Malone went to work Sunday afternoon. I was scheduled to be in New York on Tuesday to meet with my agent and the publisher's editors. Monday, I ran around town doing errands and trying to keep my mind off cops. Every time I let my guard down, Malone's image would slide behind my eyes and I'd get all fuzzy. While trying to concentrate on something else, I kept stumbling over Kleinschmidt. I couldn't shake the feeling I was overlooking something, so I went back to my place and did what I do to take my mind off things—write.
Every detail I could remember concerning that Friday night went into the computer. From the way Kleinschmidt first reacted, up to the time Malone dropped me off at the post. I used my notes to prod me along whenever I slowed down, but one glance was all it took to bring the evening sharply back into focus.
I wrote about Smitty's mannerisms. The methods he used to check license plates on cars we were following to verify they weren't stolen. The way he approached a car he stopped; always in profile, keeping the majority of his body out of the driver’s sight. The leniency he employed when dealing with a driver whose muffler was dragging the ground. The way Smitty listened to a kid’s story and let him off with a warning instead of giving him a ticket for driving with a suspended license. Smitty even gave him a ride home. When I got to the part after dinner, prior to the shooting, I stopped to gather my thoughts. Something kept nagging me. I reread my notes, and then scrolled through the text on the computer. Acid exploded in my stomach when I read the line, "He always approached the car in profile, keeping the majority of his body out of the driver's sight."
When he'd stopped the pickup truck, Smitty had marched right toward the door. It was as if he wasn't afraid of the driver. Instead of moving slowly along the fender and keeping out of harm's way, he went right at him.
My mind would be on Kleinschmidt for the rest of the night.
* * * *
I was taking an evening flight into New York to discuss my book, rather than risk morning travel and be late for my meeting. I had plenty of time to get to the airport. As I was getting a Diet Coke out of the fridge, I saw a foil-wrapped chunk of steak leftover from last night's dinner. It would go bad before I came home Thursday and I was about to throw it out when inspiration struck. I took my suitcase and my shoulder bag out to the car, tossing the steak on the passenger seat. It was after seven when I got to the junkyard. Brutus was trotting around inside the fence, growling and snarling as my lights picked him out among the rusting remains. Who needs a more expensive security system to guard a bunch of wrecked cars?
"Hey, baby. Want a snack?" I left the motor running and approached the gate. The dog growled louder and pressed his snout against the chain link fence. I opened the foil wrapper on the steak and the growling stopped. He ran an obscenely long pink tongue around his teeth and began to pant excitedly.
"Attaboy, Brutus." I threw the meat over the fence and watched him chase after it. He caught it before it hit the ground and savagely ripped the foil away. With Brutus occupied, I got a chance to study the gate closely. The thick chain wrapped around the posts of the fence was new and shiny, but the padlock was old and weathered. Satisfied, I returned to the Honda and drove to the airport. Look out world, Ace Richmond, Private Eye was back on the case.
My flight to New York was uneventful. Other than two Marines who shared the seats beside me, no one tried to hit on me. Could everyone else tell I was no longer interested in strange men, or was I losing my appeal to them? I didn’t ask. The Marines soon became busy with a magnetic chess game, working on moves I’d never heard of. I napped.
At the hotel, I received a very pleasant surprise. My agent, Shannon Ripley, had left several messages about meetings. I read them as the bellhop carried my bags to the suite. I know it’s expensive, but my accountant tells me I can write it off my taxes. I hope he’s right. There was a basket of fruit big enough to support a family of six for several days, and a vase jammed with fresh flowers. It was a beautiful bouquet with a single white rose in the center.
“Enjoy your stay, ma’am.” He handed me my room key as I forked over a tip. I was tempted to stiff him. Maybe he was from the south, where proper manners required that you address a female as ma’am. But I was still young enough to be called miss. “Anything you need, Ms. Richmond?”
“A bottle of white wine would be nice, a Riesling or a Piesporter.”
He nodded quickly. “Be right up.”
