She glanced again at George. Officer Kirk had cuffed him and with one hand on George's elbow and the other on his head, assisted him into the back of a squad car.

Whirling, she rushed through the gate and pulled Toro inside.

"This is all my fault. I served George up to them on a silver platter."

"How do you figure that?"

Logan headed toward Slightly North of Broad, a restaurant on East Bay. His head was still spinning from the scene on the street. He'd been afraid Nate was ahead of him, and he'd been right. George Reid back in Charleston? Masquerading as a gardener? He couldn't believe it.

"Yesterday I was trying to make Detective Campbell see how ridiculous he was being. I told him suspecting me was kind of like saying 'the butler did it.' Only I said it was the gardener." She pressed her fingers to her forehead, her thumb ring glinting in the sunlight. "I was being sarcastic. I never meant for him to take me seriously."

He could tell she felt bad, but there was no reason. If Pender-grass really was Reid, it wouldn't have taken an offhand remark from Rylee to arouse police suspicions. "You had nothing to do with it, Rylee."

"But I did!"

"Nate said his real name's George Reid. He was handed a ten-year sentence back in '90 for grand larceny. It was a famous case back then."

She looked stunned. "There must be some mistake."

"I don't think so." He shook his head. "They caught him hauling paintings, jewels, and other valuables stolen from Low Country estates that had been evacuated due to Hurricane Hugo. If he's the Robin Hood burglar . . . well, it kind of makes sense."

"How do you know all this?"

"I included the Reid case in my book."

"Your book? You've published a book?"

Turning on his blinker, he switched lanes. "Not yet. But I'm working on it. It's about Charleston crimes."

"And George, my George, is in it?"

"Yep. The thing that made his case so interesting is that only a fraction of the stolen goods were recovered in his trailer. The prosecutors of the day speculated about a whole series of vehicles, a convoy of thieves taking advantage of the disastrous storm. But Reid was the only one they caught, and he wasn't talking. It was a real mystery-and Reid never cracked. He just did his time and disappeared. I had no idea he was back in town."

She fell back against the seat. "Do you really think he's the one?

The Robin Hood burglar?"

"I think it's entirely possible." He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. This wasn't how the story was supposed to end.

"But it doesn't make any sense. If he's an experienced thief, why would he donate the goods instead of hocking them?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "You mean fencing."

"Fencing. And why would he steal relatively worthless things when there were bigger prizes to be had?"

"I don't know," he said. "I really thought we were out ahead of the police on this. It's a letdown."

"Assuming he's guilty. Logan, just because the man has a criminal record doesn't mean he's the Robin Hood burglar."

"You really think he's not?"

She paused, biting her lip in thought. "Honestly? I don't."

He turned right onto the brick pavers lining Cumberland Street and then left into the parking garage. He pulled into a space and cut the engine. "I wish I could say the same thing."

Shaking her head, she reached for her cell phone. With sudden resolve, she punched the buttons.

"Who are you calling?"

"I know someone who'll believe me."

"Who?"

"Karl."

He stiffened. "Karl Sebastian?"

Nodding, she brought the phone to her ear. "I'm going to see if he'll help George."

"No, wait," he said. "I think-"

"Yes. Hi. This is Rylee Monroe. May I speak to Karl, please? . . . Thank you."

He tried again. "Rylee. Karl's firm may do both estate and criminal law, but the only one who's good at both is Karl's dad. Not-"

"Karl! Oh, thank goodness you're there."

Logan couldn't help the flash of irritation that whipped through him. He'd called Sebastian, Lynch & Orton half a dozen times trying to get through to Karl. And she managed it on the first try.

"I need your help."

"My help?" The silence of the closed car and parking garage allowed Logan to hear Karl's voice leaking out of her earpiece. Rylee saw him lean closer and tilted the phone so he could hear better. "Has that cop been pestering you again?"

Logan narrowed his eyes. Nate might not be a saint, but Logan still counted him as a friend.

"Not me, exactly," she said, smoothing the hair at the nape of her neck. "But George."

"Pendergrass?"

"Yes. And you're not going to believe this, but his real name is George Reid and he's a convicted felon and has just been arrested as the Robin Hood burglar, but I know he didn't do it, Karl. I just know it!"

A hum of silence.

"Karl?" She looked at Logan with a frown, as if he was somehow responsible for Karl's lack of response.

