Georgia looked back at Nena, now standing on the other side of the car, before turning to her dad. Nena heard the same story about a library. Only now, Georgia had lost her money too.
Nena smirked. This one was adept at lying. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. Clearly, Nena wasn’t going to be truthful about dispatching the Flushes in front of his fourteen-year-old daughter （she had been quick to correct Nena when she’d wrongly guessed the girl’s age）。 Even if they got Georgia’s father to believe it was self-defense, which technically it was, he wouldn’t understand why they hadn’t called the cops. He was essentially “the cops.” Plus, Nena didn’t want questions about her ability to put those men down the way she had. While she preferred complete truthfulness, she realized tonight she’d need the opposite.
A voice in the back of her head warned she was pushing her luck as she rounded the front of her car to approach the Baxters, but she dispelled it. In the light of the streetlamp and the walkway lit with little round solar lamps, Nena got her first look at Cortland Baxter, up close and personal. And he got a look at her.
She released a measured breath, letting her exhalation absorb the shock of feelings assaulting her. She kept her face placid, was able to speak naturally, as if she hadn’t broken protocol and her heart wasn’t fluttering ten thousand beats per second. She could hear those beats drumming in her ears and worried Georgia and her father could hear too.
The force of the—attraction, was that what this was?—made Nena take a reflexive step backward. She again wondered what kind of fate had brought her into the path of this family. This never happened. To have saved the life of the daughter, only to rip her heart out in a couple of days’ time. How was Nena to reconcile that?
Her attention shifted to Cortland, who had spoken and was waiting for her response. She hadn’t heard.
“Sorry?” she asked, startled.
“Dad wants to know where you come in,” Georgia answered pointedly.
“Please, the blame is mine,” Nena began. “I happened across Georgia in distress with no money—”
“And my phone was smashed,” Georgia interjected.
“That too,” Nena agreed. “She looked hungry and said you were working late, so I suggested we grab supper; then I brought her home. I should have thought for her to call you from my phone.”
Georgia shook both her head and her hand at Nena. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, since I don’t know Dad’s number by heart.”
Nena nodded. Made sense. Smart girl. “You probably should have important numbers memorized. At least your dad’s.”
“Why,” she asked, “when it’s programmed in my phone?”
Cortland chimed in. “The one you smashed, right, Peach?” He placed his hand on the crown of her head and gave it a little shake.
A ghost of a smile appeared on Nena’s face. Peach. She found the nickname endearing. And she liked the way Cortland sounded when he said it. When her eyes met his, he was staring at her. It rattled her, and she immediately worried he might recognize her from somewhere.
Or perhaps—her stomach soured slightly—perhaps his own intuition was alerting him that danger stood right before his eyes. He wasn’t looking at her as if she were a threat, though. No, he was looking at her as if he had something more to say. The intensity of his gaze sucked her in, making her feel uncomfortably warm.
Nena found herself liking the way he looked at her. It was the first time she could remember ever welcoming the attention of a man. They stood there looking stupidly at each other, forgetting about the girl between them glancing suspiciously from one to the other. Then Georgia cleared her throat loudly, likely bored at the staring contest these two were having.
The spell broken, Cortland thanked Nena. His eyes, she noticed, were framed with thick dark lashes, like Georgia’s. It was too dark to tell their color. From the intel Nena had received, he was six feet two. The photos she’d seen did him no justice up close. She had already taken in his pronounced forehead, athletic build—not overly muscular, not too skinny.
She shook her head to clear it. Two days from now, she had a dispatch to do. She couldn’t get sidetracked even if Cortland Baxter was the first man she’d ever noticed, ever considered . . . in that way. He grinned at her, his natural smile nearly making her reciprocate until she remembered she never smiled unless on a job. Wasn’t she on a job now? He was her mark. She should smile, then. Her lips twitched instead.