Randall parked in front of The Coffee Cup and sat there for five minutes trying to get his courage up.  For the life of him he couldn't figure out why the hell he felt so damn compelled to go inside and apologize.  Apologizing wasn't his usual modus operandi, particularly when it came to women.  But in light of the fact that he’d made a complete ass of himself, he was going to bite the bullet and make amends.  It didn't matter that she'd lodged a formal complaint with the Better Business Bureau against Talbot Investigations.  It didn't matter that his brother's professional reputation was on the line and that Jack had, in no uncertain terms, threatened to put him out on the street if he didn’t make things right.

It didn't matter that in the last three weeks, Randall hadn't been able to get Addison Fox off his mind.

An array of colorful Christmas lights flashed in the front window as he approached, reminding him that it was the holiday season.  A fact he could just as well live without since he couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered celebrating.  The first couple of years he'd lived in D.C. he'd socialized with his co-workers at the NTSB.  Back before the darkness of his profession had sent him crashing and burning.

Shaking off thoughts of the past, Randall opened the front door and stepped inside.  The robust smell of coffee and the more delicate aromas of freshly-baked pastries and chocolate flowed over him, filling him with the vaguely pleasant memories of a childhood he hadn't remembered in years.  Soft, yellow light rained down from overhead tulip lamps, casting circular shadows onto a long, marble-topped bar.  A row of old-fashioned stools ran the length of the bar.  A grouping of bistro tables were scattered near the front window.  Tony Bennett's smooth-as-silk voice filled the shop with music from simpler era.

The Coffee Cup was upscale and small, like many of the businesses, restaurants and micro breweries that were revitalizing Denver's lower downtown. It was closing time and the place was nearly empty.  A man in a trench coat sat at the bar sipping coffee, and browsing through the morning edition of the Rocky Mountain News.  A young couple shared a cappuccino at a corner bistro table.

Randall spotted Addison behind the bar and felt his mouth go dry.  It was an odd reaction for a man who hadn't felt much of anything in the last six months.  The company shrink had slapped a technical name on his emotional isolation, but Randall didn't put much weight in doctors, especially the non-medical type.
He knew it wasn't wise for him to be there.  He didn’t like the responses this woman evoked.  It had been a long time since he'd cared what somebody thought of him.  He wondered how she would react if she knew he was a mental case.

Randall was thankful her back was to him since he wasn't sure how she was going to respond to his being there.  He approached the bar slowly, watching her, wondering how he could have ever mistaken her for a topless dancer.  Not that she didn't have the body for it.  She most definitely did.  But he could tell by her body language that she wasn’t the type of woman who enjoyed being the center of attention.

She was vigorously scrubbing a stainless steel sink, oblivious of his approach.  Her shoulders were slender with a rigid set.  The black turtleneck she wore hugged a body that was willowy and nicely shaped.  Because of the height of the bar, he couldn't see the rest of her and, frankly, he was glad for it.  It wouldn't do him any good to waste his time thinking about how she filled out her jeans or wondering just how long those legs of hers were.

She was at least ten years his junior.  Probably shallow-minded and immature to boot.  Definitely not his type.  Not that he was interested, he quickly reminded himself.  A quick apology, a cup of coffee, and he was out of there.

Randall slid onto a stool and set the manila folder on the bar in front of him.  He watched her work, mesmerized, amazed that a woman could look so damn sexy cleaning a sink.  Her hair was mink-brown and fell to her shoulders in unruly waves.  From where he sat, he recognized the citrus and musk scent of her perfume from the day in his office.  The warm, exotic scent he'd dreamed about on more than one occasion in the last three weeks.

As if she possessed some kind of sixth sense and had been alerted to the route his mind had taken, she straightened, then slowly turned.  Clutching a pink sponge in one hand and a container of industrial-strength scouring powder in the other, she stared at him through brown, doe-like eyes.  For an instant, the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile that would have been dazzling--had she not recognized him.

He knew it the instant she did.  Her smile faded.  Her eyes cooled.  She set down the scouring powder with a resonant thud.  "I'm getting ready to close."
"The sign says you don't close for another ten minutes," he said.

Wordlessly, she turned away and left her place behind the bar.  At the front door, she turned the sign to the closed position.  As if on cue, the couple finished their cappuccino and started for the door.  Calling them by their first names, Addison bid them good night.  The man at the bar folded his newspaper and followed.  Randall noticed he left a five-dollar tip, and he wondered if Addison Fox affected all men the way she did him.

She made a show of fumbling with the tie of her apron as she slipped back behind the bar.  "There's a beer joint two doors down.  Please tell me that in your drunken stupor you've wandered into the wrong place."

He had to hand it to her, she definitely knew where to hit a guy.  But because he had it coming, he let the comment pass.  "I guess you're not going to make this easy on me."

A delicately arched went up.  "How perceptive of you."