"Sorry," Karl said. "You kind of took me by surprise there."

"I know. Me too." She yanked on her hem. Her orange halter dress had a band just below the bust and a bunch of long-limbed yellow cranes toeing the hem. "Anyway, you told me to call if the police bothered me again, and since George has worked for your family much longer than I have, it just made sense that you'd-"

"Slow down, Rylee. Slow down. Where are you now?"

"I'm with Logan Woods." She turned those big brown eyes on him and smiled.

"The reporter?" His voice was sharp.

Her smile faltered. "Yes, we've been trying to see if we could-"

Logan shook his head and cut a finger across his throat.

" . . . could, er, find some time to go to lunch."

A beat of silence.

"Do you think that's wise?" Karl asked, his tone strained.

She fumbled with her phone, pressing the lower-volume button on its side, avoiding Logan's gaze the whole time.

Too late, princess.

He could still hear a faint mumble, but he could no longer make out Karl's words. Logan tapped the steering wheel with his thumb.

What was wrong with going to lunch with him?

"No, we're just friends." She picked at a snag on her dress, red creeping up her neck. "He's not interviewing me. We're just . . .

visiting." She cringed.

Leaning back against his door, Logan crossed his arms.

"Listen." She flicked the bangs away from her eyes. "I'm in a parking garage and I can barely hear you. But you will help George, right?"

She shot Logan a quick look. "Yes . . . I will . . . See you then."

Hanging up, she tossed the phone in her bag. "Well, he's going to see what he can do for George." She gave him an overly bright smile. "So? You ready?"

He didn't budge. "Karl Sebastian is a rich, spoiled playboy who eats girls like you for breakfast."

She hugged her bag close. "He's not like that."

"Really?" He leaned closer. "You must not read the gossip columns, then. My buddy who works in the society section says Karl has a new woman on his arm every week, every day sometimes."

Stiffening, she put her hand on the door.

He reached across and grabbed the handle. "Has he been hitting on you, Rylee?"

She placed her hand on his wrist, removed it from the door, and pushed it back to his side of the car. "You're moving into territory where you don't belong, Logan."

He wanted to argue, but what was the point? If she couldn't see through a guy like Sebastian, nothing he could say would make a difference. He shrugged in surrender. "You're right. I am. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She pushed open her door.

"Rylee?"

She looked at him over her shoulder.

"If you really want to help George, it's not Karl you want. It's his father. Grant Sebastian could get the devil to dance in a courtroom."

"Well, he's in Europe somewhere, so I guess Karl will have to do." Stepping out of the car, she closed the door with a little more force than required.

He sighed. If Reid really was the Robin Hood burglar, lunch didn't make much sense anymore. He wished there was some way out of it. Let her run to Karl Sebastian. Let her go to bat for Reid.

What difference did it make to him what she did?

He sat there gripping the wheel, telling himself to make up some kind of excuse and get out of there.

She tapped on his window. "Is something wrong?"

He looked into her eyes. Necessary or not, he'd asked her to lunch. So lunch it would be. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. "Nothing's wrong. I'm coming."

Chapter Twelve.

Sitting across from Logan in the nineteenth-century warehouse turned restaurant, Rylee's irritation melted away. Everything he'd said about Karl was true. He was a playboy. And he was out of her league. Maybe Logan thought he was being a Good Samaritan by warning her.

Whatever his reasons, she decided to shake it off and enjoy the meal. "I guess you're a regular here."

"I suppose," he said, with a grin and a shrug. The hostess had greeted him fondly-and given Rylee a speculative look. Several of the waiters stopped by to say hello. Even the chef waved to him from the open kitchen overlooking the restaurant.

For Rylee, though, it was the first time in years that she'd had a meal at a real, sit-down restaurant-particularly with a guy.

Maybe Liz was right. Maybe she did need to get out more.

The waiter served her a sauteed chicken salad and Logan a giant Palmetto Burger, complete with pimiento cheese, before retreating to the kitchen area.

Logan placed his hand next to hers on the table. "Do you mind if I say a blessing?"

Her eyebrows raised. She didn't even know people did that in public anymore. Slowly, she turned her hand over.

He slid his into hers. They bowed their heads.

Warmth immediately spread up her arm and throughout her body, as if she were an electric cord and he was an outlet. The sensation was so new, so foreign, she inadvertently opened her eyes.