"Yeah, she does." He took off the sunglasses, hooked one arm of them in the front pocket of his jeans. They both recognized the gesture for what it was.
Look at me. You have to see what I'm saying as much as hear it. Because it matters.
"She does, Laine, even when that interest twisted around, changed into something he'd never dealt with before and bit him on that ass. I think I fell in love with you last night."
"That's a hell of a thing to say to me."
"It's a hell of a thing to hear myself say to you. But I'm saying it. Actually, I think I tripped somewhere between hauling out your trash and vacuuming your sitting room, then I swung my arms around, working on my balance, and fell flat between rounds of intimate physical contact."
"And I should believe that because?"
"You shouldn't. You should kick my ass, dust your hands off and walk away. I'm hoping you won't."
"You've got a knack for saying the right thing at the right time. That's a damn handy skill—and suspect to me." She turned away a moment, rubbed her arms warm.
"When it comes to the job I'll say whatever I need to say to get it done. This isn't about the job. I hurt you, and I'm sorry, but that was the job. I don't see how I could've played it any different."
She let out a half laugh. "No, I don't suppose so."
"I'm in love with you. Hit me like a damn brick upside the head, and I still can't see straight. I don't know how I could've played that any different either, but it gives you all the cards, Laine. You can finish the hand, or toss it in and walk away."
Up to her, she thought. Isn't that what she wanted? To make her own choices, take her own chances. But what he hadn't said, and they were both smart enough to know it, was that holding all the cards didn't mean you wouldn't lose your shirt.
Tavish would cut her losses and fold. But O'Hara, she'd want the chance to scoop up that big, juicy pot.
"I spent the first part of my life adoring a man who couldn't spit out the truth if it was dancing the tango on his tongue. Jack O'Hara."
She blew out a breath. "He's just no damn good, but, Jesus, he makes you believe there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He makes you believe it because he believes it."
She dropped her hands, turned to face Max. "I spent the next part with a woman who was trying to get over him. Trying more for me than herself, which it took me a while to figure out. She finally succeeded. The next part I spent with a very decent man I love very much standing in as my father. A good, loving man who will never give the same shine to my heart as that born liar can. I don't know what that makes me. But I've spent the last part of my life trying to be responsible and ordinary and comfortable. I've done a good job of it. You've messed that up for me, Max."
"I know it."
"If you lie to me again, I won't bother to kick your ass. I'll just dust my hands and walk away."
"Fair enough."
"I don't have the diamonds you're after, and I don't know anything about them. I don't know where my father is, how to contact him or why Willy came to see me."
"Okay."
"But if I figure it out, if what I figure leads you to that five percent, I get half."
He stared at her a minute, then his grin moved slowly over his face. "Yeah, pretty damn sure I fell for you."
"We'll see about that. You can come in. I need to call Vince and Jenny, ask them to come out so I can confess my sins. Then we'll see if I still have friends, and a place in this town."
8.
She worried over it. Not just what to say, how to say it, but where to say it. Laine started to set up in the kitchen with coffee and the coffee cake she had in the freezer. But that was too informal, she decided, and too friendly when friendship was at stake.
Vince was a cop, she reminded herself. And Jenny a cop's wife. However tight they'd become over the past few years, the bonds of that relationship could unravel when she told them about her past. When she told them she'd lied to them right from the start.
The living room was better—and hold the coffee cake.
While she agonized if that was the proper setting, she got out her little hand vac and started on the sofa.
"Laine, what the hell are you doing?"
"Planting apple trees. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting the dog hair off the furniture."
"Okay."
He stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, dragged them through his hair as she vacuumed, plumped pillows she'd restuffed, fussed with the angle of the chenille throw.
"You're making me nervous."
"Well, excuse me." She stepped back, inspected the results. Though she'd shoved most of the stuffing back in the cushions, arranged them damaged side down, the sofa still looked sad and pitiful. "I have the chief of police and my closest friend coming by so I can tell them basically everything they think they know about me is a big, juicy lie; I've had two break-ins in the same number of days; my father's suspected of taking part in a twenty-eight-million-dollar burglary, with murder on the side and my couch looks like it was attacked by rabid ferrets. But I'm really sorry I'm making you nervous."
"You forgot the part where you had a sexual marathon with the investigator assigned to the case."
She tapped the vacuum against her palm. "Is that supposed to be funny? Is that supposed to be some warped attempt to amuse me?"
"Pretty much. Don't hit me with that thing, Laine. I've already got a mild concussion. Probably. And relax. Changing your name and editing your background isn't a criminal offense."
"That's not the point. I lied to them every day. Do you know why so many scams work? Because after the marks realize they've been taken, they're too embarrassed to do anything about it. Someone's made a fool out of them, and that's just as tough a hit as losing money. More, a lot of the time."
He took the hand vac and set it on the table, so he could touch her. So he could cup his hands on her shoulders, slide them up until his thumbs brushed her cheeks.
"You weren't looking to make fools out of them, and they're not your friends because of your all-American-girl background."
"I could run a bait and switch by the time I was seven. Some all-American girl. I should change." She looked down at the sweats she'd pulled on when the deputy had come by the house to wake her. "Should I change?"
"No." Now he laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbing until she lifted her head and met his eyes. "You should stay just the way you are."
"What do you think you're falling for, Max? The small-town shopkeeper, the reformed grifter, the damsel in distress? Which one of those trips up a guy like you?"
"I think it's the sharp redhead who knows how to handle herself, and gives in to the occasional impulse." He lowered his head to press his lips to her forehead. He felt her breath hitch, a sob that threatened and was controlled. "There are a lot of sides to her. She loves her dog, worries about her friends, she's a little anal on the organization front, and I've heard she cooks. She's practical, efficient and tough-minded—and she's amazing in bed."
"Those are a lot of opinions on short acquaintance."
"I'm a quick study. My mama always said, 'Max, when you meet the woman, you'll go down like you've been poleaxed.'"
A smile twitched at her lips. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Hell if I know, but Marlene's never wrong. I met the woman."
He drew her in, and she let herself take the warmth and comfort of him, the sturdiness of being held against a strong man. Then she made herself pull away.
She didn't know if love meant leaning on someone else, but in her experience, that sort of indulgence often sent the leaner and the leanee down to the mat.
"I can't think about it. I can't think about it, or what I feel about it. I just need to take the next step and see where I land."