“To infiltrate a scene and blend in is even harder,” he kept talking. “I’m not sure you can handle it, Tink. But if I show up, she won’t say anything. Yet if you show up, she’ll know something’s off. Everyone knows you’re not exactly a salon type of woman. See my dilemma?”
“I’m ready, I swear,” I snapped as much as one can snap in a whisper voice. “I’m sure this sore throat is a twenty-four-hour thing,” I whispered even lower, still bristling over his comment about me not being the salon type. “I’m not a country bumpkin, you know. Besides, I have the perfect cover. I have a date with Sean O’Malley tomorrow, so I’ll—”
“Excuse me, come again?” he sputtered.
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Sean’s a good guy, but he’s a smooth operator. He’ll talk circles around you and before you know it, you’ll be the star of your own unrated movie.”
“Who says I don’t want to be?” I paused, but the detective was speechless for once. “Listen, I can take care of myself there, Spanky. It’s just a date.”
“Whatever.” He coughed. “I really don’t care what you do with your personal life. I was thinking of your reputation.”
“Good God, you sound like my parents.” I shuddered. “Here’s the plan. I’ll have Jo take me to the salon at the same time Nurse Doolittle will be there. We’ll have a girls’ day, and I’ll get a makeover in preparation for my date. Women do that all the time, and I’ll bet my tea leaves that Nurse Doolittle will be talking by the end of our session. Let’s pray I won’t have to endure a full makeover before she spills the beans.”
The couple on the bed stood up and stumbled about in their passion, crashing into the closet door. I flattened myself against the back wall behind a row of dresses, preparing myself for discovery. What on earth would I say if they found me playing Peeping Tom? The door didn’t break, thank goodness, but it was loud. Then they fumbled their way into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
“What the hell was that?” Mitch asked.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Um, an action film, but no worries. I’ve had enough TV. Think I’ll get some rest.”
“Good idea. Report in tomorrow.”
“I will.” I hung up and quickly slipped out of the closet. I made my way over to the window, opened it as far as I could, and then squeezed outside on the branch, barely closing the window behind me.
Ice had formed on the branches now, and I carefully slid my way toward the center of the tree. I had almost made it when I slipped off the branch. I let out a little screech, my arms flailing about. Oh my God, I was going to die! I covered my face as I tumbled to the ground headfirst. Something jerked me to a stop, and I hung suspended upside down, my heart pounding wildly. The edge of my canary yellow hoodie had snagged on another branch, but who knew how long that would hold.
I whipped out my phone and dialed as fast as I could.
“I thought you were resting,” the detective asked as soon as he answered.
“I need your help now!” I said in a perfectly clear, non-sore voice.
“That has to be the fastest recovery in the world. What was it, a twenty-four-second bug?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just get over here now, and don’t ring the doorbell or let anyone see you. Go out back by the tree and look up.”
“Huh? You really are crazier than a cuckoo bird, aren’t you, woman?”
“And you really are a butthead. Just . . . hurry.” I gave him the address and disconnected as I started to slip.
Mere minutes later an all-too-familiar smooth, deep voice from below said, “You’ve taken bird-watching to a whole new level, Tweety.”
“I thought it was Tink.”
“Not today, apparently, because you sure can’t fly. What the hell were you doing?” He stood there with his hands on his hips, scowling up at me.
“I wasn’t bird-watching. I was tailing a perp.” A ripping noise sounded, and I dropped a few inches, letting out a yelp.
“He’s not a perp. He’s a suspect. I thought I told you to stay out of trouble. And what on earth are you wearing ? Don’t you know anything?”
“Who cares about that, just get me down. Can’t you see I’m going to fall? The point is Damon has an alibi. They’re playing school as we speak.”
“The unrated movie, I take it?”
“And the action flick . . . so not pretty. If I wasn’t sick before, I am now.” Another ripping noise sounded, and I squeaked like a mouse.
Mitch sighed. “What in the world am I going to do with you, Tink?”
“For starters, get me down from here. My head is pounding from the blood rush, and I don’t know how much longer my sweatshirt is going to hold.”
He stood directly below me and held out his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“And you call me crazy?” I sputtered.
“It’s too icy for me to climb up. I’m twice your size, Tink. I’ll just catch you when you fall. I won’t drop you.” I glanced down at him and met his eyes as he added, “Trust me.”
Something inside me believed him, and I did exactly that. Squeezed my eyes closed tight and waited for the inevitable. Seconds later, my sweatshirt gave way and I tumbled to the earth below.
He kept his word and didn’t drop me, but unfortunately, I flattened him good. He lay sprawled on his back with me flat on top of him, belly to belly. We both fought to catch our breath, but I fared much better than he did.
I could feel his heart beat beneath mine, and the heat of his body warmed me through my tattered hoodie. “Thanks,” I finally got out, feeling safe, not wanting to leave the warmth of his arms. I lifted my head and looked into his eyes.
He stared at me for what seemed like forever, looking like he wanted to kiss me and throttle me at the same time. I knew exactly how he felt. “You’re welcome, I think. Though this hurt a lot more than it would have ten years ago. I’m going to pay for this tomorrow, I’m sure.”
