Valentine's Day Is Killing Me (4 page)

“You have the worst lawyer in the world.”

“He’s my dad’s tax attorney,” Scott explained apologetically.

“What! He didn’t refer you to a criminal lawyer?”

“I don’t think there was time.”

“There would have been if you’d called him before asking to see me.”

“Hey, the Minneapolis cops are really laid back. They didn’t care how many phone calls I made.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s think about this. Your lawyer’s not reachable. We’re not keen on going back to the station—”

“Well, even if they arrest me again, once we tell them the new info, they won’t hold me very long. Hell, even without the new info they didn’t hold me very long.”

“Yeah, but why take a chance? I know!” She seized her keys, then grabbed his hand and galloped out of the house. “Hobbes is probably at the restaurant, questioning everybody with her partner!”

“Oh, great. Back to the scene of the crime. Isn’t that rule number one of things not to do when you’re the chief suspect?”

“No, rule number one is get a lawyer who answers his phone. Come on.”

“You know, I think you’re really sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“And I totally get off on that grumpy exterior.”

“It’s not an exterior—it goes all the way down.”

“The hell.” He squirmed, trying to get comfortable in her bucket seat, and finally gave up. “If that was the case, you wouldn’t be breaking speed records to get back to the restaurant, not to mention all the other stuff you’ve done for me.”

“Scott, can we do this another time?”

“Well, no, because once you clear me, our date will be over and you probably won’t go out with me again.”

She snorted. “Probably?”

“You’re hung up on the age thing.”

“Other than working for a shitty greeting card company, name one thing we have in common.”

“Well, we both like your cardigans.”

“Scott, be serious.”

“And we both like the way you kiss.”

“Scott.”

“And we both like to right wrongs, and play amateur detective. And we both like the collected works of Stephen King.”

“How did you—oh. The bookshelf in my living room.”

“Plus,” he continued happily, “it’s a huge turn-on, the way you can’t keep your hands off me.”

“That’s because it’s a weird night—don’t let it go to your nipples. I mean, your head.”

“Which one?” he asked innocently, and she scowled and smacked him on the leg.

“Finally,” she muttered, seeing the sign for Tables of Content. With the ambulance gone, it looked a little less frightening, though there were still quite a few cars on the street. “Shit. No parking places.”

“Park illegally. You are looking for a cop, right?”

“Oh. Good idea.” She double-parked beside a nondescript sedan she hoped was an unmarked police car, and shut off the engine. “Okay, let’s go find Hobbes and remind her that you’re tall.”

“Good plan, Holmes!”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me,” she said to the man in the dark suit. He was short, coming up to her shoulders, but impeccably dressed, although the red rose in his lapel was looking a little bedraggled. He was as smooth and bald as an egg, with dirt-colored eyes. “Are you the manager?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid the kitchen is closed. If you’d like to make a reservation, I can—”

“No, we’re looking for Detective Hobbes.”

“Who?”

“You know. The cop. About this tall…” Julie Kay held her hand up about an inch above her eyebrows. “Wearing a green, two-piece suit? Red hair, gun, badge? Weirdly cheerful?”

“I’m sorry, miss, there’s no one here by that name.”

Scott had been looking around the restaurant, where there wasn’t a trace of crime-scene tape or fingerprint powder anywhere. But there were several people running vacuums and setting tables. “Uh, dude, I don’t think you’re supposed to clean up this fast.”

“Clean up?”

“You’re messing with a murder scene. And where did all the cops go?”

“What murder scene?”

Julie Kay gaped at the manager. She was totally at a loss. “You could go to
jail!
Interfering with a crime scene, or whatever it’s called!”

“Miss, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you and your gentleman friend don’t leave right now, I’m going to be forced to call the police.”

“Great! Good! Call them! I’ll call them! What are you doing? You can’t cover this up!
Stop cleaning up,”
she shouted at the other workers.