He had the sinking feeling that she was just getting warmed up.  Even if the conversation they were about to have wasn't going to be pleasant, it would definitely be interesting.  "In case you're wondering, I take my coffee black," he said easily.

"To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Talbot, the way you take your coffee is the farthest thing from my mind, unless, of course, you take it in your lap.  What I'm really wondering is what the hell you're doing in my shop with that stupid grin on your face when I'm about to close."

 Randall stared at her, not sure if he was insulted, amused, or embarrassed.  He did find himself a bit relieved that there was no one else around to witness the verbal trouncing he was taking from this woman.  "Better make it decaf," he said.

Frowning, she snagged a cup from beneath the bar and moved to the coffee brewer.  He watched as she poured, noticing the jerky movements, the rigid set of her shoulders, and the stubborn set of her chin.  Unfortunately, he also noticed that she was one of those women who only looked sexier when they were angry.
"Here you go."  She set the cup in front of him and looked at her watch.  "Decaf.  Black.  You have five minutes."

Unable to keep himself from it, Randall smiled.  "You might want to work on that customer service routine, Ace."

She crossed her arms in front of her, inadvertently plumping her breasts.  Randall kept his eyes on hers.  The last thing he needed to know about Addison Fox was that her breasts were full and upswept.  That kind of knowledge was dangerous business for a man who couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a date.
"I'm sure I couldn't begin to compete with your unparalleled customer service,” she said.  “In fact, I don't believe I've ever man-handled any of my customers for stealing sugar packets.  Nor have I searched purses for tips when they forgot to leave one.  I've certainly never threatened to frisk them."

"Yeah, well, the Better Business Bureau is hassling my brother for something I did.  But I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

"You're lucky I didn't have you arrested."

“I’m sure that would have been interesting.”  His gaze skimmed her mouth.  “But I don’t think either of us would have enjoyed it.”

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Deciding it wouldn't be wise of him to answer the question truthfully, Randall took a deep breath and plunged.  "I came here to offer a truce."

A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as she studied him.  "You came here to ask me to call off the BBB dogs.”

“That, too.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized with some dismay that she was enjoying this more than he was.  "Surely, you can do better than that," she said. 

"All right."  He added tough to the growing list of traits he liked about Addison Fox.  She knew better than to trust a man like him.  He couldn't blame her.  Gazing at her steadily, he folded his hands on the bar in front of him.  "I came here to apologize."

Something resembling sympathy sparked behind her eyes.  "That didn't hurt so bad, did it?"

"No worse than the time I broke my leg skiing."

"You do have an ego, don't you?"

“Groveling isn’t my style, but whatever works.”

She regarded him coolly.

He was starting to wonder if she was going to let him off the hook.  "Look, the day you came into my office was an innocent case of mistaken identity--"

"There was nothing even remotely innocent about what happened in your office." 

Even as she said the words, her cheeks bloomed with color, a fact that told him more about how she felt about that fateful day than anything she might have said.  Bingo, he thought, and realized with a sense of relief he wasn’t the only one who’d been aware that something had gone on between them.

Pleased by this new morsel of information, he offered his hand.  "Apology accepted?"

She ignored the hand.  "I'd like my ten dollars back."

He'd forgotten about the money.  Sending her a look he hoped relayed that he was only going to let her push him so far, he withdrew his wallet and dug out a ten-dollar bill.  "Do you want interest, too?"

She reached for the bill.  "No." 

Taking him completely by surprise, she offered her hand.  His fingers closed around hers.  A pleasant jolt of awareness ran the length of his body on contact.  Her hand was warm and small encased within his.  The palm was slightly damp, but her grip was substantial.  His gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth.  Her lips were full and red, and he couldn't help but remember how close he'd come to kissing her that morning in his office.

She released his hand, and the spell broke.  Momentarily stunned by his reaction, Randall raised the cup to his lips and sipped, wondering if she had any idea how profoundly she'd just affected him.

Lowering his gaze, he spotted the manila folder he'd brought with him, and decided this might be a good time to see if his intellect still functioned.  "You left this in my office."

Her eyes flicked to the folder.  He didn't miss the spark of recognition.  Nor did he miss the quick flash of another emotion he couldn't readily identify.  He wondered what secrets she had buried behind those pretty eyes.

"Thank you for returning it," she said, pulling the file to her, but not opening it.

"If you're interested, that is, if you haven't already hired another firm, Jack and I are willing to take a look at your case." He hadn't planned on saying it; he hadn't even discussed it with his brother, but there it was.  Admittedly, he was more interested in getting to know her than he was in her case, but given the circumstances--mainly the way that turtleneck swept over her body--he wasn't holding himself responsible for anything he said.

"How much of the file did you read?" she asked.

