McIver's Mission

“I haven’t invited Mr. McIver up for tea and cookies,” Arden said dryly.

“If you’re a smart woman, you will,” Greta said then gave a gentle tug to Rocky’s leash. “Come along, sweetie. We don’t want to miss Jeopardy.”

“I’m sorry,” Arden apologized to Shaun after Greta and Rocky had disappeared inside the building. “She’s a wonderful lady who just can’t seem to mind her own business.”

“She cares about you,” Shaun said simply.

“She’s obsessed with finding a nice young man for me to settle down with.”

“I got that impression.”

Arden cringed. “What did she say to you?”

“It wasn’t what she said so much as how she said it. Greta Dempsey could teach the members of the Fairweather P.D. a thing or two about interrogation,” he said.

“I am so sorry. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not looking to settle down.”

“You don’t want a husband and two-point-two kids and a house with a white picket fence?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my turn to be interrogated?”

He flashed her that quick, sexy smile. “I’m curious about you, Doherty.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But when I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

He held up a tape measure. “To take measurements. For your shelves.”

“Oh.”

“You forgot?”

“Actually, I thought you’d forget.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you really wanted to build shelves for me.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to,” he told her.

“Then I guess I’ll have to invite you in to take measurements.”

“Am I going to get tea and cookies, too?”

“Cookies,” Arden told him. “I still don’t have any tea.”

“Coffee would be okay,” he suggested. “Maybe some of that Jamaican stuff.”

Arden laughed. “Now I know the real reason for your visit.”

“Just an added bonus,” he assured her.

She opened the front door of the building and led the way up the stairs. Mrs. Dempsey was just coming out of her apartment with a plate heaped with cookies as Arden turned down the hall. She could smell the mouth-watering scents of nutmeg and cinnamon.

She wanted to ask Mrs. Dempsey if she’d seen anyone she didn’t recognize in the building the previous afternoon, but she couldn’t do so in front of Shaun. If she did, he’d know she’d been lying about the envelope coming from her landlord. And she had no intention of discussing the letters with him.

Greta passed off the plate of cookies to Arden and smiled. “Smart girl,” she said in a stage whisper.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dempsey,” Arden said. Then, to clarify, “For the cookies.”

Greta winked at them both. “Enjoy.”

Arden shook her head as she juggled the plate of cookies and her briefcase, trying to reach the keys in her pocket, but she was smiling. Shaun took the cookies, inhaled deeply, and a low hum of pleasure sounded in his throat. The sensual sound caused Arden’s insides to quiver.

She stepped away from him quickly, into the apartment, and set her briefcase down. “Mrs. Dempsey makes fabulous cookies.”

“And oatmeal-raisin are your favorite,” Shaun said.

“How do you know?”

“She told me.” He followed her into the kitchen.

Arden didn’t want to speculate about what else her neighbor might have told him. “That doesn’t mean she has to give me three dozen.”

“She thinks you’re too skinny,” Shaun reminded her, helping himself to a cookie.

“If she wants cuddly, she should get a teddy bear.”

He laughed. “She worries about you. She doesn’t have any children of her own to fuss over.”

Arden measured coffee grinds into the filter. “How long were you talking to her?”

“I didn’t clock the conversation,” he said dryly.

“Approximately?” she prompted.

“Half an hour.” He grinned. “It was…informative.”

“I’ll bet.”

He bit into the cookie, finished it off in two bites and reached for another. “These are fabulous.”

“I’ll send some home with you,” she promised.

“Thanks. Mrs. Fields can’t compare to Mrs. Dempsey.”