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did, or at least they had connections with the police. She knew from experience that personal protection was the fallback for cops and agents when that career path became closed to them, for whatever reason.
    “What else did they tell you?”
    “Nothing.” She didn’t want to mention what she’d learned about Justin Fielding’s Colombian accounts just yet. It might not be related to her assignment at all, and she didn’t want to overstep the bounds of her contract by admitting she’d dug up dirt she had no business digging up. Since the FBI seemed to be keeping an eye on the embezzlement case, if there were any developments, the agents should be the ones to approach Nolan about them, not her.
    “So, your father is a boxer?” he asked, changing the subject again.
    The question made her frown. Where had that come from? What did it matter? “Was,” she clarified. “He was a boxer. Now he’s retired.” And dying of cancer. She swallowed hard.
    “That sounds like it could have been an interesting childhood.” When his lips twisted up like that, she just wanted to take one between her teeth and—
    “Not really.” She shouldn’t talk to her client about her personal life. Even if Nolan wasn’t technically asking about her .
    “And how long were you a professional boxer?”
    Okay, scratch that. She glanced at him sharply. “Me? What makes you think I was a boxer?”
    “You certainly seem to know your way around the ring.”
    She shrugged. “I grew up in that world, so yeah, I learned a few things along the way, I guess. It’s good exercise, too. But that doesn’t make me a professional.”
    Would Nolan analyze her words and realize that she hadn’t actually come right out and denied anything? Not that it was a big deal. She’d boxed for the IFBA for three years to make enough cash to get through college. She’d been good at it and could have stuck with it, but her father had practically forced her out the first—and only—time she’d come home with a fractured cheekbone. He’d always wanted her to have a career that would last her a lifetime, one that wouldn’t break her spirit along with her bones. He’d been so proud when she graduated with honors and made it into the FBI training program.
    She shook off thoughts of her father that would only make her melancholy. Nolan looked contemplative. She’d tried to remain focused and impersonal with him, but it seemed she lost a little more of that resolve every time he spoke to her. Was he taking all the small pieces of information that she’d dropped throughout the day and working out where they fit in the puzzle that was April Porter?
    She wanted to tell him to stop it. There wasn’t really anything interesting about her anyway. She shouldn’t rate high enough on the social scale for him to bother trying to figure her out. There were way more interesting women out there. Women who belonged in his world. Women who didn’t work for him.
    “Well, you looked good up there,” he finally said, “like you were enjoying yourself.” His voice lowered in appreciation, insinuating that he’d noticed more than just her boxing stance or her smile.
    Damn it. There were undercurrents in that deep drawl that she couldn’t possibly afford to acknowledge, and it was more than the filterless, inappropriate teasing she figured was his standard operating procedure.
    She looked down at her feet, marking the floors by the musical ding and counting down until they would be out of the elevator, and she could put more distance between them. Her thick-soled, utilitarian boots looked ridiculous next to his shiny black leather designer shoes. He needed to look down at them, too, and be reminded of how ridiculous the two of them would be together.
    “Your girlfriend is very pretty.” As a change of subject, it was pretty lame and decidedly obvious. She winced and rushed to add, “I’ll have to get her name. What does she do?”
    “Jennifer isn’t… We’ve been