Bethany had loved playing this guy. He always started it, and it was up to Bethany to keep him entertained. So far she hadn’t failed.
“Hmm. Well, a bar story. Okay. I’m dressed in a real short jean skirt and high-heeled boots. And one of you cowboys parked a taste too close to my red Mustang. I can’t get the door open.”
“You need a man to help you get out of that tight ole spot.” He affected a Texas-boy inflection.
“Not just any man,” she cooed. “I need the man who drives that enormous Dodge Ram parked right next to my little old Mustang. You know, that big black Ram with the red lettering.” Closing her eyes, she stretched, the edges of her white shirt falling open across her belly, the material tantalizingly coarse against her nipples. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t worn a bra today. Dear God, Witt was gonna squirm if he heard this one. Her heart kicked up the pace contemplating it.
“I’m your man, ma’am. I got the biggest Ram you ever seen.”
“I’ll bet you do.” She imagined the caller had blond hair. And a dimple in his chin. Like Witt’s.
“Now maybe what you need is to climb up in that big ole Ram o’mine while I move it so you can get your door open.”
“Ladies first. I do so love a Ram truck. I’m climbing right in. Oops, I think you see a little too much underneath my skirt.”
The guy was a quick study. Like Witt. He picked right up on her theme. “Ya mean like the fact that you got no underwear?”
“Yeah. No underwear, not even a thong. Oh my goodness, there’s a lot of room up here in this cab. Why a girl could climb right on your lap.” God, this talk was kinky, but it was so ... damn ... sexy. Despite the phony accent, he really did sound the tiniest bit like Witt. Except for the pronouns.
“Yeah, baby.”
She could almost feel Witt’s hot breath in her ear. It was strange. It was kind of dirty. It sent a lick of desire straight to her breasts.
“You want me to ride ’em cowboy?”
“Oh yeah.”
“It’s so easy to straddle you right here in your big front seat. Push my skirt up.”
“It’s up all the way.”
“Now let me undo your little old zipper.” She could almost hear the metal teeth. “Ah, come to mama.”
“Oh God.”
“Slide that Ram of yours right in, big boy.” She bit her lip, feeling Witt, scenting his aftershave.
“Oh yeah. Oh God, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”
“Atta boy.”
He was done. So was the call. Max was left dizzy and wanting.
She leaned over to put the receiver back on the hook and shrieked at the dark shape standing at the top of her stairs.
“Hello, Max. You didn’t return my calls.”
Shit.
Witt.
Chapter Twenty-One
“How long have you been there?” she squeaked.
“Long enough.”
Shit again. “How’d you get in?”
“Shouldn’t leave your door unlocked, Max. ‘Specially when you’re home alone.”
“You could have knocked first.”
“Did. No answer.”
She couldn’t see him in the dark, but his voice had flat-lined. Turning on the light might have been a good idea, but then, of course, there was the state of her unbuttoned shirt and the fact that she was wearing only panties. She looked down. The street lamps and moonlight shimmered through the leaves, casting fingers of light across her bare belly. He’d already seen that, too.
Max cringed inwardly, but rose from the bed and took two steps closer to him. Maybe if she could see his face, his eyes ... “I was busy.”
She could see now he wore his work clothes. His anger vibrated in the unnatural stillness of his body, but his cop persona shouted through his implacable reply. “So I heard.”
Okay, so he wasn’t going to make this easy. Oh Jesus. Did his cop buddies know he had a Dodge Ram? Would they put two and two together? Why hadn’t she thought of that? Her face flamed as red as the digital numbers on her clock, shining brightly in the dark. Just gone two o’clock. Bethany’s shift was over and inside her, the woman mourned it. Max wished hers had never begun. “Her Achilles didn’t call.”
“Figures.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but refused to do up her blouse. That would have been admitting she’d done something wrong. “No one else seemed threatening. Or familiar.”
“How many calls you take?”
“Eight. Maybe nine.” She had no idea. One had slipped seamlessly into the next. “Don’t you ever sleep? I mean, you were tracking me last night. Then you work all day. Then tonight—” God, she was rambling to fill the silence.
“Vampire.”
“Huh?”
“You asked me once if I was a fucking vampire. Maybe I am.”
He’d spoken calmly, his voice mild. Yet, there was that word. The F-word. Which he didn’t use in front of her unless he was really pissed. She raised a hand, pointed off to her right, shaking her finger at the phone. “Were they able to trace any of the calls?”
“Certainly kept ’em on the line long enough.”