Beneath the Stetson(16)

Bailey glanced at Gil. The slight negative shake of his head let her know the answer. “I’d love to, Cade, but today I’ll probably just snack at my desk. I have a lot of work to do.”

The disappointment in his big blue eyes filled her with guilt. “I understand.” His body language imploded, leaving him long-faced and dejected.

Gil’s jaw tightened. He removed a key from his pocket and handed it to Bailey. “I have a full schedule today,” he said, the words terse. “Be sure to lock the door whenever you have to step out. I’ll stop by before you go home and retrieve this.”

“Thank you,” she said, her words as stilted as his. As she watched, Gil turned on his heel and led his son toward the entrance to the child care center. Cade looked over his shoulder at Bailey just before they disappeared. She gave him a little wave and smiled, hoping to cheer him up. Truthfully, she liked the little boy, almost as much as she liked his taciturn father.

Feeling unsettled and confused, she made her way to the office and got to work. Today went a little faster, since she had at last decided how to comb through the files in a way that was more organized and less haphazard.

Here and there names popped out at her. Slowly, she began to build a list of men she would like to interview. She wondered if Gil would stonewall her when she suggested it. Every man she flagged had been interviewed in the initial investigation, but with Alex still in the dark, it was imperative that she not miss any links to motive or opportunity.

Her stomach growled loudly midday. Fortunately, she had an apple, a bottle of water and a granola bar in her tote bag. No one was allowed to eat in the club dining room unless he or she was the guest of a member. And since Gil had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in sharing lunch with Bailey, she was on her own.

She could have taken a break and headed over to the Royal Diner. The food was good and the ambiance cheerful, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, much less defend her reasons for spending time at the club. Often, her job made her as popular as an IRS agent.

The day crawled by, but at five o’clock, she was satisfied with the amount of work she had accomplished. She had shut down her laptop and was straightening the various stacks of files she was using when, after a brief knock, someone opened the door.

It wasn’t too difficult to guess the intruder’s identity. Bailey was very proud of her calm, friendly smile. “Hello, Gil. I was just finishing up.” She fished in her pocket. “Here’s the key.”

When he took it from her, their fingers touched. His were warm and slightly calloused. She almost jerked her hand away in reaction, but instead, turned to scoop up her tote bag and purse. “See you tomorrow.” If her voice had been any brighter, she could have powered a lightbulb.

Gil touched her, curling his hand around her forearm. “Stay,” he muttered. “For a minute.”

Her stomach quivered at the unmistakably intimate tone. But she wouldn’t be so easily won over. “No.”

“Please.” His dark eyes were contrite.

“You didn’t call me last night,” she said evenly. “That was rude and uncalled-for.”

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you?” She was genuinely curious in the midst of her pique. Gil was standing so close, she could see the tiny flecks of amber that gave light and depth to his night-dark irises.

He stroked her arm, almost absently, with one fingertip. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted to say. You confuse me.” His breath was warm on her cheek.

“Is that good or bad?” To hear that he was as conflicted as she was calmed some of her indignation. Today, he wore a simple button-down oxford shirt in lemon-yellow. The color suited him. As did the neatly creased dress slacks whose precision fit came only from hand-tailoring.

Bailey wished she had worn something more appealing than her usual workaday attire, but an investigative agent on the job had to be prepared for any eventuality. Occasionally, despite the clerical nature of her customary assignments, she had to chase down a bad guy or crouch in a grimy location to do surveillance.

Feminine vanity was useless in her line of work. Unless, like Sandra Bullock, she was ever called upon to pose in a beauty pageant, her chances for wearing seductive clothing on the job were slim.

Gil ignored her pointed question. But judging from the way he looked at her, the answer was definitely good. “Have dinner with me tonight,” he said abruptly. “Cade is spending the evening with my cousin and his wife. I don’t have to pick him up until nine. I’ll take you to Claire’s.”