Parker eyed her hair. And the syrup drop on her left breast. “Maybe you should take two minutes. Or you know . . . more.”

She made a sound of great exasperation and left. She raced up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.

A beat later it whipped back open. “Hey!” she yelled down. “Why didn’t a brick fall out of my fireplace?”

Parker, halfway to the front door, stopped and eyed the fireplace. A brick hadn’t fallen out because he’d fixed it with one trip to the local hardware store for a mortar patch. But Ms. Prickly I’ve-Got-It wouldn’t want to hear that. “A brick totally just fell out,” he said.

There was a pause, and then she was at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. “You just lied to me.”

“It was a white lie,” he said. “And everyone knows white lies don’t really count.”

She blinked and then pointed at him. “Stop fixing my life!”

He laughed. “This house is not your life.”

The look on her face told him that he was wrong. She thought that the house was her life. “Hey,” he said. “I—”

The doorbell rang again.

“Just get the door!” she said, and vanished.

Parker had to fight the urge to go up those stairs and make Zoe forget all about Joe. He could do it, too. This wasn’t ego but fact. She looked at him every bit as much as he looked at her. But again, it was a massively bad idea so he opened the front door.

“’Bout damn time.” Joe stared and stopped at the sight of Parker. “Is this going to be awkward?”

“Not for me,” Parker said, and gestured him in. “She’s not quite ready.”

Joe nodded and hunkered down before Oreo, who’d come into the living room behind Parker. “Hey, boy. Hey, buddy. What’s your name?”

Oreo growled low in his throat and hid behind Parker’s legs.

Joe pulled his hand back in. “No? We’re not friends yet?”

“He’s a rescue,” Parker heard himself say. “He doesn’t like men all that much.”

Oreo poked his head around Parker’s thigh and glared balefully up at Joe before licking Parker’s hand.

Joe laughed a little. “So what does that make you?”

Parker ignored this and picked up the silly oaf, who weighed as much as a mountain.

Oreo set his big head on Parker’s shoulder and sighed trustingly.

It was possibly the best thing that had happened to Parker all day. He loved dogs. He loved all animals. He’d certainly saved enough of them. But in his line of work, moving around as he did, being gone for weeks at a time on a case, he’d never gotten to have a pet of his own. He’d never realized how much that bothered him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zoe said, rushing down the stairs. She’d put on that same long, flowery old-lady dress as on Parker’s first day, and for some reason Parker felt a whole lot better. Especially when he saw Joe’s face.

Grinning, Parker said to Zoe, “A minute?”

“Oh,” she said. “Um, sure.” She followed him into the kitchen, twisting her hair up as she went.

She still smelled like syrup.

Parker did his best not to lean in and lick her like a Tootsie Pop.

“What is it?” she asked, smoothing down her dress. “Do I look okay?”

“Sure. If you’re going to that bingo night we talked about.”

She stilled and stared at him, and then looked down at herself. “I just figured since this dress never went out on the date with the dentist that it was okay to wear again. Some people like this dress, you know.”

He watched Oreo sniff at the dress, leaving a fairly significant drool stain. “You’re absolutely right,” he said. “You should wear that dress.”

She glared at him. “You don’t want me to look good on my date.”

Give the woman a prize.

“I’ll have you know that I wore this dress to Wyatt’s birthday dinner last month and he liked it,” she said defensively.

“Because he isn’t interested in banging you.”

She stared at him. “I really hate it when she’s right.”

“Who?”

“Darcy. Argh, I don’t have time to change.”

“Yes, you do.” This was Joe’s voice, coming through the double doors to the living room.

Zoe crossed to them and yanked them open, revealing Joe standing there, bent a little, like maybe he’d been peeking in the crack.

He straightened quickly, but apparently Zoe had bigger fish to fry. “You don’t like the dress, either?” she demanded.

Joe hesitated.

“Well?”

He grimaced. “If I say no, are you going to back out of the date?”

“Do you want to bang me?” she asked instead of answering.

Joe’s eyes slid to Parker. “Uh . . .”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that a difficult question?” Zoe asked him.

Much as Parker was enjoying this, he was actually starting to feel a little sorry for Joe.

“Okay, yeah,” Joe said manfully. “Sometimes I want to bang you. When you’re not being mean.”

Zoe sighed and picked up her purse from the table. “Let’s just go.”

“So . . . you’re not changing?” Joe asked, a little crestfallen.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“It’s just that I really like your jeans,” Joe said. “Especially the ones that kinda slide down a little bit when you bend over. Maybe you could—”

“We leave right now or not at all,” she said.

Joe blew out a breath and gestured her out ahead of him.

Zoe started to go and then glanced back at Parker, her expression a little . . . regretful?

No, that couldn’t be right. And besides, why would she feel bad about leaving him behind? They had no dating in their future, and he would be leaving soon enough, going back to his fast-paced, crazy world. He smiled at her. “Don’t drink and drive,” he said. “Use your seat belts, and text if you’re going to be out past curfew.”

Worked like a charm. The regret vanished from her eyes as she turned away, flipping him off behind her back as she left.

Thirteen

Parker had laughed at Zoe’s good-night finger gesture, but once she’d left, the house seemed . . . quiet. Empty of its life force. At his feet, Oreo plopped to the floor and huffed out a crestfallen sigh, setting his head on Parker’s foot with a thunk.

Oreo clearly felt the same way.

Parker cheered them both up with the leftover French toast. Then he opened his laptop to check the cameras, even though if he’d caught any action, he’d have been alerted via his cell phone.

Nothing. No action at all.

Giving up for the night, he took Oreo out to do his business, stopping short at the end of the driveway when he heard the sounds of someone crying softly. Turning, he peered through the dark and found a little girl sitting on the next door porch.

She couldn’t have been more than five. Her dark hair was long and crazy wild around her face. Her eyes were dark and drenched with tears, and the sight stabbed him right in the heart.

She looked so much like his sister Amory had at that age: sweet, guileless, and able to take down grown men with a single devastatingly vulnerable gaze.