Page 18 of Bachelor Cop Finally Caught? (Hot off the Press! 2)

She led him into the kitchen, where water dripped steadily—and noisily—against the stainless steel sink. Dan set his toolbox on the counter. “I’ll have to turn the water off under the sink.”

“Oh, wait. Let me fill the coffeemaker first.” She grabbed the glass carafe from the drip machine and moved beside him to reach for the cold-water handle. Her left arm brushed his right in the process; Dan moved back as if a static spark had arced between them.

He hadn’t touched her since he’d arrived, she realized. Hadn’t tried to ruffle her hair, hadn’t even patted her shoulder—both gestures he often made toward her.

“It’s all yours,” she said, smiling up at him.

“What—oh, the sink.”

“Of course.” She let her eyes widen a bit. “What else would I have meant?”

He gave her a somewhat suspicious look, then opened his toolbox. Lindsey started making coffee. Was there really an awareness between them that hadn’t been there before? Or was it only her own overactive imagination?

Twenty minutes later they sat at her table with mugs of coffee, the faucet blessedly quiet. Lindsey nodded toward the sink. “That’s much better. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“No need. After all, I told B.J. I’d help you out when I could.”

It was all she could do not to grimace. Once again he’d relegated her to his buddy’s little sister. What was it going to take to make him see her differently? She remembered Connie Peterson’s advice about getting a man’s attention: Sometimes you just gotta hit ’em over the head, girl. Men just don’t get subtlety.

Short of stripping and draping herself over the table, she wasn’t sure what Connie might suggest at this point.

Stalling for time, she fell back on the one topic that was always guaranteed to spark a conversation…work. “Any progress on the arson investigation?” she asked, expecting a negative reply.

The expression that flashed almost instantaneously across his face awakened all her reporter’s instincts. Someone else might have missed it—but she knew Dan too well. “What?” she demanded, leaning forward.

“Nothing. You got any cookies or something? I’m hungry.”

She set her coffee cup down with a thump. “You’ve learned something since I saw you last. What is it?”

He looked her straight in the eyes and spoke very deliberately. “All I can tell you at this point is that we still don’t have a suspect.”

“Then what do you have?”

He stood, crossed the room and opened the pantry. “Oreos. Great. Is there any more of that coffee?”

“Not for you,” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “Not until you tell me what you’re hiding from me.”

“Don’t start that refrain again, Lindsey. It gets old fast.” He tossed the pack of cookies onto the table, picked up his cup and moved to the coffeemaker.

“Dan, if you’ve learned something that could lead to an identification of the arsonist, you really should tell me.”

He sat, dug a couple of cookies from the bag and eyed her with faint amusement. “Assuming I did have a possible lead, why on earth do you think I’d have any obligation to discuss it with you?”

“It’s called freedom of information.”

“Not when it involves an ongoing investigation.”

“I wouldn’t jeopardize your investigation. You know very well that I would only print the information I think the public needs to know.”

“Yeah, well, you and I don’t often agree about what that is. When there’s something concrete for you to report, you’ll get an official statement from my office.”

“At least tell me if you have a possible new lead. I can report that without giving any details. If nothing else, it will reassure people aro

und here that progress is being made in the investigation.”

He didn’t fall for the admittedly weak enticement. “No comment,” he mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

“Off the record then.” She was determined to pry something out of him just to satisfy her own rampant curiosity. “Tell me what you’ve got. I’ll keep it to myself until you give me permission to use it.”

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