"All of it."  Three times to be exact, but he thought it best if he didn't mention it.  He didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

Picking up the folder, she strode to the end of the bar and dropped it in the trash.  "You couldn't have known, Mr. Talbot, but I've since found who I was looking for."

When she turned back to him her eyes were huge and filled with a kind of defiance that contrasted sharply with the vulnerability he discerned just below the surface.  He was no judge of people, even less of character, but he knew there was more going on than she wanted him to see.

From the notes in the file, he'd been able to deduce that she was searching for her birth parents.  Belatedly, he realized the subject could be an emotional one for her.  It was an area as foreign to him as the moon.  "You were looking for your birth parents,” he said.

"My birth mother, actually."  Her eyes darkened.  "I . . . located her just a few days ago."

Whoever she'd found, she wasn't happy about it.  Randall let the thought pass.  If she needed his help, she'd ask.  "I'm glad things worked out for you," he said.
Casting a glance at the front door, she crossed her arms in front of her.  "I'm sorry, but I really need to close the shop.”

Rudeness had always come naturally to him.  It pleased him that she had to put forth so much effort to manage it.  Charmed, he winked.  "I can take a hint."  Pulling out his wallet, he laid a five-dollar bill on the bar.

*   *   *

Addison knew she shouldn't have let him off the hook so easily.  Randall Talbot might wear that boy-next-door charm like a comfortable pair of old jeans, but she knew something darker lay just beneath that steady gaze and crooked smile.  Still, it was difficult to stay angry when he was so clearly sincere.  After all, he had apologized, she told herself.  God only knew what that had done to his ego.

At first, she'd had no intention of accepting the apology or listening to whatever frail rationalizations he'd conjured up.  She'd enjoyed watching him struggle with that giant-sized ego he wielded so artfully.  Perhaps even a small, cruel part of her had just wanted to see him cut down a notch or two.  But he’d been determined to make amends, and Addison hadn't had the heart to snub him.  Even if it had taken him three weeks to work up the courage.

His offer to take her case had thrown her.  The jolt of pain that followed was surprisingly sharp.  It had been three days since her ill-fated trip to Siloam Springs, and she was still trying to accept that Agnes Beckett was dead.  As much as she didn't like to think about it, a small part of her had died that day in the cemetery.  She'd lost one of her dreams.  Now, she couldn't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently if she'd hired this man early on.

Studying him across the bar, Addison realized he looked like a different man than the scoundrel she'd met that day in his office.  Gone was the heavy five o'clock shadow, the bloodshot eyes, and the nasty disposition.  The transformation was complete and not at all unpleasant.  There was still an inherent ruggedness about him, but the harshness and the vague sense of violence she'd sensed before had vanished.

He was taller than she remembered, well over six feet.  He looked fit and relaxed in well-worn jeans, hiking boots and a blue parka.  His eyes were dark brown and a little too intense for comfort.  He was a stickler for eye contact, she noticed, and at times she found his gaze unsettling
.
She was about to offer him a refill in a 'to go' cup when the bell on the alley door jingled.  Her gaze snapped to the door leading to the back room.  Mild puzzlement skittered through her. She and Gretchen were the only people who used the alley door.  Besides, she'd locked it.  Hadn't she?

She looked at Randall only to find his eyes already on her.  "Expecting company?" he asked quietly.

“Not through the back door."

“You keep it locked?” he asked.

“Always.”  Slipping her apron over her head, she started for the back room.  “I’ll be right back.”

Reaching over the bar, Randall stopped her with a light touch on her arm.  “Let me check it out.  You stay put.”

Something in his eyes kept her from arguing.  Closing the cash drawer, Addison placed the money bag on the shelf beneath the register, out of sight.

"Give me that,” he said.

She hesitated an instant before passing the bag to him over the counter.  The thought hit her that she didn't know him from Adam, but she quickly reminded herself that he was a licensed private investigator.

“Where's your phone?" he asked.

"I left it in the back room.  It’s a portable."

Another muffled sound emerged from the back room.  The alley door closing, she thought, and felt the first real jab of alarm.  Soundlessly, she came around the bar and approached Randall.

“Go stand at the end of the bar,” he said and started for the back room.

In the two years she'd owned the shop, Addison had never been afraid.  Not of her customers or the hours she kept.  She'd never considered the possibility of a robbery.  Yet tonight, as she listened to an intruder slink through the rear door, an uncomfortable layer of fear settled over her like cold fog.

The knob squeaked.  Randall stopped, took a step back.  An instant later the door swung open and slammed against the wall.  Shock crashed through Addison when a man stepped into the doorway. In an instant, she took in the full-length coat, black leather gloves and knit ski mask.  A tiny chrome pistol glinted like a cheap trinket in his hand.

In her peripheral vision she saw Randall scramble back.  The intruder glanced toward the front door.  Addison stood frozen at the end of the bar.  Her heart rocked hard against her ribs when he raised the gun and leveled it at her.