Eye of the Abductor (2 page)

"That explains a lot."
Allison smiled. "See you at lunch.”

***

On Friday after putting in a full
shift at Malden Brother’s, Allison drove home to rest for an hour and change
into her waitress uniform. She worked evenings at Ramono’s Italian Restaurant
to save extra money for an attorney.

Her nap had extended twenty
minutes too long.

Damn. Damn. Double damn.

Why hadn’t she set the alarm?

Allison grabbed her cosmetic
bag and hit the door running. On the road, she steered the car with one hand
while freshening her makeup with the other. The car wavered as she brushed on
mascara.

Her new Shoe Barn boots had
such thick soles, she had a difficult time feeling the accelerator. She
switched lanes. The SUV in front of her stopped. She stomped on her brakes and
came to a squealing halt.

Her heart jolted.

Horns blasted behind her.
Frustrated, she swerved into the other lane and drove toward the restaurant.

Her pulse rate had just
leveled off when her soda can flipped over. She reached for the can in the
floorboard. As Allison straightened up, blue lights flashed in her rearview
mirror.

Well, damn.

She eased over to the shoulder.
The police car pulled in behind her. It unnerved her to be approached by any
cop, even a Bartlett one. The incorporated suburb bordered Memphis. She rolled
down the window and waited.

Relax. Don’t look nervous. Stay
calm.

“Detective Brance Stone.” He
flashed his badge. “You were going ten over. May I see your driver’s license,
registration, and proof of insurance?”

She craned her neck to see him.

Oh my God! It’s him!

Though he hid behind dark
sunglasses, she recognized him. Her breath lodged in her throat.

So much for a normal heart rate.
She expected to have a massive coronary any moment.

“Yes, you may.” She removed the
requested items from her glove box, then yanked her license from her wallet. “I
realize I was speeding, but it’s my new boots. They’re so heavy I can’t
maintain the speed limit.”

Stop babbling.

A light chuckle rumbled in his
throat. He pushed his sunglasses upon his head, revealing bright blue eyes that
sparkled with amusement. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that one.”

“It’s the truth. Normally, I don’t
speed.”

“I don’t normally make traffic
stops. I pulled you over because I suspected you’re intoxicated.”

“Intoxicated? I haven't been
drinking. What gave you that idea?”

“Besides speeding, you were
weaving. Making abrupt lane changes.” As he studied her license, his brows
rose. “You live in the apartment below me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. Look, I was putting on
my makeup, and I spilled my drink. If I’m late, my boss turns into Freddy
Kruger.”

Maybe she should try a new tactic.
Could she charm him out of the ticket? Fat chance. She’d never been good at
flirting. Besides, she didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to herself.

“Step outside of your car
please."

"Why?"

"I need to see you walk a
straight line.”

“Oh, all right.” She opened the
door and slid out, then walked back and forth on the uneven pavement before
him. She stopped and faced him, standing closer than she'd intended. “See, I’m
sober.”

She breathed in his Aqua-Di-Gio
cologne. Before Allison could stop herself, she recalled how he'd sounded
making love and how her body had responded. Her face heated as fast as a 1500
watt microwave.

“Did I say something to embarrass
you?”

She dropped her gaze to the
asphalt and shook her head.

***

Brance had never seen anyone’s
face turn that shade of red. Something had embarrassed Allison Davenport. Was
his fly open? He dipped his gaze for a brief second. Nope, his zipper was up.
He didn’t have a clue why she blushed. And now she looked guiltier than hell.

His gaze moved from Ms.
Davenport's huge green eyes to her feet. Her boots reminded him of the shoes
Frankenstein wore. “Anyone who can walk a straight line in those boots has to
be sober. I don’t see a need for any more sobriety tests.”

"May I go now?"

Cosmetics covered the seat,
and he assumed she’d been doing just as she’d said, but it didn’t change the fact
that she'd been going fifty in a forty.

Considering he was running late
himself and hadn’t taken the time to call in her plates to dispatch, he decided
to let her go. There’d be no record of the stop. He’d been on his way to
investigate a burglary on the outskirts of Bartlett when he’d spotted her erratic
driving.

“I’ll let this be a warning, but
slow down and keep your attention on the road.”

“Thanks. Thank you so much.” She
climbed in her car.

He handed her license and
registration back through the window, then waited for her to drive away before
returning to his car. Strange, he’d never noticed her.

He looked at her birthday. She’d
turned twenty-nine in July.
Sweet.
He liked the way the sun highlighted
the red in her hair, and her alluring cat-like green eyes mesmerized him. He
could drink her up.

***

The next day as Allison pulled
into the parking space at her apartment, the Crown Victoria eased in beside
her. Pretending not to see him, she opened her car door and walked toward the
mailboxes.

Depression over her son had
inundated her all morning. Cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms best described
her mood. After removing the mail, she pivoted and found herself face to face
with the hotter-than-hell detective.

He glanced at her feet and smiled.
“I see you gave Frankenstein back his boots.”

“I like my boots,” she stated
firmly, sounding more defensive than she'd intended. “They’re comfortable.”

“If you say so." He stepped
closer. "Hey, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Her heart rate bounced upward.
Surely he didn’t expect her to return the favor for letting her out of the
ticket. Of course, he did. Being a cop qualified him as a sorry lowlife.
“What’s that?”

“Would you mind keeping your music
down?”

“I only play it when I work out.
It’s not that loud.”    

