Winning Amelia. Ingrid Weaver

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      CHAPTER TWO

      HANK JONES DID his best to concentrate on the conversation, because it definitely wouldn’t be cool to be caught slack-jawed and staring. He’d heard that Amelia Goodfellow was back in town. Given the size of Port Hope, he’d known it was possible they would run into each other eventually, but not in his wildest dreams would he have imagined she would be waiting for him to open his office on a Monday morning.

      Typically, the clients of Jones Investigative Services ranged from employers who wanted in-depth background checks on job applicants to estate lawyers tracking down missing heirs and people who wanted their spouses followed. Fairly routine stuff, which was okay with Hank, because it meant he hadn’t yet taken on a case he couldn’t solve. But he doubted this case would be routine. The last time he had seen Amelia, she had vowed never to speak to him again. She’d kept her word for almost fifteen years.

      Nevertheless, here she was, sitting in the worn leather armchair across from his desk like any other potential client. For the first time since he’d started the business, he wished he’d put more effort into the office decor. He wondered what she thought of the wheezing air conditioner in the window behind him, or the five-year-old computer that hulked on his desk, or the prize pickerel that occupied the place of honor above the coffeemaker. He also wondered why her opinion should matter to him.

      If she noticed the thrift-shop decorating scheme, she didn’t let it show. She kept her face as politely neutral as her request. “Will you take the case?”

      Her voice sounded the same. In his more fanciful moments, he used to compare it to syrup, but he was no good with words, and that wasn’t right, anyway. Her voice wasn’t sugary, and sweet wasn’t an adjective people would use to describe Amelia. It was the way syrup flowed, rich and clear, that reminded him of her voice. It was also hard to stop the stream of her words once they got going. They tended to stick, too.

      Her appearance hadn’t changed much over the years. Her hair was a bit straighter and cut to chin length instead of corkscrewing over her shoulders, and it had darkened marginally, yet it was unmistakably the Goodfellow red. Did she still insist on calling it auburn? Beneath her flowered blouse and denim skirt, her figure appeared to be as slender as when she’d been a teenager, although she’d lost that coltish, all arms and legs look.

      He suspected that even if he’d been blindfolded, he would have recognized her presence. The leather chair creaked as she shifted because she couldn’t sit still. The air around her seemed to crackle with energy she couldn’t quite contain. Amelia never did anything halfway. When she wanted something, she pursued it with her whole heart.

      “Or would you have a problem working for me?” she asked.

      The blunt question didn’t surprise him. The Amelia he’d known wouldn’t tiptoe around an issue. She’d been the most honest person he’d ever encountered. Well, except for her blind spot when it came to her hair color.

      Would he have a problem taking her on as a client? As a rule, he didn’t make spur-of-the-moment decisions. He preferred to inspect all sides of a topic first. That’s what made him a good investigator. This situation was different, because he already knew the answer to her question. Of course, he wouldn’t have a problem working for Amelia. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He would never again be that idealistic fool, goofy with puppy love, laying his heart bare for her to trample with her size-eight feet. The pain had faded. They’d both moved on.

      And the truth was, he was curious. Whatever had brought her here had caused her to swallow her pride and break one and a half decades of silence. Anyone, even if they weren’t a professional snoop, would want to know what it was.

      “This is what I do for a living, Amelia,” he said. “The problems that happened between us were a long time ago.”

      “Distant past,” she agreed.

      “We were friends long before we made the mistake of trying to be more.”

      She exhaled. It was accompanied by a subtle lowering of her shoulders. “That’s a good way to put it. Yes, we were friends once, weren’t we?”

      “And since you need help, I’m glad you came to me.”

      “I was hoping you would feel that way.”

      “Did you think I would kick you out?”

      “After the way we parted, I wasn’t sure. People can change.”

      “Not me. I’m the same old, dumb lug I always was.”

      “You were never dumb, Hank. Otherwise, СКАЧАТЬ