I awoke to sunlight streaming in my face, feeling far from human. It was after noon. Malone was gone. Before I could feel sorry for myself, I heard him. Or more precisely, I smelled him. He was in the kitchen, cooking. I pulled on jeans and a Dolphins jersey and padded out to greet him. My legs felt like they weren’t hooked on properly.
"Hi." My voice wouldn't work above a whisper.
"Hey, Jamie." He swept me up in his arms and covered my face with kisses. He was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only the jeans from yesterday. Probably couldn't find the rest of his clothes.
"Whatcha making?"
"French toast with strawberries. Want some?"
"Uh nuh. I need coffee."
He guided me to a stool by the counter and fetched me a mug. One of my black leather boots was caught in the leaves of a huge Boston fern near the counter that divides the kitchen and living room. I had no idea where the mate had ended up, nor did I care. Noticing my red panties dangling from the bookcase caused me to blush for only a moment.
I was leery about eating Malone's cooking, until seeing the food on his plate. Before Malone finished two bites, I moved my stool closer to his and let him feed me. No sense in dirtying two sets of dishes. I felt considerably better as breakfast settled in my system. Our antics last night had probably burned off ten thousand calories. At least, I hoped they had. I seldom eat meals as nourishing or bountiful as I had the last two days. It’s more in my nature to be a nibbler.
"Any plans for today?" I asked. His bare skin was warm to the touch. I toyed with a nasty-looking scar on his biceps I hadn't noticed before. I must have been preoccupied.
"Nothing important. I’ll go to the gym then get to the post by two-thirty. How about you?"
"I've got some revisions to do on a feature and there’s always research.” I leaned over and kissed a tiny bit of strawberry off his lip. As I moved, Malone’s hands slid up my back, underneath the jersey. “Why, Sergeant Malone! You can’t be serious.”
"No ma’am. The mind is willing, but the flesh is…” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “tender.”
I sighed in relief. “I couldn’t agree with you more."
* * * *
That evening, I ran out to get some groceries. Malone promised to call me during the week and I wanted to be prepared to cook dinner if he was available. With his schedule, dinner might be eight or nine o’clock at night. I didn’t want to stick around the apartment, or I’d be wondering why he didn’t call. Malone didn’t strike me as the type of guy who wouldn’t call, though.
It was on the way home from the market that I noticed something. It took me five miles down the road and two James Taylor songs before I realized the importance of what I’d seen. I spun the Honda around and hurried back to the grocery store.
It was still there in the middle of the lot, an old red Mustang with splotches of gray down low on the fenders. Some of the splotches were small, like the size of a good snowball. Others were watermelon shaped. While I sat there, with the heater blasting, I watched a kid who looked barely old enough to be out after dark without his mother climb behind the wheel and roar out of the parking lot.
That disrupted my reverie and got me going. I zoomed back to the apartment and dumped the groceries on the counter. Pawing through my notes, I couldn’t find the damn number. It’s pathetic when you have to call information to get the number to the police. While trying to connect with him, I managed to get the perishables into the fridge.
I finally got him on the line. His voice was crisp and clear, all business. “Sergeant Malone.”
“Hey, it’s Jamie.”
There was a lengthy pause. It was obvious he wasn’t expecting me to call him at work. I jumped into the gap.
“Malone, it’s about the shooting.”
"Something wrong, Jamie?"
"Nobody's found the mystery truck, have they?"
“No, but these things take time."
"Do you remember what Smitty said, about the dog?" I asked.
"He said he was shot by a dog. Everyone figured it must have been the shock." Malone covered the mouthpiece of the phone for a moment. "He was in a lot of pain. Nobody expected him to make perfect sense."
"I think I know where the truck is."
* * * *
I’d persuaded Malone to pick me up after his shift. It was easier to show him than to explain it over the phone. He’d driven to the scene of the shooting, calmly listening to my theory. Now I wondered if he was just humoring me.
Still, he followed my directions to the junkyard. There was a full moon, but the clouds kept peeking around it, shrouding the night-light. We left the Cherokee and moved to the gate for a better look. Malone shined a big flashlight through the fence. Brutus trotted up to greet us, growling and slobbering all the way.
"What are you getting at, Jamie? You think this dog shot Kleinschmidt?" Malone started to rest his fingers through the fencing, then after a closer look at the dog’s teeth, he tucked his hand safely in his pocket.
"No, but I think the truck is here. Or at least, it used to be here," I said.
"Not sure I understand what you're getting at." Malone's look told me I was right. He was humoring me.
"Let's come back in the morning. Just be patient until then."
"Whatever you say. Should I take you home now?"
Hooking my arms around his neck, I pulled him close. "Let's go to your place. My neighbors will get suspicious if I have a man around two nights in a row."
Malone smiled, those blue eyes sparkling. "You'll have to keep the primal screams down. One of my neighbors is in her seventies. When you get loud, you might just give her a heart attack."