I checked the card on the fruit basket. My publisher had supplied breakfast for the week. The flowers made me curious. A thick ivory envelope held the note, just four simple words, that quickly took my breath away. “I miss you. Malone.” This guy sure knew how to pull my heartstrings. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up writing romance novels.
Shannon Ripley came by for breakfast Tuesday morning. She’d taken the liberty of ordering a pot of coffee and a plate of chocolate croissants from room service. After dozens of telephone conference calls and three personal meetings, Shannon knows me pretty well. She gave me a friendly hug when I’d opened the door then followed me into the bedroom while I finished dressing. The waiter left the cart in the sitting room and almost killed himself trying to get one last look at Shannon. She has that effect on men.
“Such absolutely gorgeous flowers.” Shannon bent over to sniff them, but she didn’t fool me. I’d already tucked the card in my purse. “Secret admirer?” Shannon didn’t pull any punches, which is one of the many reasons why I like her.
I waited until her reflection showed in the mirror. “New lover.”
“I hope he’s better than the carpenter. Really, Jamie, your taste in men often astounds me.”
“It can’t be jealousy, Shannon. I’m sure you get plenty of variety with all of your lovers.”
“Variety can be extremely rewarding, you know, part of the spice of life. Especially if you can choose wisely.” She sat on the wing chair beside the vanity and crossed her long legs.
Shannon’s been my agent for two years. She knows everything about everyone in the New York publishing business and has never failed to get a client a respectable contract. In her early forties, she looks like she’s thirty and dresses like she’s nineteen. And she’s got the figure to carry it off. With her chestnut colored hair dancing across her shoulders and soft brown eyes that look like coffee with a healthy shot of cream, she can stop traffic on the busiest street just by strolling along the sidewalk. She’s also an inch taller than I am, but she wears a size two dress. When she’s feeling flirtatious, she breaks out the spike heels and the short skirts.
“Don’t talk to me about variety, Shannon. Last time I was in town you couldn’t remember your escort’s name.” I put the final touch on my eye lashes.
“Shall we discuss business over coffee?”
We moved into the sitting room and shared our breakfast.
“What’s Myerson want on the new book?” I asked.
“He’ll probably want half a dozen concessions and a week of work on revisions. He’ll cry you a river about the state of the economy and the declining market for mysteries. And since they have committed to your second book, he’ll expect you to jump at whatever he says.” Shannon sipped her coffee daintily and nibbled at a corner of her first croissant. I had already polished off two.
“Got a plan?”
She gave me the smile used by the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. “Cite the real information on the market for mysteries along with the advance order from the three big retail outlets. Add that to the number of sales pending online and the fact that we’ve already obtained a bid for the paperback rights.”
“So I’ll end up with…”
“I’m thinking three days’ worth of revisions and a better contract on your next deal. You are still pursuing the idea of a patrolman’s duties?”
“Yes, I’ve been doing some research.”
“I hope it’s in depth.”
I choked on my coffee.
“You could say that.”
* * * *
Thursday evening, I returned to an unexpected heat wave. My apartment was stuffy and quiet. I was reminded of a spinster aunt who spent her life cooped inside her little flat, afraid to venture out into the world. I threw open the windows and switched off the furnace. I'd taken nothing but business suits with me and was dying to get comfortable in a pair of jeans. I dumped the contents of my suitcase on the floor of the closet and was shucking my heavy wool outfit when the phone rang.
"Hey, Jamie. How was the trip?" Malone's deep voice cooed in my ear.
"It was good, Norton." I had decided to give him a different name each day I saw him or talked to him. Sooner or later, I'd hit the right one.
"Wrong again. How about dinner?"
"I thought you were working."
"I am. Cops have a right to eat too, you know."
I realized I was standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but stockings and high heels. I wondered if Malone would like the outfit. Maybe I should ask.
“So do you want to meet me or not?”
"Yes, Norton. Where?"
"O'Leary's in ten minutes?"
