Standing In The Shadows. Shannon McKenna

her mouth. “Do you, um, want to come in?”

      “Yeah,” he said.

      Her stomach did a terrified back flip. She unlocked her door.

      He followed her into her apartment. She flipped on the floor lamp she’d found at a rummage sale years ago, with a wicker laundry basket she had rigged for the lampshade. It cast a strange pattern of warm, reddish slices of light and shadow around the cramped room.

      “It’s not much,” she said hesitantly. “I had to sell most of my stuff. Here, let me move this pile of books. Sit down. I can make you some coffee, or tea, if you’d like. I’m afraid I haven’t got much to offer in the way of food. A can of tuna and some toast, maybe. Or cereal.”

      “I’m not hungry, thanks. Coffee would be fine.” He wandered around, studying her pictures, scanning the titles of the books piled against the wall with evident fascination. Edna jumped down from her favorite perch on the bookshelf and stalked over to investigate him.

      Connor crouched down to pet her cat, and Erin hung up her jacket and put the kettle on. His eloquent silence unleashed too much dangerous speculation in her mind. She turned around.

      The chitchat she’d been rehearsing froze in her throat. The raw force of his gaze sent a shock wave of feminine awareness through her. He was staring at her body, measuring her with intense interest. She felt naked in her jeans and T-shirt. “You’re thinner,” he observed.

      Her instinct was to back away, but the sink was already pressed against her back. The room was terribly small with him in it. “I, uh, haven’t had much of an appetite, the past few months,” she said.

      “Tell me about it,” he murmured.

      Edna arched and purred beneath his hand, which was very odd. Edna was a nervous, traumatized ex-alley cat. She’d never let anyone but Erin touch her, and now look at her, flinging herself onto her back. Writhing with pleasure beneath Connor’s long, stroking fingers.

      Erin wrenched her gaze away from the unsettling spectacle. “This has been the one time in my life I’ve managed to lose weight without trying,” she babbled. “And I’m too stressed out to enjoy it.”

      “Why did you ever try? Your body is gorgeous.”

      His tone was not flattering or flirtatious, just a flat request for information. “Well, I, uh…I’ve always been a little too—”

      “Perfect.” He rose to his feet with sinuous grace, still studying her body. “You’ve always been perfect, Erin. You don’t need to lose weight. You never did. Try not to lose any more.”

      She was completely flustered. “Ah…OK.”

      A sweet, brief smile transformed his lean face as he sat down in the chair she’d cleared for him. Edna promptly leaped into his lap.

      Erin scooped coffee into the filter with trembling hands. Busy, busy, busy—

      “Erin, can I ask you something personal?”

      Her skin prickled at his tone. “That depends on the question.”

      “Last fall. At Crystal Mountain. That guy, Georg. Tell me the truth. Did you go to bed with him?”

      She froze into agonized stillness, keeping her back to him. “Why does it matter to you?” Her voice was small and tight.

      “It just does.”

      His question brought all the burning shame rushing back. She turned, and lifted her chin. “If I say yes, that means you’ll lose all respect for me, right?” She flung the words at him.

      “No,” he said quietly. “It means that when I hunt him down and start beating him to death, this time I’ll finish the job.”

      The kettle began to warble. She couldn’t respond to it. She was paralyzed by the bleak intensity of his eyes. The warble rose to a shriek.

      Connor jerked his chin toward it.

      Erin grabbed the kettle with shaking hands. “I think you’d better leave,” she said. “Right now.”

      Her voice sounded tight, breathless. Not authoritative at all.

      Connor’s gaze did not waver. “You promised me coffee.”

      His face was implacable. He would leave when it suited him, and not before. And she had no one but herself to blame for inviting him in.

      Connor placed Edna gently on the ground. He got up and wandered over to her desk, studying the photos and cards pinned to the corkboard. The travel itinerary and the printed-out Mueller e-mail lay on the desk in plain view. He picked them up and examined them. “Going someplace?”

      “Just a work thing.”

      He frowned. “Didn’t you say you lost your job?”

      “I work for myself now. I’ve started my own consulting business.”

      “And you’re getting by?” His gaze swept the tiny, wretched room.

      “I’m not supporting myself with my business yet,” she said stiffly. “I’m temping to make ends meet. But I have high hopes.”

      He held the e-mail up to the light and read it.

      “Excuse me, Connor, but those are my private papers, and I did not invite you to look at them.”

      He ignored her, his gaze fixed on the page. “So Claude is delighted to meet with you at last, huh?” he said softly. “Who is this Claude?”

      “None of your business. Put those down. Now.”

      He glanced up, and took in the steaming mug in her hand. His eyes went right back to the e-mail. “I take it black,” he said absently.

      “Put those papers down, Connor.” She tried to make her voice steely and commanding. It just sounded scared.

      “So old Claude feels like he knows you already. Isn’t that sweet.” He laid the papers on her desk, and walked to the table, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “So, this Claude. You’ve never met him?”

      She set his coffee down in front of him. “He’s a client of mine. Not that it’s any of your business.”

      “Art appraisal?”

      “Authentication,” she corrected. “Mr. Mueller recently developed an interest in Iron Age Celtic artifacts, which are my specialty.”

      He sipped his coffee, frowning. “How recently?”

      “I’ve never discussed that with him,” she said. “It’s not—”

      “What do you know about this guy, Erin?”

      She bristled at the challenge in his voice. “Everything I need to know. He treats me like a professional. He pays well, and on time.”

      “But you’ve never met him?” His eyes probed her, merciless.

      “I’ve met members of his administrative staff,” she said. “He runs a charitable foundation called the Quicksilver Fund.”

      “So why haven’t you met him yet?” he persisted.

      “Because he’s always had other pressing engagements,” she retorted. “He’s a busy man.”

      “Is he now,” Connor said. “Isn’t that interesting.”

      Coffee sloshed over the table as she slammed down her mug. “What the hell are you insinuating, Connor?”

      “Do you know anyone personally who has met this guy?”

      She pressed her lips together. “I know people whose arts organizations have received grants from him. That’s enough for me.”

      “No, it’s not enough. You can’t go on this trip, Erin.” She jerked onto her feet, jarring the table painfully with her