Page 47 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“I like them,” he said. “You favor your mother.”

“She has better taste than I do.” Annie smiled.

“Does their divorce still bother you?”

“Not as much as it used to. Sometimes, when they’re together and behaving themselves, I forget.”

“It must be hard,” he said. His thumb ran over her knuckles and she pulled her hand away.

“Well,” she said. “I’d better call Denise again.”

As soon as she said it, she winced. She didn’t want Fisher to get any ideas. It was too late.

“You don’t think Denise would be involved in anything illegal, do you?”

“No! No, I don’t.” Her eyes darted to Fisher’s, but she couldn’t hold his gaze.

“If you say so,” he said, but his voice was heavy with doubt. “You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

“Trust you?” she snapped, angry at herself for suspecting a friend and angry at Fisher for putting stupid suspicions in her head.

“Yes, trust me,” he said. “I know you’re hurt that I lied to you, but I’m risking my career by trusting you. That should tell you something.”

“It tells me that you’re desperate for a lead and you’re willing to use me to get it,” she snarled, feeling guilty and frustrated.

Fisher stepped back from the desk. His back was as rigid as an ironing board. “If that’s what you think then there’s nothing more to be said.”

“No, there isn’t,” she agreed.

They gazed at each other across the expanse of the tiny office. It felt as if the few feet that separated them were miles. It might as well have been. A muscle twitched in Fisher’s jaw. It was the only sign of his distress.

Annie opened her mouth to apologize, but then snapped it shut. She’d spoken the truth and there was no taking it back or apologizing for it. Anything that had happened between them before had been based upon a lie. There was no getting around it and they both knew it.

“Fine,” he said and then he was gone.

Annie slumped back against her chair. With a grunt of disgust, she propped her feet on the corner of the desk. Had it been just days ago that they were jitterbugging in each other’s arms, when she thought he was a regular government employee? A pencil pusher with a pension? Ha! He was an FBI agent, and he’d believed she was a criminal! When he’d kissed her, she’d been so sure that there was something there. A spark? Chemistry? Desire? Passion?

How could she have been so wrong? Watching him working in her shop with his gaggle of female admirers just confirmed it. He’d charmed her just like he charmed every other woman. Even her sister Mary had checked him out, and she was happily married. Annie wondered if they taught charm at FBI headquarters. What were the classes called? How to make a woman melt in your arms 101 or How to woo a confession 202.

She’d fallen for it like a house of cards under a heavy hand. She had to let go of her feelings for him. It just wasn’t meant to be. She’d help him find out who was using her business as a cover and then he’d be out of her life. It was the only solution. Why then, did it leave her so depressed?

She dialed Denise’s house, but there was no answer. This was so unlike her. Annie couldn’t believe that Denise was being this irresponsible. Fear hit her low and deep. Only something truly terrible would keep her friend from showing up for work. Annie feared the worst. Could Denise or her husband be the ones laundering money? The thought made Annie ill.

Fisher paused outside Annie’s door. He could hear the muted hum of her television. He raised his hand to knock, but then paused. What could he say to make up for hurting her? Not a thing. Not a damn thing.

He’d been doing his job, cozying up to a suspect and slipping into her life to spy on her and collect evidence. Then why did he feel like the world’s most callused heel? He blew out a breath, turned back to his own apartment and let himself in. The apartment was dark. Flicking on the light switch, he dumped his jacket onto a nearby chair.

“Harpy?” he called. There was no answering chirp. “Harpy?”

Fisher crossed the room to the cage. It was empty. Not a terribly alarming event, given the fact that Harpy knew how to open the door. He hadn’t clipped her wings in ages and she’d been flying loops around the apartment for days. He meant to get to it, but time kept eluding him.

“Harpy?” Fisher checked the bathroom. Harpy frequently amused herself by pulling the drain out of the sink. Fisher switched on the bathroom light. There was no sign of her.

Panic began to thump through him. He checked the windows. They were all shut. She couldn’t have gotten out. Fisher checked behind the dresser, thinking Harpy might have gotten herself stuck.

Suddenly a shriek sounded from Annie’s apartment across the hall. Fisher ran to her door. Pounding on it, he shouted, “Annie, it’s Fisher! Open up!”

The door swung wide and Fisher blinked. Annie was standing there with her red hair hanging over her face and a furiously flapping Harpy sitting on her head.

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