***
The doorbell rang, and Aden jumped about a mile. No one ever rang the doorbell. His friends texted him if they were dropping by, and if he was open for business in the office that used to be the formal living room, his clients had instructions on how to key in the code on the security panel outside.
“Shit.” He hoped it wasn’t a salesman he was running downstairs for. He couldn’t just ignore the ring, though. What if a client was in trouble?
Aden skidded to a halt and keyed up the high-tech doorbell camera on a screen that hung on the wall.
“Well. Hello, there.” The lovely Boston library research lady from his Girard Ledeux case stood outside, her perfectly matched plaid pencil skirt and gray twinset giving Aden an immediate naughty librarian fantasy, complete with glasses and her hair in a bun. Plus she had the best set of legs he’d seen since his short stint with a female soccer player about five years ago.
His card didn’t have his address on it, just a phone number and website. This honey was good at her job, no doubt. Maybe she had some new information to pass on.
“Hi,” Aden said after he opened the door. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Is this your office?” her brows rose in surprise, he thought. He was only half dressed, no shoes, just his well worn jeans and a white T-shirt.
“Just the front two rooms. The rest is my house.” The house he’d inherited from his dad, and Aden wasn’t too proud to be incredibly grateful it was paid off. Successful as he was, a brownstone in the Back Bay was better than gold bonds.
“Nice.” She nodded appreciatively. “Um, I guess I should have called, but I think I have some information for you. I stopped by on my way in to work.”
“Yeah? You got a minute? I can get you a cup of coffee.”
“Oh.” She smiled, the pleased expression making his belly clench. “I’d like that.”
“Come on in.” There was something about this lady… “Uh, can you tell me your name? I feel weird not knowing.”
“Oh my God, I’m so rude. I’m Amelia. Amelia Patrick.” She followed him inside, her low, sensible heels clicking on the hardwood floors. “This is lovely. Your house, I mean.”
He had a big foyer where he’d set up a reception area, but it wasn’t industrial like so many business offices. Aden had wanted to keep the spirit of the house intact.
“Here, come on back to the kitchen.” The coffee smelled great, which covered up the stale smell of the fast food bag from supper last night. He really needed to give up PI food. Aden poured her a cup of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“A little cream. What a neat kitchen.” She glanced around, obviously admiring.
A dollop of cream later, and Aden handed over the cup. “So, what have you got for me, Amelia?”
Her blue eyes lit up with passion, and she bounced a couple of times. “I think I have a real lead for you! I know I got you the provenance yesterday, but I think I’ve found the painting. As in where it’s exact location.”
“No shit? Pardon my French.” He winked. “How? Where?”
“I called the major auction houses. Often they take in collections from smaller sale houses so their clients can make silent bids, or so they can snap up cheaper items and resell them. A Girard Ledeux would draw some interest.”
“Nice.” He’d add that to his PI bag of tricks for future use. He got so used to the internet that sometimes Aden forgot the value of a simple phone call. “And?”
“The same gallery in Philadelphia that last sold it has it up for sale again. They’re asking three times what they did in their previous auction. They didn’t list it in the official catalog, but my contact at Sotheby’s had heard about it.”
“So, someone saw what it was worth now and felt as if they got the shaft. When is the sale?”
“Tomorrow at eleven a.m.” She made a little ta-da motion with her hands, then yelped when hot coffee splashed over her wrist.
“Crap. Let me help.” He grabbed her cup and set it aside before tugging her to the sink to run cold water over her wrist. “There. That had to sting.”
“It did.”
Tendrils of her blonde hair escaped and danced against Aden’s cheek, the scent of her shampoo all vanilla and flowers. He sniffed, hoping he wasn’t being weird and obvious.
When she glanced up, he realized how close they stood, how he held her wrist, and how much gray she had in her pretty blue eyes.
Aden let her go and stepped back. After Diane, he’d sworn off women, at least for a while. Even women as fascinating as Amelia Patrick. “Thanks for the info. I owe you dinner.”
Amelia turned off the water before drying off with a paper towel. He thought disappointment lurked in the lines around her mouth and eyes, but then she grinned. “Yes. Yes you do.”
“I’ll make it up to you. Right now, though, I need to go to Philadelphia and collect that missing painting.”
“Have a safe trip. And thanks for the coffee.” She pressed a hand to his arm when she passed him, a light but familiar gesture, and then she walked out of his kitchen.
Aden couldn’t help but hope she hadn’t walked out of his life for good.
Chapter Three
“So, you think someone is moving your boxes of black truffles out of your cellar by way of some unknown secret passage?” Aden didn’t mean to sound so skeptical, but the client sitting across from him paying for him to eat at Legal Seafood in Copley Place was tough to take seriously.
“I do. I mean, I don’t have a cellar. I live near the bay. My rare food cellar is in the old butler’s pantry. It’s not unreasonable to expect there are old hidden servant passages I don’t know about.”
“Mmm.” Aden made a non-committal sound. “How many people have a key to your house?”
“Two besides me. A housekeeper and my dog walker. Mrs. Amos is a meat and potatoes type and Jinny hates mushrooms. I’m convinced this is the work of my ex, Robert.”
“Vengeful ex.” Aden could see it. He scribbled a few notes. “Anyone else you might want me to look into?”“There’s my sister Gina. She’s still pissed that I inherited the land in Tuscany. Where we get the truffles.”
“Okay. So, when can I meet you to put a few cameras in the, uh, larder?”
“Not until tomorrow.” The client shrugged when Aden only stared at him. “Sorry, but I have an engagement tonight. A gallery showing.”Shades of his last case. He couldn’t get away from art people. He’d bet this guy knew his ex, Diane.
“Tomorrow, then. I’ll get on some research today, see if I can find anyone selling your fancy mushrooms, check if anyone on your list here is suddenly depositing large amounts money.”
