Without A Clue (4 page)

Her blue eyes lit up, the gray ring dark around the iris. “You do know just what to say to a girl. Where is this place?”

“One of those five million dollar places in Brookline. Want to?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I don’t have anything for a black tie event, though. I have academic party wear.”

“Here.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a Visa debit gift card he used for work. “Put it on the expense account, huh?”

“I shouldn’t.” She bit her lip, then lunged over the desk to snatch his card. “I will, though. What time are you picking me up?”

“Six at your place sound good?”

Amelia nodded. “Tell me about the wine so I can do some research between now and then.”

So easy. Amelia was so easy to talk to, so perfect. Not for him. No. Just perfect.

Her smile lit up the whole building.

Aden really needed to either give in and date her or leave her alone.

Chapter Seven

“You think this works?” Amelia slid her hands down over her hips, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

“Obviously I do or I wouldn’t have let you buy it and bring it home,” Mandie said. “When Amelia asked Mandie to come shopping, her friend had jumped at the chance to play hooky and find a suitable dress.

The black sheath glowed subtly under her bathroom lights, the demure high neck covered in black on black embroidery and subtle bugle beads. The silly dress fit her like a second skin, clinging to her breasts and hips, which she hoped Aden would notice in the best way.

“Okay. I just—Is my make-up good? Do I need more mascara?”

“Understated is always better. Now, you just need a bangle or something. Nothing at the neck.” Mandie patted her back. “Knock him dead.”

“This is the first time he’s asked for more than research help.” Butterflies fluttered in her belly. “Am I silly to hope this means he wants more, finally?”“Probably,” Mandie said, her tone ironic. “But love is never sane.”

“Oh, God, what if I’m in love with him? That’s crazy!” Amelia put her hands to her cheeks. “I need to call him and tell him I can’t come.”

The knock on the door told her she’d missed that bus by a mile. Aden was there.

“I’ll let him in,” Mandie said, giving her an air hug so nothing got mussed. “Have fun, honey.”

“Thanks.” Amelia followed Mandie toward the door, needing to slip her ID and phone into her evening bag.

She heard Mandie out on the landing with Aden through the cracked door.

“You look very handsome,” Mandie was saying. “You two make an amazing couple. Adorable.”

Aden’s laugh sounded strained. “Oh, Amelia is great, a huge help at work. We’re not together that way, though.”

Amelia’s heart dropped into her knock-off Jimmy Choos. Oh, that was harsh.

“Too bad,” Mandie said. “You won’t find a better lady. Well, have a ball.”

“Thank you.”

Aden stepped into Amelia’s apartment and gave her a bright smile. “You ready to go, Amelia?”

Amelia squared her shoulders, determined to be professional. This was work, after all. Aden had drawn the final line in the sand, and Amelia was going to abide by it.

“I am. I think you’re right about the wine. All my research leads me to believe Mr. Staunton is an egomaniac who believes this wine is his divine private reserve or something.”

“Great.” Aden put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her out the door. “Then we just have to skulk about until we can get to the cellar.”

“Are we just gathering evidence?”

“Yeah. My client can deal with retrieval,” Aden said. “I need pictures, lot numbers, that sort of thing.”

“We can so do that.” She forced a smile, even though his words kept echoing in her mind.
Just work. Not together.

Amelia was going to get through this night, help Aden solve the case, and then give him a piece of her mind.

Her lower lip quivered, but she clamped her lips together to keep her emotions at bay. She was a librarian. She could so this.

Chapter Eight

“Woo!” Aden picked up Amelia and spun her around, laughing like a loon when her entire bun slid out of its pins and landed on her shoulders, her curls bouncing. “You’re amazing, finding that hidden door in the cellar. I say we call that one a complete success.”

“I think we do.” Amelia put her hands on his chest and pushed. “You can put me down now.”

“Sorry.” He set her on her feet, careful to make sure she hadn’t lost a shoe. “Where do you want to do for a late supper? We should celebrate.”

His euphoric mood crashed when Amelia stepped back, smoothing her dress down her body and frowning repressively at him. “I don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Aden asked, dread building in the pit of his belly.

“I don’t want to go to supper. Thank you for the party. And the dress. It was lovely, and the hunt was a hoot, as always.” She blinked rapidly, moistening her lips. “But I think this is our last case, Aden.”

The dread ball turned into a lead balloon. “Why? We go great together.”

“I have a job I love, one I get paid for.” Amelia clasped her hands around her little clutch purse, knuckles white. “This whole adventure has been a blast, but you need to hire an assistant, and I need to get on Match.com or something.”

Her words stunned him into immobility for a moment, and that was just long enough for Amelia to decide she was right, he thought. She walked to him, reaching up to put a hand on his cheek. “Good luck to you, Aden Bourne. You deserve a good life.”

With that, Amelia walked away from him, leaving him at the valet stand at the Brookline mansion with no one to celebrate with. He deserved it, undoubtedly, but all of a sudden Aden had no idea what he was going to do without Amelia Patrick.

Chapter Nine

“No, the hospital closed in 1923. Right. I’m happy to send that. Do you have an email I can use? Great. Have a good day.”

Amelia hung up with the patron she’d been working with for the past week, helping him research a non-fiction book about a local psychiatric hospital. The patron was a ghost hunter, which made Amelia happy. She did love variety.

“Hey, Amelia. Want to go to lunch with me and Anne?” Jordan Handels stopped by her desk, the dapper little man wearing a plaid sweater vest and a gold watch chain.

She smiled, pleased that some of her colleagues had finally warmed up to her. “I would love that, Jordan. Let me grab my sweater.” Fall was coming in fast, and the air was crisp outside today.

