more attention. He’d missed a lot of clues that had been right in front of his face and that wasn’t like him. Prejudice could cloud the evidence, he knew that. But now he knew he didn’t have all the answers—he had to take a closer look.
If they could find a way to get along better after the tentative truce they’d struck in her bedroom, maybe things would get better and he could focus on something other than sex with a woman who was out of bounds.
Doubtful, but worth a try.
TWELVE
Miranda was determined not to let it get to her.
By thinking about the contents of the letters she was allowing whoever had written them to occupy a place inside her head. She refused to give them that but to deny she was rattled would have been pointless. In the following busy days the only time she felt secure was with Tyler around, which was a tad ironic considering the danger he posed.
She glanced at him as he completed a check of the room and stopped to run his gaze over the buffet table. ‘I’d eat something if I were you. There’s not a lot of time for snacks during the speeches stage of the campaign. I think I saw mini-doughnuts somewhere. They’re a cop thing, right?’
‘Not if the cop wants to stay in shape.’
‘You have trouble with your weight?’
‘Not everyone is blessed with my godlike physique.’
Miranda stifled a smile as she looked away. It hadn’t escaped her attention he’d been working on his sense of humour lately, even if it demonstrated a distinct lack of anything missing in the ego department.
Lifting her bag from the floor beside her chair, she rooted around for the objects she’d brought with her to help pass the time. Her mother liked to sit out front in the audience and listen to the never-ending soliloquies—her daughter, not so much. Since her father was speaking to a pro-Kravitz crowd she didn’t see the need to be there until they had to provide a united family front for the press.
With the sheet of paper carefully smoothed out on the table, she reached for the small box sitting beside it as Tyler pulled out a chair and joined her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I promised I’d finish it.’
‘She won’t know if you don’t.’
‘That’s not the point.’ Miranda shrugged a shoulder as she selected a slim crayon. ‘It’s a karma thing.’
‘Careful with those lines.’
‘Studying me for a test, Detective, or is everything I say and do so memorable you can’t get it out of your mind?’
‘Been working long on that confidence problem?’
She lifted her chin and raised a brow. ‘You’re asking me that after the godlike physique comment?’
‘That’s just stating a fact. You can’t argue them.’ He selected what looked like a small samosa from the teetering pile on his plate. ‘Whereas what you just did? More like wishful thinking.’
When he popped the morsel in his mouth and smirked, Miranda rolled her eyes and continued colouring.
‘It’s easy to be confident when everything you want gets handed to you,’ he said a couple of minutes later.
‘I take it we’re talking about me again.’ She swapped one crayon for another. ‘Were you this judgmental with the last person you bodyguarded?’
‘I don’t think bodyguarded is a word.’
‘Is now...’
When she glanced upwards he had his gaze on the open door as an announcement sounded from the auditorium and there was a wave of applause. As he lifted long arms out to his sides in a leisurely stretch the edges of his navy jacket parted, feeding her hungry gaze with the sight of a pale blue shirt stretched taut over his sculpted chest.
Godlike might have been an exaggeration but there was no arguing the man was ripped.
She wondered when he found time to work out and then pictured him hot and sweaty, pumping weights...
‘This is my first gig as a bodyguard,’ he confessed as he lowered his arms.
Miranda averted her gaze. ‘Well, that explains a lot. What did you do before you got here?’
‘Police work.’
‘What do you call this?’
‘Babysitting.’
‘I walked right into that one, didn’t I?’
‘Yup.’
When she glanced upwards again and saw him press his lips together her eyes narrowed. ‘Was that a smile?’
‘Those little triangle things are spicy.’ He tapped a closed fist against his chest. ‘Probably indigestion.’
Miranda felt her mouth curve into a smile of her own.
Shifting his weight on the chair, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a cell phone, frowning down at the screen as it flashed.
‘Are you