"Or ideas."
His arms were around my waist. Bending down slightly, he moved in and let his lips find mine. With his arms supporting me, he dipped me backwards like a slow motion dance step. We kissed. Long and hot. Eventually he straightened and pulled me upright.
I could hardly catch my breath when we separated. "Better hurry up, Malone."
“It has been a very long day. As much as I would enjoy the pleasure of you in my bed, I’m bushed.”
“You could have fooled me with that kiss. What do you have in mind, Sergeant?"
"A long, hot shower, followed by the two of us wrapped in a heavy down comforter. Then curled up in a very dark room where we can keep each other warm and comfy for at least six hours. From there, who knows?”
It was a very appealing image. “You expect me to believe that you won’t try and take advantage of me in a situation like that?”
"I could just drop you at home.”
I leaned up and gave his cheek a quick kiss. I could feel the stubble of his beard on my lips and realized I liked it. “I think I’ll take my chances with the shower and the comforter.”
We walked back to the Jeep. It was a good thing we’d been necking outside— it would have been impossible to drive with the windows fogged up. I hadn’t made out in a car since high school, but the memory still brought a smile to my face. I could picture a little backseat passion with Malone without any problem.
His apartment was twenty minutes away. I noticed he kept trying to stifle a series of yawns. Once inside, I pushed him toward the shower. I hesitated for a moment, debating on the sanity of what I was doing. When I heard the water running, I peeled off my jeans and sweater and slid into his bed.
A moment of doubt raced across my mind. Behavior like this isn’t my style. I’ve always been slow to take the initiative when it comes to sleepovers. Yet, here I was wearing nothing more than a silk camisole and panties, a splash of perfume and some earrings, in the bed of a man I hadn’t known a month ago.
Before I could talk myself out of it, Malone stepped into the room. He pulled some shorts from a drawer and stepped into them. His hair was still damp when he climbed in beside me. He smelled of shampoo and toothpaste. Despite his claims of exhaustion, I could feel his body respond to the proximity of mine. Nature was obviously taking its own course. My body had been anticipating this since that kiss.
I moved with him, reveling in the feel of his warm skin against my fingers, my arms, my legs. The silk of the camisole felt like it was melting wherever it touched him. Suddenly I wanted to feel every inch of my bare skin against every inch of his. Oh, such blissful, heavenly contact.
"You remember what I said about sleep?" Malone began to cover me with kisses.
"Yes. No. This is crazy, Malone."
He pulled away, but not very far. "Want me to stop?"
I pulled him back. "What the hell."
The kisses continued. Somehow beneath the warmth of the comforter, his shorts and my panties disappeared. My camisole occasionally got bunched up above my breasts, but Malone seemed to be enjoying the wonderful softness of the fabric. I pushed him onto his back and slowly kissed my way down his body. Last night it had been his turn to take the lead. Tonight, it was mine.
* * * *
In the morning I curbed my physical cravings long enough to get dressed and drag Malone out of bed. I wanted to get back to the junkyard before it was busy. Malone didn't talk much on the way there. He wasn't sullen or angry, just tired. Exhaustion will do that to anyone. What I started last night took hours to finish. I’m not complaining, just bragging.
Joe Garibaldi greeted us at the gate as he was locking Brutus away. Only after Malone promised to keep his badge in his pocket did I introduce him.
"Malone's going to help me look for the kind of truck my uncle's got. He's more familiar with it than I am." I gave Garibaldi my best innocent maiden, damsel-in-distress look. Maybe I should bat my lashes more often. "Okay if we walk around, Joe?"
"Just watch your step. Brutus doesn't always crap in the same spots." Garibaldi laughed and went back into the office.
"What are we looking for, Jamie?" Malone asked as he checked the soles of his shoes. Garibaldi's warning had been a little late.
"A spotted pickup truck. C'mon, Malone."
"These were brand new sneakers," he mumbled.
"I'll buy you another pair. Quit stalling."
"Before or after you buy breakfast?"
"After." The offer of food had been the only incentive to successfully pry him out of bed.
We walked through the maze of dead automobiles, going slowly. Some of the stacks were leaning precariously to the side, tempting gravity. Malone steered me toward the middle of the path. Occasionally we heard the rustle of rats scurrying between the iron carcasses. How Garibaldi and his crew ever found anything amid this jumble was beyond me. There wasn't one simple row running between the cars. The paths twisted and swerved into little alleys, utilizing every available space on the lot. Despite having refrained from actually making contact with any of the wrecks, I had the uncontrollable urge to wipe my hands on the seat of my jeans.
Near the back of the property, I stopped in midstride. Malone had been studying the cars on the left and not paying attention to me. We collided and he almost knocked me into a fresh mound of dog shit.
"What's the matter?"
"Shot by a dog,” I whispered. “There it is."
On top of a stack of three other pickups was the old Ford. The body was tan, not white, but it was spotted along both rear fenders and the tailgate with black primer.
