He smiled. She frowned.
“The power’s off for the electrical work and I can’t fire up Sam. So—”
“Sam?”
Her frown deepened. She tipped her head in the direction of the computer. “So what I suggest is—”
“I never knew a computer with a name before.”
She tapped the ballpoint against the notebook. She gave him a look like those the nuns had given him in school when he’d disrupted the class.
“Well, now you do. Here’s what—”
“Sam what?”
She was biting the inside of her lip. To keep from losing her temper, he supposed.
“Spade.”
“I get it. Sam Spade, private detective. The two of you find people.”
“You’re quick, Mr. Lyon. I’m impressed. Now can we get on with this?”
“Oh, sure.” He smiled again. He supposed, actually, he’d been smiling all along. His hangover must be gone. “She should patent it.”
“What?”
“Maman Riva’s Hangover Potion.”
Judging by the grip she had on the pen, it should snap any moment. That wasn’t going to help her mood at all. He reached up and touched her fingers. “You’re tense, Nicki. Do I make you nervous?”
She flinched away. “Yes. People who prey on others make me nervous.”
“And I prey on others?”
“You’re a Lyon, aren’t you?”
He met the challenge in her eyes, but refused to match her bristling attitude. He’d been catching it one way or another all his life for being a Lyon. He was too rich for those who had less. He was too stingy for those who wanted a handout. He was too privileged, too powerful, too driven. He was none of those things, of course. He’d made a point not to be, in fact. And he’d also made a point of never defending himself against assumptions.
“I was glad you got away that night,” he said, instead.
That stopped her for a moment. He saw the speculation behind those ice-blue eyes, but he knew before she spoke that she wouldn’t give voice to her curiosity. “I can’t imagine why it mattered to you.”
The edge in her voice was intended to veil the unspoken question. Scott believed he’d keep the judge guessing.
“Margaret Lyon doesn’t prey on people,” he said, turning the conversation back to the reason he was here.
The other reason.
“I’m sure.”
“Trust me.”
“Absolutely. Now about your aunt—I’ll need some details so that when Sam is back in commission I can do a little nosing around.”
He gave her what details he could and promised to get back to her with the information he didn’t have. Margaret’s social security number and her parents’ dates of birth. He supposed he could get it all from his cousin Gaby or her daughter Leslie. He wasn’t sure how any of it would help Nicki find a woman no one else could find. But he was here and he wanted to come back, so he would simply do what she asked.
She slapped the notebook shut and tossed it onto the desktop together with the pen. She was poised to stand. He was being dismissed, free to return to the city, to WDIX-TV, to his squabbling family.
“Why do you do this?”
“How is that relevant?” she countered.
He reminded himself of what he knew of her, of the scandal that had first placed her in his path. A father dead of a drug overdose, a less-than-stable childhood. Street performers, if he remembered correctly. That was what made her so brittle. Her past and his role in exposing it.
“Interesting, not relevant.”
“If it isn’t relevant, I don’t have time for it. You may have noticed I have a lot of work to do.”
She stood and stepped over him, then waited at the door for him. He decided not to be any more trying to her than he’d already been. “I’ll bring the rest of the information tomorrow.”
He paused at the door. The expression in her eyes should have cooled everything in the vicinity—including him—but somehow it didn’t. The aloofness was at odds with the unruly dance of her curls, which made his fingers ache with need. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair. To lose himself in the heat he felt despite the chill she projected.
“Call, Mr. Lyon. A phone call will be fine.”
A call would be preferable was what she meant, he knew.
“I don’t mind the drive,” he said.
“Don’t push me, Lyon. You aren’t welcome on my land or in my life. I don’t know how to be any clearer than that.”
Scott wasn’t one to push. But pushing back, that was different. A man had an obligation to push back, didn’t he?
“Can I kiss you goodbye?”
Color rushed into her cheeks, anger more than embarrassment, he speculated. She clenched a fist and he thought for a moment he was going to find out what kind of right hook she had.
“On second thought, maybe I won’t help you at all.”
Obviously getting past this woman’s defenses was going to take some doing, and he knew he wasn’t advancing his cause one bit.
“Is that a no to the kiss, too?” he asked, matching her determination with a cocksureness of his own.
“My shotgun’s still loaded.”
“I guess that’s a definite no.”
“This isn’t a game, Lyon.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He saw the shudder of anxiety tighten her face when she realized what he meant. It wasn’t a game, a flirtation, a seduction. She knew now what he’d known for two years. He wanted her. And she didn’t appear pleased at the news.
CHAPTER FOUR
RAYMOND LYON suppressed a belch.
The food at Chez Charles always gave him heartburn, but he didn’t complain about it much. Maybe there was no such thing as a free lunch for the rest of the world, but the rules were a little different when your father owned the joint.
“We oughtta fix this place up, hire somebody who can actually cook, when the old man croaks,” Ray said.
He watched his older brother wipe his fingers on a white linen napkin and screw up his face as if he smelled something bad. Alain was like the old man in that way, always acting as if he was above the rest of them. Ray supposed it ran in the family; most of the Lyons seemed to behave that way.
“Have a modicum of class, why don’t you, Raymond.”
Alain’s hoity-toity attitude ticked Ray off. He decided to bring up the one topic that would upset his brother. “I moved the old lady again.”
Alain glanced around. He had a full head of hair, touched with silver at the temples, the perfect hint of dignity for a man pushing fifty, whereas Raymond, who wasn’t even forty yet, already had a hole in his haircut, right at the crown of his head. Life wasn’t fair.
“Not here,” Alain said.
Ray ignored him. “To Arkansas. Close enough to keep an eye on her.”
“How is she?”
Ray