were a few ounces of human decency behind that pretty face, after all.
Not that she would be willing to bet money on it.
Not that his character had any bearing whatsoever on the current situation, she reminded herself firmly. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to imply there was anything wrong with that. I was getting ready to go over to my parents’ place for dinner myself when the power went off.”
He was silent for a moment, then shook his head and chuckled. “Go figure. Guess you’re in as much a hurry as I am, then.”
“Yes, I believe I am.”
He clipped his ID back on his shirt pocket and gestured toward the door. “Well, the sooner I get started, the sooner both of us can leave.”
She hesitated. The logical side of her brain waged a brief battle with the dark little corner where she kept her instincts. As usual, though, logic won. She had to get organized and get out of here within the next thirty minutes or she was going to disappoint her family. She eased the door shut to unlatch the security bar, then stepped aside to let him come in.
It would be all right. She was just letting him into her apartment, not her life.
Flynn kept his light aimed at the floor as he walked into Abigail’s apartment. She pressed herself against the wall, giving him as much room as possible, then closed the door behind him.
Miss Abigail Locke was a cautious lady, he thought. It was a good thing he’d hit on the idea of making up that story about today being his birthday. That seemed to have smoothed his way inside.
Flynn was good at saying what people wanted to hear. It was a useful talent to have in his business—talking his way out of a situation was often preferable to using force. In spots like this, people called it quick thinking. When he was off duty, people called it charm.
The technical word for it was lying.
But it wouldn’t have accomplished his objective if he’d told Abigail that he’d celebrated his thirtieth birthday more than two years ago. And it sure as hell hadn’t been with his parents. He’d been six years old the last time he’d seen his mother, and as far as he knew, his father was somewhere in Brazil with wife number four.
“What exactly are you looking for?” Abigail asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. Rather than staying by the door, she had followed him into the living room. There was more light here than in the hall, but still, the place was too dim to see more than dark shapes and outlines.
Her outline was worth seeing. Compact, feminine and rounded in all the right places. She must have been fresh from the shower when she’d answered the door. He’d caught a whiff of fruit-scented soap—apple or cranberry, he’d guess. Her hair was wet, plastered flat to her head until just below her ears, where it coiled into heavy curls. She probably hadn’t realized that the drips from her wet hair had been turning her white blouse transparent.
Flynn kept his flashlight aimed at the floor. “Like I said, I traced the short to your apartment, but that’s about as specific as the gauge gets. I need to test each one of your electrical outlets until I find the source of the problem.”
“But wouldn’t each apartment be on a separate circuit? I still don’t understand how a problem here could black out the entire building.”
“Seems the wiring in this building wasn’t done to the standards specified in the electrical code,” he improvised. He had to distract her before she realized how flimsy his story was. “Wow, I still can’t believe we share a birthday.”
“Me, neither.”
“And that we’ll both be spending it with our parents.”
“Mmm. Yes.”
“Are you close to your folks, then?”
“Yes, you could say that.”
He heard the caution in her voice go down another notch. He decided to play up on the family angle. “So am I. A lot of people would call it old-fashioned, but there’s nothing like family.”
“Especially on birthdays.”
“You got that right.” He paused, trying to think of the most likely spot for her to have dropped that backpack. “Kids make it the most fun, though. I’ve got two nephews who can’t wait to blow out my candles.”
“Do you like children?”
“Love them,” he said, figuring that would be what a schoolteacher would want to hear.
A sigh whispered through the darkness. “So do I.”
He used the flashlight to scratch his elbow as he moved toward the outline of the living room window.
“Oh, watch out for the—”
Something stiff and dry hit his face. He automatically brought his forearm up to block the next blow and jumped backward.
“—avocado plant,” she finished.
Flynn directed his flashlight upward. A branch thick with long, wavy leaves hung at head level. He traced the branch to an enormous plant that grew from a pot beside one wall. “What the…”
“It’s an avocado plant,” she repeated. “I started it from a pit. I know it’s in the way but it does best in that spot. Are you all right?”
“Sure. I managed to fight it off.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not carnivorous.”
Flynn heard a smile in her voice. It reminded him of the private smile that had so intrigued him before. He swept his flashlight around the room, this time aiming the beam higher. A pair of monster plants hulked under the window. No, it was a glass door, not a window. Probably led to a balcony, but he hadn’t been able to see it before because of the plants. More pots of foliage clustered on the top of a low bookshelf. “I see you’re good at growing things.”
“It’s my hobby.”
“I’m a civil war buff myself,” he said, remembering what Sarah had said about Abigail’s library books. Maybe he was piling it on a bit too thick, but he’d do whatever it took to keep her off guard.
“I enjoy studying history, too,” she said. “I believe there are worthwhile lessons to be learned from the past. As long as a person is smart enough to remember them,” she added under her breath.
Not a good topic, he decided, hearing the note of thoughtfulness in her voice. He didn’t want her thoughtful. He wanted her off balance. He chuckled. “Let’s not mention history on our birthday, okay? After the day I’ve had, I feel ancient enough already.”
“I know what you mean.” She sighed and moved toward him. “You’ll never find what you’re looking for in this jungle. Better let me help you.”
The flashlight was still aimed high, so when Abigail walked into the beam, it shone directly on her wet blouse. Flynn tried not to look, but it was impossible not to notice how the patches of wetness from her dripping hair had spread. The fabric wasn’t