"A Dalmatian," I whispered in awe.
"Son of a bitch," Malone muttered.
We walked around the stack as best we could, studying the pickup as it rested on the pile. There was no license plate on it, but I was positive this was the same truck. If I lived to be one hundred, I will never forget it. Malone took my hand and led me back to the office. Joe Garibaldi was watching a morning talk show, staring intently as the female guest discussed transsexual husbands raising children. He barely looked up when we stood before the counter.
"Use your phone for a minute, Joe?" Malone asked.
"Help yourself. Find something you can use?"
"Yeah, I think we did." Malone was strictly business. I was about to say something when he stopped me with a look. So, I played the role of dutiful woman and waited while he made his call. When he was done, he took my arm and led me outside.
"Nowalski is sending down a forensic team. One of the guys on day shift is going to get a warrant. Once we get inside the rig, we can check for evidence. "
"Then what happens?" I asked.
"Depends on what we find. Garibaldi can show us who brought that truck in, and when. That should give us another lead." Malone shook his head slowly. "You came through again, Jamie."
I didn't know if it was admiration or amazement in his eyes. Either one could work in my favor.
Three hours later we watched a wrecker tow the pickup truck out of the junkyard. The forensic team had done a preliminary search, looking for fingerprints and clues. Malone used the court order to impound the pickup for a more thorough search. Garibaldi released it without a word, a copy of the warrant clenched in his hand.
"Tell me about the truck, Joe," Malone said calmly.
"Normal routine, Sarge. I don't accept any vehicles without the title. Once a rig is scrapped, we note it on the paperwork, and keep it on file." Garibaldi tried to look calm, but his hands kept giving him away. They were trying to squeeze the letters off the warrant. If brute force could have done it, the page would have been blank.
Malone rested his elbows on the counter. "So how come you don't have a title for the truck?"
"Beats the hell out of me!" Garibaldi snapped.
Malone tried a different approach. Even though he was off duty, he was the officer in charge. No one else approached Garibaldi.
"How many guys work for you, Joe?"
"Ten all together. I got three full-time, the rest scattered through the week. Mostly kids." With an effort he put the warrant on the desk. The talk show was gone from the screen, replaced by the midday news. Joe switched the set off in disgust.
"What about at night, Joe?" I asked.
"We don't take any cars after hours. All the wrecker crews know that. If there's an accident, most vehicles go to the impound yard until the insurance guys get hold of them. We've never had a problem before."
"Couldn't somebody bring a truck in during the night?" Malone asked. He was watching me, instead of Joe.
"They'd never get past Brutus," Garibaldi insisted.
"What if they knew the dog?" I hinted.
"Like the kids who work for you?" Malone said.
"None of my guys will go near Brutus," Garibaldi said stubbornly. "The only one he listens to is me. That's why he stays in the cage during the day. We don't want him chewing on the help."
Malone stared at me and shrugged. I went outside and walked around. Adjacent to the junkyard was a cluster of trees on an undeveloped lot. A large wooden sign listed the dimensions and the number to call for anyone interested in purchasing or developing the land. A path was worn along the trees, leading back into denser foliage. I walked along it, hands jammed into the pockets of my leather jacket. Call me Ace Richmond, Private Eye, solver of crimes, finder of clues. Who needs a smoldering cigarette and a revolver jammed into a shoulder holster? Not me. I should have felt proud of myself for figuring out where the truck was, but it still might not lead us to who shot Kleinschmidt.
There were a number of empty beer cans and footprints in the dirt, as well as tire tracks. No bad guy was hiding in the shrubs, conveniently watching the action. This was probably the warm weather hangout for the guys from the factories lining the main road. Maybe I should stick to my regular line of work. I wandered back to Malone's Jeep and leaned against the rear bumper, staring at the pile of sulking iron wrecks. After a few minutes, Malone joined me.
"Do you believe him?" I asked as he slumped beside me.
"Yeah, I don't think he knows how the truck came into his yard. He's even willing to take a polygraph test." Malone stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.
"So how are you going to learn anything else from the truck?" I almost felt sorry for his lack of sleep. Almost.
"That’s hard to say, Jamie. We'll run the vehicle identification number through the computers and find out who owns it. Then we wait to see if forensics turns up anything else." Malone bit back another yawn. "Look, I need to grab a nap before I report for my shift. Otherwise, I'll be a zombie tonight."
I slid off the bumper and stood before him. "I'm good at napping. Got all A's when I was in school."
He hugged me. "I'll bet you did. But..."
“What about my butt?" My arms went around his waist. I could feel the handle of his gun in the holster at the back of his jeans.
"I like your butt..." His right hand slid down and gently squeezed my bottom for emphasis.
"Good answer." I rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek.
"If you come with me, I'll never get any sleep."
"What about breakfast? You never did get your free meal."
Malone kissed the top of my head. "I'll take a rain check."