nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. It looks quiet and peaceful.”
“You’d better eat before your breakfast gets cold.” She seated herself across from him.
He started to pick up the glass of orange juice beside his plate and then hesitated, frowning over it as if he wasn’t sure whether he liked orange juice. And if he didn’t, would he wonder why his wife had given it to him? This deception was proving to be more difficult than she’d anticipated, Eden realized. Any little mistake could arouse his suspicion, cost her his trust, which was a good reason not to waste time going after the answers she wanted.
Apparently deciding the orange juice was acceptable, he drank it. She waited just long enough to permit him to help himself to scrambled eggs before she led into her cautious interrogation. “Do you have any recollection yet of what happened to you last night?”
“Afraid not. Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, noticing that she had nothing in front of her but her coffee mug.
“I had something earlier. No clue at all then about last night?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I figure I must have been beaten and robbed. Whoever the punks were, they got away with my wallet and everything in it.” Something occurred to him then, and he glanced at her quickly. “You report this to the police?”
“Not yet, but we should, don’t you think?”
“No,” he said, a sudden sharpness in his voice, which he amended with a softer “Let’s wait a bit and see if I can remember anything useful to give them.”
Was it her imagination, or did the idea of the police worry him? “Were you missing anything else?” she asked, hoping he would recall the photograph in his jacket.
“Keys. I must have had keys, and I suppose they took those, too. Did I have a car with me?”
It was a question Eden answered with an elusive, “The car is safe in the alley.” No lie. Her car was parked in its usual spot behind the house. “You were on foot.”
“Why was I out there?”
That’s exactly what I was hoping you could tell me. Again her reply, out of necessity, was an evasive one. “You had some business. Maybe it had to do with this.”
She had brought her purse to the table. She extracted the photograph from it and passed it to him across the table. Holding her breath in anticipation, she watched his face for a reaction as he took the picture and studied it carefully.
“They didn’t get this,” he said slowly, a faint grimness in his voice.
“You remember it then?” she said tensely.
“Yes. The photo was in my jacket along with your business card.” He looked up, meeting her searching gaze. “Who’s the little boy?”
Eden managed to hide her deep disappointment. “You don’t know?”
He shook his head. “Is the kid someone I’m supposed to remember?”
Hoping a name would make a connection for him, Eden considered telling him that she believed the boy in the photograph was her son, Nathanial. But she wasn’t ready for this step just yet, to risk the volley of questions that would be certain to follow such an admission.
“It seems that you should, since you were carrying his photograph. Look again,” she urged him. “Maybe if you try hard enough, he’ll start to look familiar to you.”
Lowering his gaze, he reexamined the photo. Once again she watched him closely, studying his face for a revealing expression. She couldn’t be sure, but his features seemed to slowly tighten into something that was guarded, something so automatic that he might not even be aware of it.
“What is it?” she pressed him.
He didn’t answer her. Something else had captured his attention, something that had apparently registered in his peripheral vision. Suddenly alert, his gaze swung in the direction of the window that overlooked the piazza and the garden beyond.
“Who’s that?” he demanded.
Eden had been far too focused on her objective to be aware of anything outside. But now, head turned, she discovered a rotund figure in the garden busy filling a large basket with the debris from last night’s storm.
“Our neighbor, Skip Davis,” she said mildly. “He’s a retired navy officer. He and his wife share the garden. That’s their house on the other side.”
“Oh.” He seemed to visibly relax, but seconds later he asked Eden, “Could you adjust the blinds? The light hurts my eyes. Guess it’s a leftover from last night’s headache.”
“Of course.”
She got up and went to the window, redirecting the light and in the process eliminating any view of the garden. She knew that his request had been an excuse, that the presence of Skip Davis out there disturbed him in some way.
The interruption lost her the opportunity to question him further. When she got back to the table, prepared to resume their session, he had lost interest.
“The face means nothing to me,” he said, placing the photograph on the table and dismissing it. “I’ll try again later, okay?”
Frustrated though she was, he left her no choice. If she pushed him too hard, he might close up altogether. She had to be patient if she was going to stand any chance of acquiring what was locked in his mind. But it wasn’t easy, particularly when those brown eyes with the golden lights in them kept casting looks at her as he went on with his eggs and toast. Looks that were as warm and tender as a pair of hands stroking female flesh. They were also unnervingly possessive.
“Why do you keep on looking at me like that?” she challenged him, returning the photo to her purse for safekeeping.
“I just want to be sure.”
“Of what?”
“That it isn’t my imagination I have damn good taste in wives.”
This had gotten risky, like that moment in the bedroom when he had fondled her hand. It was time to bring an end to the scene before it got out of control.
Eden changed the subject by indicating his plate. “Have you finished?”
“Yes, and the eggs were great, just the way I like them.” He grinned at her outrageously. “Not that I’d know, of course.”
Refusing to fall in with his playful, and she feared sexy, mood, she came to her feet and rounded the table. “I’ll clear up then.”
But when she reached for his plate, he caught her high around the waist and drew her down onto his lap, snugging her tightly against the hard wall of his chest. Alarmed by his increasing familiarity with her, she stiffened in his embrace.
“This isn’t wise.”
“You’re not going to deny your husband a chance to show his wife how much he appreciates the breakfast she cooked for him, are you?” he teased.
“I
