Rare Objects. Kathleen Tessaro

yourself!” I shot back. “What are you doing, Mick?”

      He pointed a finger at me. “I don’t have to answer to you! You left! Remember?” Still, the color rose in his cheeks, and I knew he was embarrassed.

      “Sure.” I shrugged. “You don’t have to answer to anyone. Least of all me.”

      “Damn right I don’t!”

      “I guess I’m like a bad penny: you just can’t get rid of me.”

      He sighed, shook his head, but his eyes softened. At six foot three, he was one of the few men who could ever look down on me. “Aw, now, you know I didn’t want to be rid of you, Maeve. I never wanted that.”

      I nodded to the office door. “You do now.”

      A shadow of guilt flickered in his eyes. “What did you expect me to do? Wait?”