"I'm naked. Give me twenty," I said. If I told him what I was really wearing, he might break out laughing, or faint dead away.
"Forget O'Leary's. I'll be right there," he teased.
"Twenty minutes." I kicked off the heels and squirmed out of the stockings. I opted for a pair of very lacy panties with a matching black bra, and rummaged in the closet for a corduroy skirt and a cotton blouse. I called this my flirt skirt. It was knee length but had functional snaps that ran down the front of it. Depending on how flirtatious I was feeling determined how many snaps were left undone. I grabbed my bag and hurried off to meet him.
O'Leary's wasn't crowded when I arrived. Malone was in uniform, sitting at a booth near the back of the restaurant. He was talking with Sean O'Leary, the octogenarian owner. Sean gave my hand a gentle squeeze then toddled off to schmooze with his other patrons. Malone greeted me with a tender hug and a chaste kiss on the lips then pulled me in beside him on the bench.
"Saving it up for later?" I asked.
"Bank on it. How was the trip?"
"Okay. Shannon wants me to do a hundred pages of rewrites for the book and my publisher wants a synopsis for a series of mysteries we've been kicking around. If I can sell them on the series, I’ll get an advance. We also talked about a promotional tour for next spring.”
"Is that a big deal?" Malone asked.
"It could be, depending on the reviews. There may be twenty cities in the Midwest, with talk shows and autograph sessions. If they are footing the bill, it can help increase sales. I’ll know more after the first of the year."
Malone opened his menu and scanned the page quickly. A waitress approached, wearing a green leotard and skirt with a black apron. He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. "Want me to order for you?"
"Sure, I'm starving."
Malone turned to the girl. "We’ll have the roast lamb stew, tossed salads with raspberry vinaigrette, and coffee." He looked at me and I nodded.
"You eat here often?" I asked as she wiggled away. I'd swear she put a little extra swing in her hips for Malone's benefit. I didn't know whether to be angry or jealous. Idly, I undid a couple more snaps on the skirt. It fell open to mid-thigh.
"Couple times a week. Sean's a decent guy. The food's good and the prices are reasonable. A lot of the guys stop in. The service is pretty good too.” He winked at me. It was obvious he’d noticed the extra wiggle.
"You're a good guy, Norton."
He leaned over to kiss me. His left hand landed softly on my knee. I watched the expression hit his eyes as he realized this was a smooth bare leg he was feeling. Malone gently slid his hand a little higher. A shiver of excitement ran through me. It took several moments for me to withdraw from that kiss.
“Want to skip dinner?” I asked. I was glad this part of the restaurant was dark, since I was blushing beet red.
“I think we’re going to need that nourishment for later.” Malone reluctantly removed his hand from my leg.
After dinner he walked me out to the parking lot. He stopped beside my car and leaned against the door.
"Did I tell you how much I missed you, Norton?" I put my arms around his neck. His hands went to my waist.
"Nope."
"Would it be improper for a girl to kiss a cop while he's on duty?"
Malone's eyes went to his left wrist. "I've got two minutes before I check in."
He tipped his head down to meet my lips and kissed me warmly. If anyone was watching, I didn't see them. I didn't care. His left hand remained on my hip. The right had somehow drifted between my legs and undid two more snaps. The skirt was only fastened to the top of my hips now. A shudder ran through my whole body as his fingertips stroked me through the lace panties.
“Welcome home, Jamie.” Gently he pulled away and straightened up.
“Thanks for the flowers. They were beautiful.” I had given the bouquet to Shannon to brighten her office. The white rose, I’d brought home.
“My pleasure. Glad to have you back.”
"How glad are you, Norton?”
"See you later?" he asked.
"Oh yeah. It may take me a while to be able to drive. And I seem to be having this problem with my door. It just won't stay locked at night." I pushed his hands away and stepped back before I attacked him in the parking lot.
"I'll have to see what I can do to remedy that. And Jamie…don’t change your clothes.”
