Authors: Stan Crowe
And then the door hit her in the face.
She cried out, and staggered back, clutching her nose. Her heel caught on something, and she flopped backward onto a trash can, and nearly fell out into the street. She caught herself on the trash barrel, and glowered at Clint as he warily emerged from the store and walked toward her.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Lindsay screamed.
The Client put his hands up. “No, I’ve never been the killer type. Like I said, I’m actually a pretty nice guy once you get to know me. Still, I can’t be held liable for anything I do in self-defense, right?”
She made to retort, but he suddenly moved inside her personal space bubble. Her breath caught, and she found herself suddenly transfixed by his gaze.
“Can we maybe go somewhere a little more private to continue this conversation,” he half-whispered.
Lindsay blinked, and noticed that a small crowd surrounded them now. The store manager had nearly reached Clint, his face mixing concern with annoyance. Lindsay’s face went hot, and she suddenly felt very, very small. Biting her lip, she nodded quickly and followed her Client through the gathered onlookers, and further up Stockton. The Client made a remark over his shoulder that elicited a chuckle from the crowd, and made the manager back down, but his words were lost on her as the shame burned.
A block later, he finally stopped.
“Look,” he said. “This is all my fault. Like, really. It’s my fault for getting tangled up in this mess to begin with. It’s my fault I didn’t give you better information up front. It’s my fault that you were endangered without even the chance of avoiding it. I was the one that shoved you into the car—I didn’t actually touch you, did I?”
She thought about it, and then shook her head when she realized that all she’d felt was something like stiff cardboard ramming her across the driver’s seat.
“Okay, that’s good. But anyway, it’s all my fault, okay? I was wrong, and I owe you big. I’m really not sure how I’m going to repay you either, but I’ll try. In monthly installments if I need to. And look, if you really don’t want this case anymore, I don’t blame you at all. It would be best to get out now. And to show I’m a good sport, you can even keep my car. Drive it, sell it, whatever. It’s yours.”
With that, he reached into his portfolio and began fishing around. A few moments later he produced a colorful piece of paper with official-looking writing on it.
“See?” he said. “Here’s the title. I’ve already filled out my portion and signed it. The rest is for you to do at your leisure. I know it’s not worth anywhere near what your car is, but hopefully, your insurance can make up the difference. And here,” he said, as he opened his wallet, “is everything I’ve got on me. I think it’s only twenty-three bucks and some change, but it’ll buy you a nice enough lunch and let you take your mind of the morning.
“I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan,” he said. And he actually sounded sincere. “Really, I am. I was only trying to make my life—and the lives of others affected by my… situation… better. Instead, I’ve gone and made it that much worse.
“Can you cut me a little slack and at least forgive me, maybe?”
Lindsay couldn’t respond. When she looked at him, there was such sincerity in those deep eyes of his. His whole tone of voice was so… conciliatory… that she could almost believe he meant every word he said. Was it possible that such a jerk as Clint Christopherson could actually have some kind of noble intentions in that cold, woman-hating heart of his?
No. It must be some kind of a trap.
Still, she couldn’t deny the way he left her breathless, even when she was fuming at him. For a moment, she almost forgot she’d left high school six years ago. For the briefest of instants, she was a sophomore again, wishing with all her might that he would see
her
and not look away.
The first tear caught her by surprise. And then she was sniffling. Without thinking, she leaned forward to bury her head in his shoulder, but he stepped back quickly before she could.
“How about I get you a tissue instead,” he muttered.
I knew it was a lie
, she thought, though she couldn’t help but believe it.
I hate this man!
He pulled a tissue from his shirt pocket, and handed it to her, keeping his distance. She took it with a muted “Thank you,” and then dabbed at her eyes.
“Okay,” he said, “normally I’d leave our protection and the investigation to San Francisco’s finest. I’m sure they’re all over your car by now, in fact. But let’s just say that me and the P.D.—we’re not on the greatest of terms at the moment.”
“What did you
do
?” she breathed.
