behind the coffee mug? After that lame attempt to sweet-talk her last night, she didn’t doubt it.
His soft, almost seductive tone made her heart thump. Annoyed, she swallowed a sharp retort. Instead, she gave him an abbreviated version of what little she’d discovered that morning.
He took it all in in silence, with no overt display of emotion except a faint tightening of the jaw, a flash of his dark eyes. Finally, he dragged a long-fingered hand through his hair and rose.
“And what’s the real estate agency called?” He fixed her with such a piercing look, she felt the danger tingle down to the roots of her hair.
“Crown. I have a rental agreement … well, it’s more like a caretaking agreement—the owners are permanently overseas and I pay minimum rent to keep their house.”
“And you’ve been here three years.”
“Yes.”
“And before that?”
A myriad of emotions tightened her gut. “A bunch of cheap rentals. Nothing like this.”
She’d put so much time and effort into making this house her home. Fixed and replanted the sad garden. Painted the walls. Retiled the bathroom. Put up shelves. All with her own sweat and time and with many a muttered curse. And in a few months, finances willing, she’d even planned to make an offer on it.
It was her sanctuary from the world and no one was going to take that from her without a fight.
“What do you do for work?” he continued.
“I’m a masseuse. I have a store in Surfers …” She glanced at her watch. “One that opens at ten.”
He paused and took a sip of coffee, his expression unreadable. “Do you have the agency’s address?”
“Highway end of Surfers Mall.” She frowned. “What are you going to do?”
“Who’s Ben?”
“What?” Beth blinked.
“Boyfriend? Ex-husband?”
“No!”
“You thought I was here about Ben yesterday.”
She hated how the seeds of insecurity had blossomed into a full-blown tree of doubt in the last half hour. She didn’t want to give in to that. Because if she did, it meant all her efforts to carve out a normal life these last ten years had failed. She didn’t want to be suspicious, didn’t want to automatically doubt every person she met. But right now, faced with this bizarre situation, she had a strange feeling she should believe him. He just gave off that kind of aura.
“Ben’s got nothing to do with this,” she eventually said.
“How do you know that? He could’ve been partners with the agency, operating a real estate scam.”
“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Oh, and what we have here is normal?”
She plunked herself on the porch railing. They stayed like that for a few moments, Luke in anticipatory silence, she with her lips pressed tight. He gave her that look again, that firm, what-are-you-hiding-from-me look. It unnerved her.
“He was my bookkeeper,” she conceded tightly, cheeks warming. “When my bank accidentally deposited someone else’s money into my business account, he took it and ran.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
He gave a low whistle, and embarrassment flamed her face. She’d trusted Ben—someone she thought she’d known—and he’d gone and screwed her over.
“I take it you’ve filed a police report?”
“Not yet.” His look only compounded her shame. “The bank gives you twenty-eight days to return the money. It’s only the second.”
“You think he’s going to bring it back?” At her silence, he added more softly, “So. We have a scam and a missing person.”
“We don’t. My problems are none of your business.”
“And I can see you’re handling them just fine.”
She shot to her feet, irritated beyond words. He was right. But cops meant an inquiry, one she couldn’t afford to have.
“Were you and Foster in a sexual relationship?” he said suddenly.
Beth flushed. “What is it with you and sex? No! He’s nineteen, barely out of his teens. A math geek. His mother was a client and he… I…” She faltered at his expression then conceded, “We met twice after work, but it was always about business.”
“Did he know that?”
“Of course!” She swallowed as a small sliver of doubt crept in. “Of course,” she repeated with less conviction. “Why would he steal from me? And something that’s not even mine?”
“Greed’s a basic human desire. It’s not a matter of need, it’s about want. You focus on a victim, build trust and then …”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
Luke took in her tight expression and felt a rush of sympathy. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No.” As if he’d insulted her, she straightened her back and crossed her arms.
He flipped out his phone and dialed. “Dylan. It’s Luke. I need a favor. Information on a Ben Foster. Lives …?”
He paused for an interminably long moment, until Beth grudgingly reeled off an address.
As he gave details, he pointedly ignored Beth’s impatient snort. But when she attempted to interrupt, he held up a hand, silencing her. A complex play of emotions flitted across her face—annoyance, indignation—along with a scowl. Obviously she wasn’t used to being silenced. Fascinated, he watched her wrestle with the anger banking in her eyes. For a second he wasn’t sure control would win out.
“Gotcha,” Dylan said. “When do you want this info?”
“Yesterday.”
Dylan laughed. “Right. I’m off to Cairns for a court appearance this afternoon, then I’m booked solid until Friday. I could hand it over to one of my guys—”
“No. I’d much rather you handle it.”
“Okay. So it’ll have to wait until Sunday.”
Four days? Luke frowned. “Sure.” Then he hung up.
Beth rounded on him. “I didn’t ask for your help!” Her eyes narrowed, her expression tight. “Or is poking about in people’s lives just something that comes naturally?”
He