His mouth twisted in annoyance. “I
have to turn the volume on my TV all the way up. I try to be considerate of
you.”

“Considerate! That’s a laugh.
Trust me, you’re not as considerate as you think.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

The man really is clueless.

“My bedroom is beneath yours.
Think about it.” She couldn’t stop the heat inching up her neck and spreading
into her cheeks. “Maybe next time you could use her place instead.”

“Great. You can hear that?”

“Loud and clear. Cheap apartments
usually mean thin walls and poor insulation.”

He laughed as he turned back to
the mailboxes.

“What’s so funny?”

He turned back around. “You.
You’re not mad over the noise.”

“Of course I am. It keeps me
awake.”

“I just bet it does, Lady. From
the blush on your cheeks, I’d say it turns you the hell on.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You sound
more like a pig rutting up dirt. It’s annoying.”

She tried to make a beeline to her
apartment, but he clutched her arm and stepped even closer, looming over her.
His breath seared her forehead, and his touch sent sensual heat all the way to
her toes.

“I think you like the way I
sound,” he whispered.

The combination of his cologne and
virile scent made her breathless and uneasy.

“Let go of me.”

But instead he kept his grip on
her and gazed at her in a way she’d only fantasized about. His eyes dilated. He
finally took a step back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what
came over me.”

A silver four-door Lexus pulled
up, and an older man climbed out and waved at Brance. Fear traveled up Allison’s
spine, causing her neck and shoulders to tighten. A hint of nausea tumbled in
her stomach.

Please don't let him recognize
me.

“I hoped I’d find you home,” the
Lieutenant stated.

“Just got back.” Brance glanced at
her. “We’ll continue our discussion later.”

“There’s nothing for us to
discuss.” She turned and hurried toward her apartment.

Lt. Larry Bishop had studied her
with intensity as though trying to place her or maybe he'd had a bad case of
sun glare. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions.

Since a young rookie had been
gunned down in Rob's botched up drug heist, Lt. Bishop thought she should’ve
been held as accountable as Rob and served hard time. A life sentence.
Fortunately, the jury only held her accountable for the one delivery she’d been
accused of making.

Their greeting indicated they were
friends rather than acquaintances. What connection did this Memphis cop have
with a Bartlett detective?

***

Brance kept his attention on
Allison as she made her escape.

“Did I interrupt something?” Larry
leaned against his car and folded his arms over his chest.

“No, not really,” Brance said,
wondering what had gotten into him. He’d never intended to manhandle her. He
needed to apologize as soon as possible.

“She looked familiar. Who is she?”

“Allison Davenport.”

“That doesn’t ring a bell. Seemed
hostile.”

“I was out of line. Believe me,
she had a reason to show her claws.”

“Hitting on her, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“I asked your dad to join me on a
hunting trip to Alaska, but your mom wasn't too thrilled about it. Thought
maybe you could convince her to let him go. You've always had more influence
over her than your brothers.”

“I'll mention it."

"Good. It'd be for a couple
of weeks. Hell, after he retires, she'll be begging him to go somewhere."
Larry pushed his weight from the car. “I’d better head home.”

“Got time for a beer?” Brance
immediately regretted asking.

Larry smelled like whiskey and
smoke. The last thing the guy needed was another drink.

“Some other time maybe.”

Later that evening, Brance made it
through ten minutes of his favorite reality show without her music. Just as he
popped the top on a beer, the Spanish lyrics started. Louder than before. He
shook his head.

Brance walked out his door and
hurried down the stairs that stopped right at her apartment door. Standing before
the picture glass window covered with thin sheers, he soaked in the fluid
movements of her slender body as she did aerobics to the saucy music. He
pounded on her door.

She cracked it open and scowled.
“What do you want?”

“Could you please turn down your
music?”

"Is it disturbing you?"

“Yes. Can’t you do this earlier?”
he asked. “Say around six. I’ll try to be more considerate concerning the
problem you mentioned earlier.” He tried not to grin, not wanting to embarrass
her.

She wiped the moisture from her
brow, then walked to the CD player and turned the volume down. She returned to
the door. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you.” He couldn’t
resist having a little fun at her expense. “Too bad I can’t solve my problem
that easily.”

She blushed. “Sorry, I can’t help
you there.”

“On a scale of one to ten, ten
being the loudest, how loud am I?” He forced his mouth to remain straight, giving
the pretense of being serious.

The pink in her cheeks deepened.
“Just go to a motel or take your date back to her place.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Why? Are their husbands home?”

“That was uncalled for. I’m
working toward a solution and you have to get nasty. I don’t date married women.”

“I’m sorry.” She blew out a
frustrated huff. “An eight. Maybe eight and a half.”

The grin twitching at the corners
of his mouth exploded into a full blown smile. “Now we’re getting somewhere. I
guess you could just wear earplugs when I start rutting the dirt.”

“I’ve tried that.” Her right brow
rose in suspicion, and she gave him a cool glare. “You ass. You’re enjoying
this.” She slammed the door in his face and turned the music up even louder
than before.

Brance knocked again, but she
ignored him. From the window, he saw she’d returned to her exercises. He’d come
down here to apologize and had ended up making matters worse. Much worse.       

He stared like a stalker through
the sheers as her breasts jiggled with each movement. She turned her toned body
to the left, her back to him and did a little cha-cha-cha-step. Miss Davenport
had a fine ass. Heat flashed through his groin.