anything that still needs to be said.”
“My guys have picked him up, and I’m going to meet them at the precinct. I’ll try to get some insight about it. But not before making a clear impression on him about what a restraining order means.”
Piper touched his arm, but looked at Jessie. “Thank you so much. You don’t think Jessie’s in any danger, do you?”
“I doubt it. But keep your phone on. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a chance to press him for some information.”
“I appreciate it, Rafe,” Jessie told him. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Rafe made his way to the door before turning back and smiling at Amber. “Good to meet you, Amber.”
“You too, Rafe.”
To Jessie, he added, “Good luck opening up again tomorrow. I hope it all goes well for you.”
“Thank you so much.”
A lock of dark, glossy hair fell over Rafe’s forehead as he nodded one last time and pulled open the door. “We’ll talk soon.”
The instant the door fell shut again, Amber swooned. “Okay, all drama aside, may I just say he is dreamy.”
Piper chuckled. “Yes, he is. All drama aside.”
“I think he might have thought you were a little dreamy, too,” Jessie teased. “We saw the way you were blushing at one another.”
“Shush,” Amber said before her face transformed. “Wait. You think he’s interested, too?”
“Blind much?” Piper joked. “He’s enamored.”
“What should I do?”
“Maybe if there were a mutual friend who could get the wheels in motion.” Piper grinned at Jessie.
“Me?”
“Not you. Danny.”
“Oh. Well, I might be able to mention it to him.”
“Would you?” Amber exclaimed. “That would be so great. I mean, he’s really—”
“Dreeeeamy,” Jessie and Piper harmonized.
“Well. He is.”
***
Most of the messages in Danny’s voice mailbox that morning had now been returned, and he stopped to pour the last of the coffee from the pot in the kitchen before getting to that last one. Rosemary Somebody from the Hollywood Daily.
“I can’t tell you how much work it’s taken to track you down, Mr. Callahan,” she’d said. “But now that I have, I hope you’ll give me a few minutes of your time. I think it will be worth your while.”
Danny dialed the number he’d scribbled on the pad, and she answered on the first ring. “Rosemary Stiles.”
“Ms. Stiles. Danny Callahan returning your call.”
“Oh, Danny,” she exclaimed. “Thank you so much for calling me back.”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
She paused a moment—one of those pauses women seemed to enlist just prior to an unusual request . . . or a demand. “I presume you noticed we used your photograph on the cover of our paper after the FiFi Awards.”
FiFi. There’s a word I didn’t think I’d hear again.
He thought back to the headline they’d used: “Mystery Man Turns Heads on Red Carpet.” The accompanying photograph had reached to both sides of the fold.
“Did you know you were on the cover of The Daily?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “I am aware.”
“Good. I want you to know we’ve received a lot of reader response to that photograph, Danny. People want to know who you are.”
Was he supposed to respond? Good for me.
“Really,” he said instead.
“Yes, really. And in my follow-up research, I’ve learned that you’re a private investigator. So I’m wondering . . . what would a family values group need with a private investigator, Danny?”
“I was hired as part of their security team.”
She waited in silence. Then, “And?”
“And I did my job.”
Rosemary chuckled. “Despite the challenge I see that it might present, I’d like to interview you. I want to feature you in a follow-up piece.”
“No.” After a beat, he added, “Thank you anyway.”
“A lot of people are interested in—”
“Ms. Stiles,” he interrupted, “I don’t have a story interesting enough to sell papers. I’m just a working stiff doing a job—”
“Come now.”
“—and that job involves the need for a good bit of anonymity. I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yes, but—”
“I appreciate the interest,” he fibbed. “But I can’t have my face plastered all over a Los Angeles area newspaper and then expect to be able to conduct my job without raising notice.”
“I suppose—”
“So, thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”
He disconnected the