He waved it away. “Nothing criminal, don’t worry. You’d have seen it when you dug up my info the other day. Suffice it to say they’re unlikely to take me seriously for a while. If I tell them what really happened this morning, Murphy’s Law tells me that
I’ll
be the one spending the night in a quiet cell. Maybe even a padded one. But never mind that.
“I have this friend in Santa Monica,” he added. “I think I can lay low at his place for a while. You… go do whatever. I’ve got your contact information, and I’ll get in touch when I get some cash and can start paying things back. I was really hoping to get that gig with Graphitti, but something tells me that’s not happening now.
“Anyway, it’s been interesting. Thanks for not suing me.” With that, he waved briefly, and then turned to leave.
A laugh bubbled up inside of Lindsay, and then she was giggling. She loved feeling this
alive
. Her giggle grew into full blown laughter. He stopped and looked back at her, puzzled.
“You didn’t forget some kind of medication this morning, did you, Sullivan?”
By now, tears were streaming down her face, streaking along the tracks left by her earlier tears. The thoughts that crossed her mind were nothing less than insane, and she knew she should be committed just for entertaining them.
“I’m coming with you,” she said through a laugh.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m… I’m coming
with
you! I’ve come this far, and you know what? The craziness is
wonderful
! This is real adventure!”
His face screwed up further. “Yeah, about that medication?”
Lindsay waved it off as she struggled to get her guffawing in check. “Mister Christopherson, you should forget Santa Monica. Go to Seattle.”
He snorted. “I’ve hated the Mariners ever since I was a kid. Besides, what’s in Seattle that’s worth going for? Visiting the Space Needle isn’t exactly on my bucket list.”
“Fey is there.”
Clint froze, and stared at her. She liked it more than she cared to admit. “Come again?”
“Like I was saying, I hear there’s a great seafood joint in Seattle. It’s right on Pier Fifty-four. Best clam chowder ever, they say.”
“No, no. You said something that sounded suspiciously like ‘Fey.’ I was asking you to repeat that part.”
Lindsay kept smiling. “A friend of mine actually went to that place and says their local salmon is to die for.”
“Fey isn’t a fish and I don’t want her for dinner anyway.”
“And,” she said, “they’ve got this sampler platter that’s perfect for two. I hear it goes great with a bottle of—”
“I’m not taking her on a date,” Clint interrupted. “I just want her to take back her curse.”
Lindsay sauntered up Stockton, swaying happily. “Oh, and the Puget Sound by sunset is supposed to be absolutely lovely.”
“Right,” he said, moving to catch up to her. “Moonlit walks on the beach. You’re a great matchmaker, Sullivan. Now let’s get back to business.”
She whirled on him suddenly, and pushed her face close to his. He flinched, but didn’t withdraw. Lindsay breathed in his scent for a moment, savoring it along with the fact that she had an ace to play at last. “Do you want to go to Seattle?” she quietly inquired.
“I want to find the old woman.”
“And do you know where she is?”
“If I did I wouldn’t be standing here.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I get this crazy feeling that I’m somehow even more indebted to you than I was forty-five seconds ago.”
She smirked. “I’ll get that in writing later. For now, how about a little road trip?”
He hesitated. “I… can’t.”
She blinked. “Wait. What?”
Clint sighed sadly and looked away. “I can’t afford a road trip at the moment. I don’t even have a car, in case you’d forgotten.”
Lindsay pulled out the leather key fob he’d given her, and jingled it. “It’s on me.”
He paused, and she could see a war going on in his eyes. At length, he sighed. “Can you find her? For sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“No, I mean, if we drive to Seattle right now, or even in the next day or two, can you take me right to her? I can’t go forward on a ‘maybe.’”
Lindsay hesitated. “I… would certainly do my best.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, the road trip sounds great, and I really,
really
want to find her. But I’ve still got to see whether I can’t salvage something with Graphitti.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. Before he hit the send button, he looked back at her.
“This is a career with
Graphitti Graphics
we’re talking about. Curse or no curse, you just don’t pass up an offer like this.”
