really was a nerd, Mackenzie. What were you thinking?”
Steaming, Mackenzie couldn’t miss the amusement dancing in his eyes. Oh, he was enjoying this. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was incredibly charming. All too easily, she could imagine what he was like when he pursued a woman: fun, teasing, wickedly mischievous. The kind of man, she silently acknowledged, that she’d always had a weakness for.
The thought came out of nowhere to steal the breath right out of her lungs. Had she lost her mind? He was right. What was she thinking?
“So now that I know just about everything there is to know about you, are you going to trust me and let me look at your files or not?”
Thankful that he’d brought the subject back to the matter at hand, she looked at him sharply. Trust. It was such an easy word. And even though he’d checked her out, she seriously doubted that he had a clue just how difficult it was for her to trust anyone.
It was, she silently acknowledged, something she’d struggled with for a long, long time…ever since her mother died and she discovered that there were no guarantees in life. If you couldn’t count on the people you loved to always be there for you, how could you count on strangers?
And what, after all, did she know about Patrick O’Reilly? she reminded herself. She didn’t know if he was a man of his word or not, if he was the kind to trick a “suspect” into confiding in him so he could then use that confidence to haul the poor trusting idiot off to jail. Could she really take a chance and trust him when she didn’t know for sure if her father had stolen documents from the Archives? What kind of charges could she be setting herself up for if some of the documents she’d sold really had belonged to the Archives?
“Look,” he said when she hesitated, “we got off to a bad start. Okay? I’m not trying to destroy your business or your father’s reputation. I’m just trying to get to the truth. If your father didn’t steal those documents, then he bought them from whoever did and you sold them. I need to know who that person is, and you can help me. Somewhere in your father’s papers, there’s bound to be a record of who he bought these things from. I just need this jackass’s name, but you’re protecting him by refusing to let me look at your father’s records.”
Surprised, Mackenzie hadn’t thought of it that way. “I’m not protecting anyone,” she retorted, stung.
“Of course you are. And frankly, I don’t understand why. You’re so concerned about protecting your father’s reputation, but you’re protecting the one person who could have destroyed it. Is that what you really want?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then talk to me!”
“My lawyer told me not to.”
He frowned. “If you haven’t done anything wrong, what do you need a lawyer for?” Before she could even begin to answer, understanding dawned. “This is about your father.”
“He was an honorable man,” she said huskily. “He would have never knowingly bought anything stolen.”
“So what are you saying? You’re not responsible for what’s in his shop?”
“Yes.”
“Did I imply that you were?”
When she blinked in surprise, Patrick was stunned. Did she really think she was going to be hanged for the sins of her father? Okay, so he’d come down hard on her. He took his job seriously, and when he’d first started investigating her, she and her father had looked guilty as hell. But there were some things he couldn’t deny. Up until his death, Michael Sloan had had an impeccable reputation. What if he hadn’t stolen those documents? What if his sin was that of being too trusting? It was that thought that nagged at Patrick and refused to be ignored.
“Whatever your father may or may not have done has nothing to do with you. Unless,” he added, “you continue to sell things you know were probably stolen. You’re taking a huge risk, Mackenzie. Are you sure you want to do that?”
When her gaze shifted to her unattended booth, where the items she’d brought to sell were clearly displayed, he knew the second she made up her mind to cooperate. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze dead on.
“I’m not trying to be difficult. I have nothing to hide. If my lawyer says it’s okay, you’re welcome to check my father’s records whenever you like.”
Pleased, he said, “Good. Then I’ll follow you back to your shop after the show. I’d like to get started on this as soon as possible.”
A steady influx of history buffs streamed into the memorabilia show over the course of the day. It was one of the best shows Mackenzie had been to since she’d taken over the business. But as she packed up at the end of the day and headed home, her attention was on the man who followed her at a safe distance in his black SUV.
After she’d agreed to give him access to her father’s business records, Patrick’s attitude had completely changed. He’d gone back to his own table, then spent the rest of the afternoon greeting history buffs and handing out literature. She’d watched him laugh and joke with people and turn serious over the subject he was there to discuss—the theft and sale of archival documents and what to watch for.
To her dismay, he’d completely distracted her from her own sales.
“You’re losing it, Mac,” she warned herself aloud as she drove through the familiar streets of Washington. “The man is a federal agent who went after you like a pit bull. His interest in you is strictly business.”
Later, she knew, he would probably haunt the sleep she so desperately needed, but she couldn’t worry about him now. She had better things to do. Like finding a parking place.
At any other time, that could have been an exercise in frustration, but as she slowly made her way up and down the streets within walking distance of her shop, she had to smile. She loved D.C. during the holidays. Christmas might be nearly a month away—the Capitol and National Christmas trees hadn’t even been lit yet—but the shops and cafés in her neighborhood were already decked out for the season and glistening with twinkling lights. Not surprisingly, business was brisk.
Which was why, she thought with a rueful smile, she didn’t find a parking spot on the first swipe down her street. She circled the block four times before she spied a Mini Cooper pulling out of a tiny space in front of the Chinese grocery down the street from her shop. Thankfully, her PT Cruiser didn’t take up a lot of room, and she whipped into the space, lightning-quick, before anyone else could take it. It wasn’t until she stepped out of her car and turned to see where Patrick was that she realized she had lost him while she was hunting for a parking space.
He knew where the shop was, she reminded herself as twilight slipped into darkness and the streetlights popped on. He’d find her. In the meantime, she had to unload her car. Pulling two boxes from the backseat, she headed for her shop.
The building was over a hundred and fifty years old, and during its long history, it had been everything from a photography studio to an Indian restaurant to a funeral parlor. In its first incarnation, however, it had been a tavern, and it still retained its original bow window, fireplace and rich wainscoting. Her father had taken one look at it and known it was just what he was looking for. Laid out like a house, with a bedroom upstairs and the kitchen and common rooms