“What’s the problem?” Scott asked the manager, who had broken out into a light sweat. The lights made his forehead gleam like a star. “Afraid of getting a bad Zagat’s review?”

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But it’ll be in the papers. Reporters check on this stuff all the time. You can’t cover it up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said again.

“You’re full of shit,” Julie Kay told him.

“Atta girl. You should watch out,” Scott told the manager. “She’s got a mean side.”

“You’re standing there, all ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’, and meanwhile, you’ve got a look on your face like you just bit into a rotten lime. So why don’t you cut the shit?”

“Miss, do you want to make a reservation or not?”

“Did you do it? Is that why you’re erasing evidence and pretending nothing happened? Did you kill—uh—” She looked at Scott.

“Charley Ferrin.”

“Yeah, him. Did you do it?”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Scott assured him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, please leave.”

“Like hell!” she shouted.

“Okay,” Scott said, and grabbed her by the elbow.

“Wha—? Scott! This guy’s dirty! He knows something! He—mmph!”

This time
he
had kissed
her
. And, interestingly, was dragging her out of the restaurant at the same time. When he pulled his mouth away, he said cheerfully over her shoulder, “Young love and all that. Sorry to waste your time.”

“Scott!” She was nearly apoplectic with rage. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of there,” he muttered. They were on the sidewalk now, and he was looking around for a cop. “If he is dirty, I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“But…we could get you off the suspect list.”

“Yeah, but if he’s rotten enough to stab somebody with a fork, he’s rotten enough to tie up loose ends. Like some weird woman yelling at him about how she thinks he did the deed.”

“But—”

“Forget it, Julie Kay. It’s too risky. We’ll figure something else out.”

She hardly knew what to say. Her anger had melted and been replaced by…what? Gratitude? Sexual longing? Admiration? Annoyance? He was risking his own freedom to keep her safe, and that was just…well, so romantic. And dumb. But mostly romantic. No, mostly dumb.

“They must be done with the interviews,” he observed.

“What?”

“Look around. There’s, like, nobody on the street.”

“Ugh. That means they’ve decided you did it. I bet that rotten, lying managerial son of a bitch was sooo helpful, too.”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t see any blood on him.”

“Dark suit, though.”

“Yeah, but still…” He trailed off doubtfully.

“Well, let’s definitely not go to the police station now.”

“But—”

Her phone beeped, and she remembered she’d shut the ringer off when they got to the restaurant. She flipped it open and hit the Missed Calls button.

“Oh,” she said.

“What?”

She showed him. Bright blue letters flashed across the small white screen: Hobbes, Catherine A., Detective, Minneapolis Homicide, 612-592-3921.

“Shit.”

“Think she wants me to come back?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Well,” he pointed out, “there’s not much we can do about that. You can’t just not take me back.”

“The hell.”

“What?” She was already at the car, and he jogged after her. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

“Back to my place until this dies down.”

“But you have to take me back. Or at least return her phone call.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Julie Kay, be reasonable.”

“Never!”

“Come on, you can’t not produce me.”

“Watch me.”

“Julie Kay!” he said sternly.

“Get your ass in this car,” she told him.

“But you’re planning on kidnapping me,” he said, although he did, she was glad to see, climb into the passenger side.

“Yeah, but it’s for your own good.”

“The latest bad idea,” he said, hiding his face in his hands, “in an evening full of them.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She came out of the bathroom in time to hear him say, yet again, “You can’t keep me.”

“Ha!”

“Julie Kay, come on. Call her back. Find out what she wants.”

“No. We’re not talking to her, nobody talks to her. Not yet. Do you want some coffee or something?”

“No. I want you to see reason. This irrational, nutty side of you, while sexy, is unnerving as hell.”

“I
am
seeing reason.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”

“You have to stay away from the cops until we clear your name. Or they figure out that you couldn’t have done it.”

“But, honey, you’re not sharing information with them. They’re not telepaths, you know.”