They walked to Papa Razzi for pizza, chatting amiably. By the time the got seated, she’d learned Jordan was gay, married to his partner of fifteen years, and had three cats. Anne, a double dipper who was nearing her second retirement, had a pug and a rather severe holiday sweater habit.

“What about you, Amelia?” Anne asked. “I never see that handsome private detective around anymore. I thought you looked well together.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks heated painfully. “I—that was just work. I got too busy to help him anymore.”
I broke up with him,
she thought.
I broke up with the most amazing, hot and cold coward of a man I’ve ever known.

“Too bad,” Jordan said. “Are you going to hook up with your author friend Mandie, then?

Amelia almost choked on her iced tea. “No. No, I’m not—I mean, she’s married.” Amelia didn’t want to insult Jordan, so she left it at that.

“Well, we’ll have to find you a nice fellow,” Anne said. “You need someone to keep you warm this winter.”

Amelia laughed, the sound a little like a loud duck quack she was so surprised. “I’m doing okay on my own, Anne. How’s the chicken club here?”

Somehow she managed to change the subject, but deep inside Amelia felt the ache she’s been trying to deny for the last few weeks. She didn’t want to start over by dating a bunch of nice, but not for her, men.

She still wanted the one man she couldn’t have. Aden.

***

Aden felt as though he was slogging through mud. His days dragged by, even when he had really interesting cases. He found himself at home far too much, rambling around his brownstone and talking aloud to his dad. He’d talked to his dad more in the last three weeks than he ever had when the old man was alive.

Time to get out of the house for a bit.

He grabbed a light jacket and headed out for Back Bay Harry’s, which he’d never been to with Amelia, so he doubted he’d see her there. Comfort food sounded good about now.

The place was jammed, and Aden glanced at his phone, surprised to see it was seven o’clock on a Friday night. Oh, man, he’d never get a table at this rate.

“Aden!” Someone touched his arm, and he spun around. Diane, the art gallery ex. “Hi. How are you doing?”

“Okay. Hi, Diane. It’s good to see you.” Aden surprised himself, because the words rang true. “You look great.”

“Thanks. Do you have a reservation?”

“No. I forgot it was Friday.” He spread his hands in a duh sort of gesture.

“Well, my date got called in for emergency room duty, so come sit with me.”

“Oh, that would be great.” He’d get his comfort food, they’d catch up.

“I’m actually really glad you’re here. I’m craving the fried chicken and Bill and I are still at the point where I have to eat like a bird in front of him. Now I can pig out. Let me tell them I’m here.”

Aden snorted. He was now the comfortable ex. Someday they’d end up sharing a quart of ice cream over chick flicks in her apartment.

“Do you remember when we came here for brunch that time,” she asked him over queso fundido. “You got that pizza with andouille and gravy. I thought you were going to die.”

“So did I. I’d just gotten over the stomach flu, but you dared me to try it, and I wanted to impress you.” He studied Diane, pleased he could do so without feeling bitter. “I guess I failed spectacularly on that front.”

“Oh, Aden, you always impressed me. You’re bright, ambitious, and you love to learn.” She dipped a chip in gooey cheese. “Your problems had nothing to do with being charming or impressive.”

He raised a brow. “My problems?” People had problems together as couples, right?

She grinned. “Okay. Our problems.”

“So, do tell.” He sipped at his scotch and soda. “What’s my problem?”

Her green eyes met his, sympathy in her gaze. “Commitment. You run hot and cold like a tap. On again, off again. You were never all in on our relationship, so how could I go there? I really like you, Aden, so I think you need someone to tell you this. Maybe it’s not a priority for you to have a long term lover now, but you need to let people know that up front so we don’t get our hearts broken.”

“I do have a problem settling down.” Maybe he needed to figure out why. He was successful, and he had a lot of love to give. What was holding him back? Not that Diane would have been the settling down type for him. Art gallery openings with smoked salmon were so not his scene. “I just wasn’t the right woman, Aden.” She leaned over the table to touch his hand. “I hope you find her. I really do. You’re a great guy.”

“Thanks, Diane.” He looked at their hands, which appeared wrong. Her nails weren’t pink, like Amelia’s, and her skin was tanned, her rings big and obvious. She was smart and driven, not sweet and passionate and consumed with the drive to find knowledge. Aden missed Amelia so bad right then that he almost doubled over. God, he was an idiot. “I might have found her. What if I screwed that up? I was just as hot and cold as I was with you and everyone else who’s too good for me.”

Diane laughed, but sobered quickly, staring right into his eyes. “Commit to fighting for her.
Tell
her. Sometimes you think it’s too late, but it isn’t.”

The more he thought about her words, the more they made sense. Maybe he could go after Amelia one more time, and prove to her, and to himself, that he could do a relationship that wasn’t love ‘em and leave ‘em. He loved her. God, he loved Amelia, and he’d almost let his cowardice lose her.

Aden had to get her back. She’d meant it when she’d broken it off with him, so she wouldn’t just agree to meet him if he called or showed up at the library.

A plan began to take root in his mind, and Aden was glad he was a PI. He needed to do some digging, and be a little sneaky, but he thought he had a real scheme.

“Thanks, Diane,” he finally said, realizing his ex was sitting there grinning at him, looking a little misty around the eyes. “Now, how about that fried chicken?”

Chapter Ten

“Oh, Mandie, I don’t really want to go out.” Amelia wanted to go home and put her feet up. She’d put in an extra two hours helping Annie find a citation for some grad student’s dissertation, and her feet were killing her from filling in at the desk early in the afternoon. Now her friend Mandie had stopped by, wanting to head to the North End to have ravioli and cannoli.

“Oh, come on, hon. I know I could order in, but I really want something authentic. Please?” Mandie could do guilt trips like crazy, and could spin an amazing story about why anyone should do what she wanted them to do.