her. I’m afraid she’s too much for you.”
“The day a two-year-old is too much,” Fiona said with a grimace, “you’ll have to hire someone to look after me.”
He’d had this argument and lost many times before, so he went on to the subject weighing most heavily on his mind.
“You didn’t tell me Rinehart and Associates were sending a woman,” he said in an accusing tone, one he’d seldom used with his grandmother.
“Jessica Landon is the best at what she does, according to Max Rinehart,” Fiona replied easily, apparently unperturbed by his disapproval. She reached for the novel on the table beside her chair, her usual signal that the current discussion was closed.
“It’s not her accounting skills that concern me.” He paused, reluctant to report bad news. “It’s happening again.”
Her hand froze in midair at the grimness in his tone, and the color left her face. “You’re certain?”
Ross shrugged. “Not a hundred percent, but a man would be better able to take care of himself.”
Fiona closed her eyes as if gathering strength, then opened them again. “Another accident?”
“She was run off the road. Said a pickup slammed into her car twice and kept going. Didn’t sound like an accident. And she’d have frozen to death if I hadn’t come along.”
“You have to tell her. Warn her.”
Ross nodded. “But not tonight. She’s been through enough already today. And she’s perfectly safe here.”
Fiona compressed her lips and shook her head. “When is this going to stop?”
Ross sank into the seat across from her, weariness seeping through his bones. “Not until I catch the killer.”
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