“We should probably go, huh?” I asked.
“Probably,” he responded.
“Why aren’t you moving?”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“Me either.”
“Besides, you’re on top.”
“Oh . . .” Soft snowflakes started to fall from the darkening sky above us and stuck to his thick, sooty eyelashes as he gazed up at me, looking troubled and confused. That made two of us.
I blinked and my lips parted.
He stared and licked his lips.
My head started to lower with a will of its own, and he didn’t pull away. I had almost made contact when a car horn sounded from down the street, and we both jumped. I scrambled to my feet, and he frowned, rolling to his feet much slower.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Ya think?” I squeaked.
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“My place.” He nailed me with a hard stare. “I’m not going near that demon cat of yours.”
I swallowed dryly. “Take the lead, Detective.”
He locked eyes on me for a good ten seconds, then said, “Don’t worry, Tink. I plan to.”
8
I followed Mitch home and parked my bug in the driveway of his apartment complex. The building was made of red brick to better withstand the lake effect snow the area gets hammered with all winter long.
“You coming, Tink?” Mitch turned around and looked down at me from his perch on the staircase.
Of course he had to live on the top floor in an apartment with a cast-iron staircase on the outside of the building. Just my luck. I was freezing, and my sneakers were slippery. Not like boots made for snow and ice. I really hadn’t been prepared for a sleuthing expedition, but I’d sooner fall on my butt than admit that to Detective Stone.
As though reading my mind, he grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind him, ignoring my slips and stumbles. Finally we reached the top. He unlocked the door and held
it open for me to pass through.
“Thanks,” I said, stepping inside and surveying his home.
I blinked, totally surprised. I would have thought he’d have the standard bachelor pad, but he didn’t. Black leather furniture filled the room, white painted bookshelves lined the walls, and fabulous paintings of New York City were strategically placed around the room. Marble sculptures sat atop tile-and-glass end tables and the coffee table.
Modern, elegant, and classy—who knew?
“I can cook, too.” Mitch narrowed his eyes at my expression, closed the door behind him, and hung up his sports coat. He set his gun on the table and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.
“Wow, I just thought . . . wow.”
“It’s one of those ‘you can take the man out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the man’ things, I guess.” He headed for the kitchen. “There’s a fleece throw inside the ottoman if you’re cold.”
I lifted the top off the ottoman and pulled out the softest, most luxurious fleece blanket with gorgeous tigers scattered all over the fabric in various poses. Powerful and dangerous creatures, yet extremely gentle when they wanted to be.
Kind of reminded me of someone else.
Mitch carried a cup of coffee for himself and cocoa for me into the living room and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch. I gave him a surprised look, but he hoisted a shoulder and said, “Just a guess,” making me wonder what that was supposed to mean. He stared at me with his hands on his hips for a moment and then chose the seat beside me on the buttery-smooth leather couch.
The smell of leather, soap, and the outdoors drifted past my nose. Instinctively, I scooted back an inch.
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
He blew out a huge breath and looked me in the eye. “It seems we have no choice except to work together, but neither one of us can do our jobs efficiently if we don’t clear the air between us.”
“The air looks clear to me,” I sputtered.
“Are you kidding me? It’s full of tension, and I can’t take it anymore.” He surged to his feet and began to pace the room, then stopped and faced me, square on. “You’re acting weirder than usual, Tink.”
My jaw unhinged.
“Don’t give me that look.” He pointed at me. “I want to know why.”
“Trust me, you really don’t.” I let out a sigh. “Thank you for the cocoa, by the way, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be enough to get me through this conversation.” I patted the seat beside me. “Sit down. You’re putting a crick in my neck.”
He eyed me warily and then sat beside me on the couch. I took a sip of creamy chocolate, wishing for some of Carolyn Hanes’s whiskey right about now. Then I set my cup down and rubbed my hands together, missing the warmth already. This time, he scooted back an inch.
“I’m listening,” he said.
He might be listening, but I knew in my gut he wouldn’t believe me. He was right, though. We couldn’t go on with all this tension between us if we were ever going to solve this case.
“All righty, then. Here goes.” I took a deep breath. “That day in my house when you met my parents and drank my tea, I, um, sort of read your tea leaves after you left.”
“Wait a minute.” He held up his hand in a stop motion. “Not that I buy into any of this, but isn’t that, like, an ethics issue? Don’t you need my permission or something?” He took a sip of his coffee, looking as though he were contemplating the situation. Knowing him, he was probably trying to see if he had enough grounds to press charges.
“Gee, I don’t remember you asking me for my permission when you called my parents and checked me out. Consider this my way of checking you out.”
“It’s not the same. You invaded my privacy.” He glared at me.
“Ha! Trust me, talking to my parents is sooo invading my privacy.” I glared right back.
“Whatever. This is getting us nowhere. Let’s call it a draw.” He swiped his hand through the air, and then we both grew silent. After several more tension-filled minutes, he stared down into the depths of his cup, not meeting my eyes as he finally asked in a quiet, curious voice, “So what’d you see, anyway?”
