At the kettle’s screeching, he hurried over to the stove.
“One minute.”
He poured us two mugs and then gestured to a mahogany-colored couch. I sat down, and he handed me a china cup with little red flowers on the edge.
After blowing on his tea, he said, “I’ve been into art since I was a kid. I was always drawing, painting, making stuff with whatever I could get my hands on. Being an artist has always been my dream. It’s just…life got in the way.”
His gaze was on an old-looking chest with concentric boxes and twining lines carved into its wooden exterior. Something told me that this “life” that got in the way was a lot worse than Brock was letting on, no matter how nice he seemed.
“Well, you certainly have more than enough talent,” I said. “These are fantastic.”
He nodded and said “thanks” without looking over at me, his gaze still on the chest.
I blew on my tea and then took a sip, the burning heat searing my mouth immediately.
I spat it out.
“You okay?” he asked, and I nodded, glaring at the light brown liquid sitting innocuously in the little flower teacup.
After a minute, my glare shifted to the man who had sipped the lava-like tea easily. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to be burned by this job much worse than that.
“So what about you?” he said after another easy sip of his tea. “What do you do? You live here?”
“Yes,” I said, then paused, trying to figure out the next lie that would be easiest to tell.
“I…run my own business,” I said.
At this, he once again looked at me with interest.
“Oh yeah? How do you like that?”
“I love it. I have my dream job. It’s just that…it’s hard too. Everything’s up to me—I mean, success, failure, paying the bills. If I don’t work hard, I’m the only one who suffers. And it’s scary not knowing what the future holds.”
As I ventured another sip of my tea, Brock nodded, smiling ruefully.
“I know what you mean. Every upside has its downside. People always make out that working for yourself, being your own boss, means never having to worry again, when the reality is the opposite. It’s incredibly stressful and hard. Worth it, but hard.”
“It’s weird,” I murmured. “Hearing you talk, it’s almost like…”
“Hearing myself,” Brock said.
Our gazes met. I was hyperaware of his position next to me, his knee pressing against mine, the slight drooping of his eyelids, his parted lips.
If he tried what I thought he was going to do, would I let him?
“I have to go,” he said, rising. “Need to get wood. For the fireplace. There’s a storm coming in.”
I took another sip of my tea, finally able to enjoy the flavor.
“Great. Want help?”
But Brock was already halfway out the door, tossing a “no, no, it’s fine” over his shoulder.
Putting the teacup down, my gaze was drawn to where he had been sitting on the couch. This job hadn’t stopped surprising me. Brock wasn’t anything like I had expected, certainly not anything like an “unhinged criminal.”
I stood up and stretched. I thought of the picture in my car of the sinister-looking man I had come to nab, the Brock I had pegged wrong from the start. Now wasn’t the time to get sentimental about a target. It didn’t matter how handsome or kind he seemed; I had a job to do. After one step toward the chest, I hurried over to the front door to make sure I was in the clear. I opened it a crack and found myself face-to-face with Brock.
Chapter Six
He opened the door fully, regarding me with an unconcerned sort of curiosity.
“I…I was just…”
“Sorry. I’ve kept you quite a bit. We could meet in town some other time,” he said, coming in past me without looking at me.
I watched him dump his armful of logs into the fireplace with dismay.
“No. No, I…”
“The storm could be here soon, and then you’d be stuck here,” he said with a gentle firmness, still addressing the strewn-about logs.
“Okay,” I said.
He turned to face me and nodded.
We stood there eyeing each other for a moment.
My mind slid ideas around uselessly, forming nothing I could do now, no excuse I could give to stay.
“You know where to find me,” Brock said finally.
I nodded again.