* * * *
Things must have been quiet at the post, because Malone’s shift ended at eleven and he was at my apartment by twenty after. I’d returned home and did a bunch of little things like going through the mail, paying my bills and cleaning the kitchen, trying to keep my mind off him. It wasn’t helping.
He came into the room silently. I had a mug of tea and a fashion magazine on the counter before me. There was one lamp on low by the aunt. The rest of the room was in shadows. I didn’t say a word. The look on his face said it all. There was something mischievous about his eyes I hadn’t seen before. An old expression jumped to mind, something about the devil dancing in one’s eyes. Malone crossed the room without a sound. I started to say something and he silenced me with a kiss, long, hot and deep.
He lifted me from the stool. I expected him to carry me to the bed, or maybe the aunt, but that wasn’t in his plans. Malone placed me on the counter. Still kissing me, his hands went to the snaps on my skirt. Roughly he yanked the last two panels apart. I gasped in surprise as his fingers shredded the lace panties. Malone dropped to his knees, burying his face between my legs. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming as I peaked. He must have been anticipating my reaction. Suddenly Malone rose in front of me. There was a thump as something solid hit the floor and then he took me, right there on the counter.
I dug my nails into his back and wrapped my legs around him. We had been spontaneous and intense before, but this time was putting me over the edge, fast.
* * * *
It was early Friday afternoon when Malone left me to go to work. Teasingly, I asked if he was going to the gym for a workout. He chuckled, gave me a quick kiss then went to the post. I could personally attest to a cardiovascular workout earlier. We had collapsed around four and slept curled together under several heavy quilts until nine. Malone made coffee and helped me clean up the mess from our escapades. One, or both, of us had shattered my favorite tea mug. We had tipped over one of the plants. Pillows and cushions from the sofa were scattered about the living room. The remnants of my lace panties dangled from the rocker. I blushed when Malone found them, but stared in disbelief when he rolled them into a ball and tucked them in the pocket of his jeans.
It felt strange to think about the way we’d behaved. Suddenly I wondered if he hadn’t been in uniform last night if we would have climbed into my car and had sex right there in the parking lot. Something told me it was entirely possible. Pushing passionate thoughts of Malone out of my head, I grabbed the phone and called Joe Garibaldi.
"Hey, Red, you still looking for a pickup truck?" he joked.
"Not really. But I did have a question for you. Have you ever had anyone break in or any vandalism at the yard?"
Garibaldi didn't hesitate. "Sure, we get a few problems every now and then, but nothing serious. Mostly it's kids trying to scavenge a few parts for some hot rod. The valuable rigs we keep near the back, until we dismantle them."
"Anything recently, like within the last month or so?"
"Well, we did have trouble one night," Garibaldi muttered.
"What happened, Joe?"
"Not much really. There's a security guard who works at the plastic plant across the road. He always stops down after his lunch, to give Brutus a treat. Guy's a retiree, doesn't have any family of his own. He only works to have something to do. Otherwise he’d go stir crazy. Me, I’d retire, work’s the last thing I’m gonna do."
"Go on." I tried not to sound too anxious.
"Anyway, Barney, that's the security guard, he brought Brutus something to eat, like he always does. Only Brutus wasn't around. He called and called, but the dog wouldn't come. Barney thought maybe Brutus had trapped a squirrel back in the yard, so he left his food and went back to work. When Barney drove home that morning, Brutus was standing by the gate, like always."
"That's it?" I asked.
"Except the chain. Somebody snipped off my gate chain with a pair of cutters. They might have gone inside, only to be scared off by the dog."
"Was the gate open?"
"Nah, it was closed, just like always. Otherwise, old Brutus would have been off and running, looking for a little strange, if you know what I mean."
Memories of that obscene pink tongue flashed before my eyes. "I get the idea. Thanks, Joe."
"This about that old pickup the cops hauled out of here?" Garibaldi's voice took on a conspiratorial tone.
"Maybe. If I ever figure it out, Joe, I'll let you know."