“Your lawyer will call them tomorrow. If he ever checks his fucking voice mail. Meanwhile, you’re laying low.”

“But you promised to bring me back.”

“Well, I changed my mind!”

He rubbed his eyebrows and squinted at her. She got out a gallon of milk, poured herself a tumbler, and downed it in three gulps. “I don’t know,” he said at last, “whether to strangle you or kiss you.”

“Well, while you’re making up your mind, let me see if I can dig up a spare toothbrush.”

“Julie Kay—take me back.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll go myself.”

“You don’t have a car,” she said smugly. “It’s twenty miles to the police station.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“With what? I don’t have a land line here—I use my cell phone for everything.”

He swore under his breath. She knew he didn’t have his on him—the cops had taken it. It was Exhibit B.

“Julie Kay…”

“Look, just accept the inevitable, will you?”

“Give me your phone, please.”

“No.”

“Julie Kay!”

“No!”

“Goddammit, give me your fucking phone!”

She shook her head. He yowled like a scalded cat and jumped on her, so quickly she couldn’t get out of the way in time. They both hit the kitchen tile and she felt the breath leave her lungs.

“Sorry,” he panted, groping in her pockets, “but this is for your own good. I don’t want you to be booked as an accessory.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she gasped, kicking.

“Dammit, where is the fucking thing? I know it’s not in your purse—you’ve been clipping it to your belt all night.”

“You leave my belt alone,” she warned. He was so close, his dark hair was brushing her face. She groped for his ribs and gave him a vicious pinch. He groaned, but kept feeling her belt.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” she said, squirming like a grub on a hot plate.

“Sit still. And don’t pinch me again—I’m already going to have a bruise the size of a grapefruit, dammit,
what
did you do with the—” His eyes widened and the fight went out of him; his forehead rested on her shoulder. “The bathroom. You went to the bathroom first.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, God. What did you do to it?”

“It’s possible,” she admitted, “that I flushed it.”

“Christ.”

“Repeatedly.”

“You wrecked our only phone?”

“It was for your own good.”

“Strangle you,” he decided. “That’s what I’ll do. It was a toss-up before, but now I’ve made up my mind.” He put his hands around her throat, gently, and pulled her up for a long kiss.

“That’ll learn me,” she gasped after a long moment. “Yep, I guess you showed me a thing or two.”

“Oh, shut up,” he murmured, and kissed her again.

If she hadn’t been so out of her mind with lust, she would have been appalled at the stickiness of her linoleum. Well, that was a worry for another day. Right now she was concentrating on shedding her clothes and helping him shed his.

She was covering every part of him she could reach with wild kisses, and he was kissing her back and running his big hands over her body.

She reached down and felt him, long and ready for her, and cupped his testicles in her hands, marveling at their furry warmth. He groaned into her mouth and she straddled him, a knee coming down on either side of him. Her knees stuck, and she grimaced.

“Protection?” he managed, his hands covering her breasts, testing their weight, stroking them, even squeezing lightly.

“Birth control pills,” she told him.

“Tremendous geek who never has sex,” he replied.

“So, it’s safe to say you’re not riddled with disease.” She giggled. She rose over him and he gobbled at her breasts as they swung near his face. She seized him with one hand and guided him into her, and he clutched her ass and slowly rose to meet her.

“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, “you’re so wet, how can you be so wet?”

“Hours of wanting to bone you,” she replied, truthfully enough. “Oooooh, that’s nice. Don’t stop doing that.”

“Never,” he gasped.

From her position she could look at him all she liked, and loved what she saw. He had broken into a light sweat, and his crystal blue eyes were narrowed into slits. His hips flexed to meet hers and it was superb, it was heavenly, it was—

“Oh, boy,” he managed. “I hope you’re close.”

“I’m not,” she told him. “But you can make it up to me later.”

“It’s a date,” he replied, and then shuddered beneath her, and she went down for a soft kiss, and rested her head on his chest for a long time.