JASE was still inside his sleeping bag on the front porch, sitting upright, his back propped against the wooden panel at the base of the front door. Malachi lay beside him on his back, all four paws in the air, and Jase was rubbing his stomach.
The sleeping bag had pooled at Jase’s waist, revealing a nicely muscled chest with just the right amount of dark, soft-looking chest hair that arrowed down … She jerked her gaze up to his face and scowled. “I thought I told you last night I didn’t need you to stay.”
He shrugged. “A little extra insurance never hurts, particularly after the day you had yesterday. I don’t like the coincidence of you being attacked twice in one day, then a burglar last night.” One side of his mouth quirked. “I didn’t mind playing knight in shining armor for one night.”
She felt a pang of guilt at her ingratitude. And then a pang of irritation: She didn’t need a knight in shining armor.
“All right, thanks,” she said. “Actually, I don’t think I thanked you for coming over last night …”
“I saw your lights go on from down the block, then Darcy pull up,” he replied. “I was worried. And I’m willing to admit that I don’t like the thought of you being in danger. I wish you’d drop this one. Just let Darcy do her job.”
“I’ve backed off,” she assured him. “Believe me, I don’t like being attacked. I’ve got bruises that are going to keep me sore and aching for days.” She felt the back of her head. The bump was smaller this morning, but still there.
His gaze sharpened. “You hit your head?”
“I fell down the steps at Holt’s yesterday. Or, rather, I was shoved, and I hit my head on the cement stoop. I’m fine, though.” She quickly explained why she’d been out at Holt’s, ignoring that he didn’t seem any more convinced than Darcy had by the soundness of her reasoning.
Jordan’s gaze dropped south again, to that nice-looking chest. She gave brief thought to the FPP, then consigned it to the dust bin. “How far does that”—she waggled her index finger up and down at the portion of his anatomy she was trying so hard not to look at—“state of undress go?”
His frown turned into a sexy smile. “Want to find out?” he asked, his voice deeper than normal.
Far too tempted, she folded her arms and cocked her head. “You’ve decided to get sneaky, haven’t you?”
“Gotta make use of all that legal background.”
She closed her eyes momentarily. “How about I fix us a couple of espressos?” she asked brightly. She gestured in the direction of the other side of the house. “I’ll just, er, use the back door …”
She retreated to the sound of his soft laugh.
So much for her plans for a peaceful, solitary breakfast at her favorite French restaurant.
JASE came into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with his feet still bare, as she was grinding the coffee beans. Leaning against the counter, he folded his arms and watched her work. It was starting to feel natural—and comfortable—to have him there.
“Who sent you red roses?” he asked casually.
She gave him a sideways glance as she tamped coffee grounds into the Gruppo. “They weren’t for me.”
He waited, his expression expectant.
“They were for Hattie,” she explained reluctantly. “The ghost of Michael Seavey stole them from the shop a few blocks away. He’s courting her.”
“Really?” Jase grinned. “I like it. The man may have been a shanghaier, but from everything you’ve told me about him, he had class.”
Jordan rolled her eyes, then poured water into the reservoir.
The racket outside started up again, causing her to wince. “That’s worse than a chainsaw, in my opinion. I hope I don’t get complaints from the neighbors.”
“He won’t be at it long. You can tear down an entire house with a sawsall in less than a day. The only reason it’s taking him this long is that they’re probably stopping to remove any salvageable siding. Reproducing historically accurate siding can cost an arm and a leg. It’s worth the labor to remove and refurbish the original shingles.”
She was still stuck back on his remark about destroying an entire house, shuddering at the thought.
“So what’s this about a safe and some money?” Jase asked.
“What? Oh.” She told him the story Hattie had related to her. “So we’ll see. I doubt the money is still there.”
“Hmm.” Jase reached over her for espresso cups. “I wonder why Hattie didn’t make certain Charlotte knew of it. Didn’t Charlotte end up working in a brothel after her sister died? That kind of money would have been enough to support Charlotte well into adulthood, as well as provide a dowry for a husband.”
“I wondered about that myself,” Jordan admitted. “The answer Hattie gave me has more to do with how one ‘comes back’ as a ghost than anything else. If I understood the convoluted explanation I was trying hard not to examine too closely”—Jase grinned again, and she ignored him—“it takes a while to learn the skills you need to return in spectral form. By the time Hattie, er, reappeared, Charlotte was already dead. As was Michael Seavey.”
Jase nodded as if that made sense. “So you have the combination to the safe?”
She finished making a shot of espresso and stared at him in consternation. “Well, shit.”
He chuckled. “You’d better conjure up Hattie between now and when Tom removes that bookcase, unless you don’t mind destroying the safe. And they can be pretty hard to break into without an acetylene torch.”
“Good point.” She handed Jase his cup of espresso, then turned back to make one for herself. Malachi wandered in, yawning, and while more water heated, she fed the dog breakfast. “I wonder if Hattie even remembers the safe combination. After all, she hasn’t had an occasion to use it in well over a hundred years.” She frowned. “And where the hell are they this morning, anyway?”
“Who, and how many, are you talking about?”
“Just the ones who live here—Hattie, Frank, and Charlotte. Michael Seavey lives at the Cosmopolitan and has only visited once.” She paused. “That is, that I know of.”
Tom came through the back door, and she realized that it was blessedly silent once more. He walked around to sit in a chair at the table, a small cloud of sawdust puffing off his clothes. Gratefully accepting the espresso she’d made for herself, he reported, “Turns out the dry rot isn’t quite as bad as I’d feared.” He paused to take an appreciative sip. “It stops just above the French doors in the library, and it didn’t spread too far on either side.”
“How can rot be dry?” she wondered out loud, tamping more coffee grounds.
“It’s a fungal disease that invades lumber, among other things,” Tom explained. “The wood remains relatively dry as the fungi invade the fibers, causing the wood to become brittle and crumbly. But moisture has to be present for it to occur.”
“Yuck.” She decided to avoid that side of the house for the next few weeks. Months, maybe. “Can you get the wall rebuilt today?”
He nodded. “I’ve got a call in to Bill; he’s a whiz at framing, and he doesn’t mind the odd job on top of his bartending. Everyone else is already booked for the summer. But it’s much easier to frame when you’ve got two people,” he explained. “We’ll put up construction plastic for tonight, which will keep everything in the upper parlor from being exposed to the night air. I’ll come back tomorrow and reinstall the siding.”
“If you need help, I can give you a half day tomorrow,” Jase offered.
“I’ll take you up on that,” Tom replied. “The more, the merrier.”
Jordan cocked her head. “I’m confused—I thought you were a painter. Explain to me why I’m not calling a carpenter?”