I chewed my lip, feeling ridiculous over what I had to say. Especially given the fact that all we did was argue. “Fine, but remember, you asked. When I read your tea leaves, I thought I was seeing into your past. You know . . . your relationship with your ex-girlfriend.”
Mitch’s jaw bulged, and he stared me down. I could tell his teeth were clenched, but all he said was, “Go on.”
“You were arguing about something. Big surprise there.” I couldn’t help but get that little jab in.
He smirked, and I fluttered my lashes. I was the one to look away first.
“Then you kissed her. I’ve never seen—or felt—so much passion.” I peeked up at him.
His eyes flashed with an expression of pain and sorrow but only for a second.
“And love,” I added.
His eyes narrowed slightly, looking a little disbelieving and confused.
“And finally heartache,” I finished.
“The heartache I buy. What I don’t get is why that vision disturbed you so much. Why do you care about my love life?”
“Because my vision wasn’t of your past like I first thought. I read your future by mistake.” My eyes locked onto his and held. “And the woman was me.”
His eyelids sprang wide-open, and his mouth parted slightly. He couldn’t seem to look away from my lips. “You?” his deep voice rumbled in shock.
“Now do you see why I’m so disturbed and full of tension around you?” I wrapped his blanket more securely around my shoulders, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
I should have known his “true” self would put me at ease soon enough, though. He doubled over, laughing harder than I’d ever seen him. He’d stop, look at me, and then start laughing all over again. This went on for a good ten minutes until I’d had enough.
“If you’re done now, I’ll be going. I’ve got a salon to visit tomorrow and a date with a real man.” I stood up.
That stopped his laughter. He climbed to his feet as well. “Sean O’Malley is not a real man. He’s a boy toy.”
“Gee, why should my love life disturb you?”
He held up his hands. “Hey, whatever pixies your dust, Tink.”
I folded the detective’s blanket, put it back in the ottoman, and headed toward the door without another word. Why did I let the big oaf get to me?
“There is one way to prove your little vision wrong, you know,” his deep voiced rumbled from right behind my ear, and I nearly flew out of my skin.
“Yeah, what’s that?” I asked, slipping my shoes back on and still not facing him. I didn’t dare.
“This,” he answered, spun me around, and then swooped down to kiss me hard on the lips.
My eyes widened, then crossed, then slowly fluttered closed. His lips were so firm and warm and tingly. He started to pull back, but I stood on his feet and wrapped my arms around his neck, plastering my body to his. He hesitated a second and then deepened his kiss.
Blazing heat shot through my veins. Chocolate mixed with coffee made the most delicious mocha taste fill my senses. He plunged a hand into my hair, cradling the back of my head, and pulled me even closer with his other arm wrapped tight around me. He’d obliterated the chill from my body until every cell poured out steam.
I was on fire!
Suddenly, he tore his mouth from mine and stared at me in shock and horror. He stepped back and rebuttoned the front of his shirt that I had somehow undone halfway, then cleared his throat. He couldn’t quite meet my eyes as he said, “See? My point is proven. I felt nothing.”
Liar! my mind screamed, and I gaped at him. I inhaled a shaky breath and tugged my torn hoodie down over my tank to cover my bra, which had miraculously undone itself as well. “Me too. Absolutely nothing. See you tomorrow, partn
er.”
“Boss.”
“Whatever.”
I grabbed my keys, slipped outside, and welcomed the relief of the icy evening air as only one thought matched the pounding in my head:
Much ado about nothing just took on a whole new meaning.
After a sleepless night and a failed (alcohol-laden) attempt to obliterate the touch and taste of one hot, yummy, annoying butthead of a detective, I had a serious case of cotton mouth and a nasty headache.
Nothing, my big ole behind!
All I knew was, damn the detective for making me acutely aware he had a whole lot more than grumpiness in his pants. And damn him for proving my vision right. I didn’t need heartache right now, and I certainly couldn’t afford the distraction.
He hadn’t helped the tension one bit. If anything, he’d made our situation a whole lot worse. This was ridiculous. We were adults. We would simply have to choose to control ourselves and focus on solving this case.
Someone pounded on my door, and I winced, grabbing my head. “Coming,” I said in a voice that wasn’t very loud but was all I could manage under the circumstances. I peered through the peephole and saw Jo, looking fabulous as always. I opened the door with a wince.
“Hey, you, are you ready to go?” She flipped her burgundy hair back and scanned my body. “Scratch that, you are beyond ready. We need to leave, pronto.”
Allowing her to lead me to her car, we got in and she drove past Gretta’s Mini-Mart and two blocks down to Pump up the Volume Hair Salon and Spa. We walked inside and the room oozed comfort and class. Overstuffed chairs to sit on, cucumber or lemon water to sip, the latest magazines to read, soothing sounds of nature to relax to, and therapeutic smells to boggle the senses. I had to admit I was beginning to understand the appeal.
Everyone recognized Jo immediately, which didn’t surprise me. She had class and style coming out her ears.
Me . . . not so much.
“Tracy,” Jo said to the owner. “We’re gonna need the whole enchilada for this one.”
“No worries, I’ve got the perfect package.”
Tempest in the Tea Leaves Page 9
