Rules of Attraction

“The initials of the three original partners of the agency, Alvarado, Remington and Caldwell. I’m also a partner.”

“Have they been in business long?”

“About eight years. They work out of L.A. I opened a branch office for them here right after Thanksgiving last year, but I’ve been a private investigator for ten years.”

“Why were you working for the D.A.?”

“Your sister realized she was being followed by their people, so the D.A. hired me to take over. I’m usually pretty good at it.”

“Not this time?”

“I figure she made me, too.” Made a fool of me.

He knew Claire was killing time. He let her set the pace.

“Jenn doesn’t have the money,” she said finally.

“What makes you so sure?”

“She said so.”

“Is she always honest?”

Claire started to answer, then shut her mouth. “Usually. Brutally honest.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Why did you bleach your hair?”

She ran a hand down her ponytail, as if she’d forgotten. “I wanted a change.”

“It was your idea?”

She shifted. “Not entirely.”

“Jennifer came up with the idea?”

“She said blondes…”

“Have more fun?” he asked, finishing her sentence when she didn’t.

“Yes.”

“And the clothes? Her clothes that you wore yesterday?”

“Part of the makeover. Yes, that was also her idea. But I didn’t have to go along with any of it, and she couldn’t have forced me.”

Quinn knew all about the tactics of manipulation. Some people were so good at it that they could even get their victim to defend them, which was probably true in this instance.

“We did it on a lark,” Claire said, sitting up straighter, apparently well in control again. “To celebrate the end of the school year and the beginning of summer.”

“Did she make changes, too?”

Claire frowned. “Do you mean, did she take on my appearance?”

“Yes.”

“Meaning, you think she’s on the run?”

“Could be.”

“She said in her note that she would be in touch with me. Doesn’t that imply she’s not running or going into hiding?”

He didn’t answer. He knew something Claire didn’t—her sister had been followed by someone else, someone not from the D.A.’s office. Quinn had seen him and reported it to the D.A. It was likely someone her convict boyfriend had managed to hire, therefore he must believe she was a threat to run. Therefore, she knew more than she’d said in court.

“You don’t believe her,” she said, her gaze cool.

“I don’t know her.”

“Well, one thing I can tell you—she wouldn’t be caught dead as a brunette or wearing the clothes I wear.”

“Are any of your clothes missing?”

She sat back. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to look.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe you should check your trash cans to see if there’s a box of hair color in there.” He stood. She’d gathered her composure. His job was done—unfortunately. He wouldn’t have minded getting to know her better, but he didn’t think they could get past the reason they’d met in the first place.

“Maybe you should try to put the facts together and see what you come up with,” he said, then pointed to the business card she still clenched. “You’ve got my number. If you want to talk, you can reach me on my cell phone twenty-four hours a day.”

She stood, too. “Why would I call you?”

“Because I know what you’re going through.” He resisted the temptation to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He had no right to touch her, but he was also afraid he wouldn’t stop there, that he would pull her into his arms and hold her close, maybe for his sake as much as hers. Everything she was experiencing brought back devastating memories for him, memories he usually had no problem keeping buried. She was as innocent as he’d been.

If he ever did meet up with Jennifer Winston—

“Thank you for staying and talking,” Claire said.

“Thanks for believing I’m not the enemy.”

“I’ve seen you faint. How scared should I have been?” she asked, a teasing smile brightening her face.

Claire Winston didn’t fall under the category of client or subject, but his own code of ethics, the personal rules by which he lived, prevented him from letting himself respond to her in a way his mind and body were telling him to. Even with her face lined with exhaustion she looked pretty. Not classically beautiful, nor cute. Pretty. The kind of pretty that comes from inside. He remembered the way she looked in the short leather skirt, the slow, tempting way she walked, the way her cheeks had flushed when they’d first made eye contact. He remembered her teasing eyes as he’d jogged with her.

Temptation, thy name is Claire.

And he needed to avoid this particular temptation.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. Not wrong, but not right, either. “You’ll call if you want to talk?”