His eyes held hers. She read concern in them, but also some suspicion.
She couldn’t blame him for that.
She wrestled back the impulse to tell him to butt out and mind his business. He’d done her a favor just now. If any man was trustworthy, it might be Darius Boone. It was worth a shot, anyway.
She hauled in a long breath. “Better come in.” She led the way to the living room, which she’d just finished furnishing a few days ago. The infamous carpet was now covered with a coffee table, along with a few strategically placed throw rugs.
Morning light poured through the window and danced across the hardwood floor in honey-colored beams. Her mug of coffee sat steaming on the coffee table, next to her laptop. She’d been peacefully answering emails, sipping her hazelnut French roast, before Darius had shattered her calm.
Darius went to the sliding glass door that let onto the deck and scanned the street out front. “Just making sure he’s gone.”
“Did he say what he was after?”
“Like I said, he was looking for Catriona Fletcher or Catriona Robinson. He showed me a picture.” Darius came toward her and showed her his phone. Her old work photo from the law firm. Wonderful.
“Crappy photo, huh?” she said lightly. “Why are work photos always so unflattering?”
He didn’t smile. “It’s from your old job? When you were a lawyer?”
“Yes. From the law firm of Bustos, Bagwell and Gonzalez. I was a lowly second-year associate when I left. And yes, they knew me as Catriona Fletcher. I used that name for…” she made a face. “Reasons.”
“Reasons,” he repeated flatly.
She tried a winning smile, but it made no impression on him.
“You’re going to give me more than that, right? Because I have his number right here on this card and all it will take is a phone—”
“Extortion? Really? You’d stoop so low?”
“Legal terms? Really? You’d stoop that low?”
She pressed her lips together and turned away from his gaze, which seemed to see right through her. “It’s…it’s embarrassing. The kind of sordid story you’d read about in a tabloid. But if you really want to hear it…”
He plopped himself down on the couch, his thighs spread like twin oak trees. “I really want to hear it.” That voice left no room for doubt.
She sighed and sank down on the couch cushion farthest from him. “I don’t even know where to start,” she groaned.
“How about this? I’ll ask questions. I’ll start with why you looked so scared when you heard about Ethan James.”
“No, no, that’s a terrible place to start. That’s practically the end.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Good God, you’re stubborn. Start wherever you want. How about your name. Why the two names?”
But that didn’t feel like a good place either. “Just…” She waved him away. “Let me tell it. I’ll start with the day I was emancipated. I was seventeen years old and I got tired of being yanked around between my father the grifter and my mother the gypsy. So I emancipated myself and I chose my own last name just to make the point extra clear.”
She snuck a glance at his impassive face.
“I used Catriona Fletcher all through college and law school and at work. I didn’t want my professional reputation associated with my father. He’s slightly notorious in Southern California. I didn’t want people connecting me with a small-time criminal. I mean, I had my own issues, you may have heard.”
“Naughty Kate.”
She cringed. “Exactly. But that was kid stuff, and I wanted to put it behind me. Kate Robinson was a pile of trouble. Catriona Fletcher, on the other hand, had her shit together.”
He cocked his head, waiting for more.
Oh God, this was hard. Her habit of secrecy was so ingrained. “Hey, you want some coffee?”
He laughed, the deep sound rolling through her. It was oddly reassuring to hear that laugh, in a “not everything has been destroyed” kind of way. “You don’t have to be so squirrely, Kate. I’m not the enemy, I promise.”
“I know you’re not.” For a moment she wished she could lean against his broad, solid chest and forget about all this. “Though we did start out that way.”
“Only until we met.” His silvery eyes gleamed at her. She sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ears. She hadn’t even showered yet this morning, let alone brushed her hair. She probably still had sleep in her eyes. She’d barely remembered to grab her old UCLA hoodie before opening the door.