Helping Sarah

Chapter 2

Sarah

Neither of us spoke while the coffee machine hummed, and Michael didn't look at me when he placed the cup down by the edge of the desk.

I took it as an implicit invitation to sit in one of the chairs before the desk, and glanced at him under my lashes as I did. He was actually rather cute. With that dark brown hair that kept flopping down over his forehead no matter how often he pushed it back and those green, green eyes over high cheekbones, and a clean-shaven, slightly pointy jaw. He was tall, and though his baggy jacket hid his upper body, it stood open enough to reveal that he was lean and stringy beneath, with wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist.

His head lifted as he sat back in the chair on the other side of the desk, and I quickly looked down at my hands. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression and think I'd been checking him out.

I hadn't. I was just curious about him.

Michael, on the other hand, was openly staring at me. Still with that puzzled frown, still waiting for... something.

Tugging my hair behind my ears, I then reached for the cup and darted another glance up. My hands halted mid-air. I was used to seeing curled lips and narrowed stares when people looked at me, blame and disdain, but that wasn't what was in his expression.

Again, it looked like...

I inwardly shook my head, shook off the silliness and snickered at myself. Of course, it wasn't admiration. I didn't know this man, but it was far more likely that this was simply how he looked. It had nothing to do with either admiration or having heard about Andrew's death.

A stab in my chest made my hand jerk. Not enough that the coffee sloshed over, but breathing evenly was suddenly difficult.

I looked down at the dark liquid in the cup. It had been three years, but thinking about my husband still hurt, still squeezed at my heart.

Still made the vision of what I had found when I walked into that bathroom dance before my eyes. Twist my gut.

My fingers tightened around the fine, white china cup, and it took all my focus to keep it still enough to not spill coffee on my best jeans.

I don't know how long I sat there staring at my fingers and the coffee, struggling to just breathe, but when I lifted my head, Michael was looking at me, his head tilted a little to the side, studying me. But not unpleasantly. It didn't make me want to squirm.

"When will Mr Everett be back?" I asked.

"I don't think it'll be long. Why do you want to talk to James?"

"I need his help."

He nodded, then pushed back his hair. It didn't stay back; a few locks flopped back down over his forehead the moment he removed his hand. "You're here about a case for him?"

"If he'll agree to take it, yes."

"What's it about?"

I stared at him, held his gaze for a moment. "That's private."

Michael's eyes widened. "Of course, yes, but... Maybe I can help you?"

The knot between my shoulder blades loosened. "You're a private detective?"

"I... help James."

The words hung in the air between us as Michael blinked a few times. Almost as if he couldn't quite believe he'd spoken them.

"Oh," I said, for some reason a little bit breathless. "I didn't know he has a partner. He didn't mention it when I spoke to him yesterday."

"Er, it's new. It's not official."