She was impressed. She’d seen the stuff he’d drawn in high school, and it was pretty good even then. He must have gotten leaps and bounds better, though, if no less than Graphitti Graphics was going to bring him on board. And yet, she wasn’t about to let his job get in the way of her job. Lindsay grinned wolfishly. “No problem. I drive you to the interview, you get the job, and we hit the road. I’m fairly sure they’re not going to start you in the middle of a week. We’d have at least until next Monday to catch Fey.”
Clint made to speak, and then stopped. “Sullivan. That’s a brilliant idea. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that.”
Lindsay could
totally
believe he hadn’t thought of it.
“I’ll go get the car,” she said. “You call Graphitti to let them know you’re on your way, and you’ll be there soon. Their offices are right around here, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “About ten blocks that way,” he gestured. “I’ll wait for you.
Please
hurry.”
“Right,” she said, and turned for the car. Not ten steps later, she paused. A sudden urge to actually thank him seemed like a good idea.
“Clint! Wait!” She jogged up behind him and grabbed his shoulder. What happened next caught her utterly by surprise. Fire raced through her fingertips to fill her entire frame. Her body tensed and her breathing went shallow and rapid. Her eyes dilated, and the whole world seemed to glow before her in a vague, minimalistic way. A Clint-shaped blob spun hard and shook her off. A distant, metallic voice practically wailed, “Why’d you have to go and do that?” She wasn’t certain she’d heard the words correctly, but she could tell it was him, and the sound was sugar to her ears.
Her mind’s eye filled with the vision of Clint’s face, and an overwhelming urge to
possess
him wrapped itself around her heart and mind like a boa constrictor. A sensation welled inside her, a dragon rising and stretching its wings, ready to devour all in its path; and the only thing in that path was him. More than anything in the world, she
desired
him body and soul.
No!
her inner voice screamed.
Lindsay, get a grip!
There was no shaking his face, or the burning desire to lose herself in him. After all these years, had she really been suppressing
this
much emotion with regards to him?
He ripped your heart out and let it bleed on the floor, Lindsay! Let him go! You don’t need this case! You don’t need him!
The voice in her head made some annoyingly notable points. Clint had been a sham in high school. Was he likely any different now?
But he’s so cute!
She shook her head.
Stop it, Lindsay. You sound like a middle-school girl.
Clint was now striding—no, jogging—away from her. The only logical course was to follow him, and tackle him if necessary. He must
not
be allowed to get away!
Then she refocused her mind. The case. That was what was important. There was no way she’d give in to Mom and Dad’s expectations that she would utterly fail without them. Clint was just another guy like any other. The real Lindsay was more than some freak storm of hormones. The real Lindsay Sullivan needed no man. Let him run. See if she cared.
Just get the car and get this over with
, she told herself.
With an abrupt about face, Lindsay Sullivan tore herself away from the absolute need to have Clint Christopherson.
ELEVEN
The five minutes it took to get to the car felt like an hour. As Lindsay emerged onto the third floor of the parking garage where Clint’s—no,
her
—car was waiting, her heart was still clocking one-fifty. Frankly, she was starting to panic slightly. She could
not
get him off her mind.
“Focus on the hate,” she muttered. “He hurt you. You hate him. He’s a man. You’re better than that.” It almost-maybe-sort-of worked.
She decided to distract herself with observation of her surroundings. The lot was reasonably well lit—part of why she picked it in the first place—and clean, as far as parking garages went. An older model Chevy Malibu rumbled past, and she forced herself to memorize the license plate just because. Inside the Malibu, an elderly couple was engaged in a very animated discussion. The old man was waving his hands around and probably yelling. The old woman was scowling and pointing at parking spots. Lindsay briefly congratulated herself on avoiding future arguments with spouses by precluding herself from the possibility of ever having one.
At last, she caught sight of the tan Corolla. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if it would be safe to drive it in her current mental state. Distraction had barely scratched the surface of whatever insanity had gripped her. And how was she supposed to ignore thoughts of him sitting in
his
car, where
his
belongings may still be—or at least his scent. Could she really warm that same seat he had warmed and
not
wish it were him, perched behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist?