go away.”
“Oh, Lord, I have done some things for you in my life, but make him go away? I’m not married, you know. I’m not engaged. I’m not even dating. And you want me to make this guy go away?”
“Yes. Do it, please.”
“McFadden, McFadden... Oh, he looks like that old matinee star Hamish McFadden. Is he—”
“Yes. Make him go away. Please... Oh. Never mind!”
She’d make him go away herself.
Marnie leaped to her feet and flew to the front door, opening it.
He was a solid six foot four, and in the dark suit he’d chosen for the funeral, he was definitely impressive in his size and stature. He had a way of looking at her so directly that it was unnerving.
He was attractive; that was certain. Very. In a land of attractive people, he had something else, as well. Maybe it was that very steady way he had of looking at a person. Rock-solid. More. She felt as if Bridget could create one of her sci-fi ray guns based on his gaze: a green ray of light that drew her to him while she wanted to run away—or at least slam the door on him.
Yes, his very stature was imposing.
He probably knew it. Maybe he even used it to bully people.
She didn’t let him speak.
“Mr. McFadden, I left the funeral reception to avoid you. I don’t appreciate you coming to my house to hound me. You may be working with the police, but if you harass me, I will get a restraining order against you.”
“You’re going to need me, Miss Davante,” he told her. He produced a card. “My cell number is there. Call me when you’ve figured out the fact that you can’t do this alone.”
“Oh, hello there!”
Bridget had come to stand behind her and was looking at him over Marnie’s shoulder.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly, lowering his head slightly to see her. “Bridget Davante, I presume. A pleasure to meet you. I watched Deadly Venom and Bloody Claws the other night. Very tongue-in-cheek. Absolutely ridiculous, but the writing was wonderful.”
“Thanks! I was head on that project,” Bridget said. “Would you like some tea?”
“Mr. McFadden was just leaving,” Marnie snapped.
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