seconds ago?—but Liz spoke first.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“Your phone.”
He frowned for a second before remembering his claim about dropping it somewhere in the hall. “Oh. Right.”
It wasn’t an invitation in, but at least it bought him another minute or two.
“Maybe that exhaustion is affecting your short-term memory,” Liz teased.
“More than likely.”
She gestured to the kid. “Come on, Teegs. Help Mr. Maxwell look for his phone.”
The little girl executed a perfect eye roll. “Mom. It’s a tiny hallway.”
Harley stifled a laugh. “Yeah, but I’m old, so my eyesight’s bad. You know I wear glasses when I’m sculpting, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, I need your eagle eyes. Or I’ll probably never find it.”
“Fine.”
Teegan made a big production of dropping to the ground and squinting at the carpet.
“Do you want me to describe it to you?” Harley asked, amused by her antics.
“I know what a phone looks like. Duh.”
Liz sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know where she gets the attitude from.”
Harley swiped his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. “She must be a future artist. We’re all full of bad attitudes, aren’t we?”
“I wish that particular bad attitude had been passed down from me to her,” said the pretty brunette. “But sadly, this one has it in her head that she should do something science-y.”
“That’s not a word, Mom.”
“Of course it’s not.”
“It actually makes you sound really un-science-y when you say it,” Harley added.
“Ugh! You guys are—”
“The grown-ups?” Liz lifted an eyebrow at the kid, then smiled. “Or close enough, anyway.”
“Guess that’ll have to do.” He paused, then prepared to drop the lie about the knocking in the pipes, but once again, she spoke first.
“Beef stew,” she said.
He felt his brow furrow. “Uh?”
Liz laughed. “Sorry. Apparently, I’m terrible at inviting a man for dinner.”
Relief—and true pleasure—rushed in, and he grinned. “Lucky for you, I’m very good at accepting poorly executed dinner invitations.”
“I won’t even make you clean up,” she teased.
He cast a rueful look down. “Whoops.”
He’d forgotten about the fact that he was wearing “work” clothes. In addition to providing him with a good excuse to stick close to Liz, Harley’s cover story had also given him a chance to do something he hadn’t done in far too long. Create a small amount of actual art. And he was enjoying it. As was evidenced by the mess on his T-shirt and jeans.
“I can get changed,” he offered, hoping she’d say no.
Thankfully, she shook her head. “And miss the chance to have evidence of a real artist in my house? No way. Don’t worry about your shoes, either. The only place we don’t wear them is in the bedroom. Old carpet.”
“Gotcha.”
“Now can we go inside?” Teegan pleaded.
“Now we can,” her mom agreed, then turned to Harley. “Unless you want to keep looking for the phone?”
He feigned a groan. “You know what? I just remembered that I stuck it in my back pocket.”
“In your pocket?” said Teegan. “Isn’t that where it usually goes?”
“Not for me, smarty-pants. I keep it in my coat. Which I’m not wearing, because someone insisted we hurry.”
Liz laughed, seemingly unaware that the lost phone had been a ruse. “Okay, you two. I’m going inside. You can stay out here and fight, or you can come in with me.”
“In!” said Teegan right away.
“Same,” Harley agreed with a wink.
He tensed a little as Liz moved to stick her key in the door handle, but the click of the lock reassured him enough that he kept down an urge to push his way through first in the name of safety. The dimness inside was reassuring, too, as was the evident tidiness when Teegan reached up to turn on the light. All were signs that no one had broken in or left in a hurry.
Unless he’s a very practiced stalker.
Harley gritted his teeth at his habitual detective brain. Liz didn’t seem worried about letting her daughter barrel through into the apartment, and she was the one who’d seemed so scared outside. He knew he could take his cues from her. Whatever her affiliation with Garibaldi, he couldn’t imagine—not for a second—that she’d put her daughter in harm’s way.
Okay, Detective Maxwell, he said to himself, time to stow away the mental badge and be a little more Harley-the-artist. At least until the beef stew is done.
As Liz lifted the last dish in the pile and started to scrub, a knot of worry made her stomach ache. It’d been surprisingly easy to bury the earlier frightening events. Between Harley’s ease with small talk and Teegan’s nonstop chatter, the intruder and his knife had fallen miraculously to the back of her mind. But dinner had gone by quickly, and now the dread of being alone crept up a little more with each passing second. Even dragging the meal out to include pie and ice cream hadn’t slowed things down enough. In a few moments, the last drops of soapy water would be dry. The big dark-haired man—who’d taken a break from drying duty to read Teegan a noisy story in the other room—would probably yawn, thank her for dinner and be on his way. And while he might then be stationed directly across the hall, it wasn’t the same as having him just a holler away.
So tell him what happened, urged a little voice in her head. It might make him stay.
But she shook off the thought. The thug in her shop had said it clear as day. Mentioning his strange and violent query about the painting would endanger her daughter. And until she had time to think it through, she didn’t want to be reckless about a single thing. Liz needed to weigh her options. And she didn’t need to involve an innocent bystander. She couldn’t. Because she was sure that—like any reasonable person—Harley would want