“Perfect.” The client nodded at his haddock plate. “You’re not hungry?”
“Sorry, I was focusing on the job.” Aden tried not to do lunch meetings, as it usually led to awkward social shit after the meeting was over. He took a bite, the haddock delicate and flaky. “Nice.”
“Right? I won’t keep you or try too much idle chit-chat, I promise. I can tell when a guy isn’t into me.”
“No offense.”
“None taken. I can see by the way you stare at the blonde over there that you’re totally into the ladies.”
“I am.” Surprised, Aden realized he was checking out the blonde because she resembled Amelia, his sexy librarian. Not that Amelia was his, he reminded himself.
Still, an hour later Aden found himself at the library, hoping Amelia was at her desk. He bypassed the other librarians who asked if they could help and went straight to her. There she was, too, bent over some giant tome, chewing on her lower lip while her reading glasses slid to the end of her nose. How could that look be so damned appealing?
He cleared his throat when he neared her desk because he didn’t want to surprise her too much.
She lifted her head, and her expression changed from studious to bright and pleased in a heartbeat. “Aden! How are you?”
“Good. I’m good. How are you?” He suddenly felt awkward, shifting from foot to foot. Him. Mr. Suave.
"Great.” Her smile lost a little wattage when he didn’t say anything else. “What can I do for you today?”
“I have a deep mystery for you this time.” He tried his own smile, wanting to stop doing whatever upset her. “I need to see if we can find plans for a Back Bay brownstone. Not mine, naturally.”
“Why? Can you tell me?” She tilted her head, and he could tell the research fire had lit in her.
“The owner has a collection of exotic food that’s worth a sizeable amount of money. Someone has been stealing his black truffles a mushroom at a time. He’s convinced that there’s a secret passage from the back of the butler’s pantry.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her finger against her lips, drawing attention to their sweet curve. “Cameras?”“He won’t let me in until tomorrow.”
“So am I looking at local stores? I can look for auctions, too.”
“So people auction mushrooms? I assumed a private seller.” Aden was a not a truffle man. Beer, yeah. Maybe some deep fried mushrooms, a habit he’d picked up from his cop dad. The appeal of truffles mystified him.
“God, yes. A whole Italian black might bring a thousand if there was a bidding war. Then again, we should check eBay. If the thief is just doing this for spite then they’ll let it go cheap.”
“eBay. You’re brilliant.” She thought of stuff he never did, but then she was paid to research, while he was paid to put a lot of pieces together to make a case from witness statements to surveillance.
“I try.” She made a show up dusting off her shoulder in an age-old motion of ‘I’m good’. “This looks like fun. Give me the address of the house, and I’ll make some calls. The region of the truffle, too. Specific.” Amelia handed him a notepad and a pen.
Their fingers touched, and his skin tingled, his cock taking a real interest. Damn it, this was strictly work. That was it.
Aden filled out all the information he could before handing it back to her.
“You could have emailed me,” Amelia said, studying him intently.
“I wanted to see you.” The words popped out, completely unbidden, but they must have been the right words to say. She beamed, her bright blue-gray eyes alight with interest.
“Well, now you have. I need to get to work on this. I’ll call you.”
“Are you kicking me out?” He stared at her, taken aback by her in-charge attitude. She looked fired-up and ready to take on the world. Starting with him.
“I am. Shoo. The hunt is on. I want to get into this before the city offices close. I need to make some calls.” Amelia flapped a hand at him. “Go.”
“Okay. Call me.”
“I will.” She turned to her computer, her pink nails tapping rapidly on keys. Her hair, which Aden was learning to use as a barometer of her mood, began to slide out of its neat bun. Score. He’d hooked her into another case.
Now Aden had to get over the fact that she was more into the hunt than she was for him.
Chapter Four
Amelia yawned before sitting up to stretch, the joints in her shoulders and the back of her neck popping loudly. Thankfully, no one else in the department was around to shush her. She was working late, because some of her document delivery duties had fallen by the wayside while she worked on Aden’s case.
Sadly, no secret passageway had presented itself, but the cameras Aden had installed had also been a bust. Amelia had finally tracked a relatively large sale of truffles to Newport, Rhode Island. The buyer listed the seller as the brownstone owner’s sister, Gina.
Amelia chuckled, thinking how disappointed she’d been, and how Aden had told her the simplest explanation was usually the most likely. Amelia had really wanted the secret passage to exist.
As if thinking of him had conjured him, Aden stepped out of the gloom beyond the retrieval desk, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, his rumpled jacket hanging open. He looked like something out of a noir film, a hero who had arrived to sweep her off her feet.
“Hi, Amelia.”
“Hi.” Her heart kicked into a slow, heavy beat, like driving, sexy music. “You okay?”
“I am great. Have I thanked you for your help with the foodie case?”
“Over the phone, yes.” Amelia could stare into his eyes forever. Especially when he smiled that sort of crooked smile.
“Well, I told you I owed you dinner. How do you feel about Italian?” he asked.
“As long as it’s Giacomo’s in the North End, I’m in.”
“Hmm. You ready to stand in line?” He held out a hand to her. “They’re always packed.”
“But so good, and the price is right.” She went to him like he had some sort of force field drawing her in. His palm felt warm and callused against hers, and she gasped at the contact.
“True,” Aden pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Ready?”
“I just need my purse.”
Aden allowed her to lean over and grab her purse out of the cabinet near her desk, but he never released her hand. In fact, the tucked her hand back into his elbow bend and led her outside. “Do you hate the T?” he asked. “I’m not a cheap date, but I didn’t drive.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She’d missed it when she’d lived in smaller academic towns where public transport was less than available. Besides, maybe they could sit close together and she could continue to press against all those muscles and all that heat.