“What choice do I have since you won’t sic the cops on him?”
Another long-suffering sigh. He pulled a pad from his back pocket, wrote, then tore out the page and handed it to her.
She eyed the phone number warily. “What’s this?”
“My cell number. Call if you see him. I’ll do the rest.”
She folded the paper precisely in half. “So, what? I’m supposed to run to the nearest phone booth and put everything on hold until The Man arrives?” Did he know how hard it was to find a working payphone these days?
His blond brows went up, but he ignored the verbal male-bashing. “No cell phone?” The tone indicated it was something akin to not having a car, or a job, or a laptop, and a DVD player.
“There isn’t anyone I need to call with such urgency.” There wasn’t anyone to call at all. Except Cameron. But then mental telepathy worked just fine for him.
Witt just shook his head. “I’ve got an extra in the truck.”
The idea almost popped the blood vessels in her eyes. “I don’t need your phone. I can afford one.” And she could damn well take care of herself.
He drummed blunt fingers against the tabletop. “I am trying not to lose my patience. If you want my help, it’s my way or no way.”
Max pursed her lips. She hadn’t laid into anyone in at least a week. Not since that mother of all fights with Cameron—for which she still hadn’t quite forgiven him even if he had returned with his ghostly tail tucked between his legs.
The problem was, she needed Witt. She aped his exaggerated sigh. “You win. Your way, your phone, this time.” She cocked her head. “It’d be more macho if you gave me a gun.”
She had the satisfaction of watching his jaw drop. “A gun in your hands, Max, is a very scary thought.”
She made a face. “Have they got any suspects?”
He recovered quickly. “Ex-husband. She left him three months ago. Got a quickie divorce in Reno. No alibi, but no motive, either. The two were supposedly still the best of friends.”
She clapped her hands together lightly. “Oh, it’s him. Definitely.” She had no idea if she was right. Her psychic abilities didn’t suddenly give her access to every detail. No, dammit, it only gave her enough to create a mystery she felt compelled to solve.
Cutting into her rare steak, she popped a small bite into her mouth. God, it was heavenly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had filet. Months. No, years. Dinner out with Cameron. She licked the juice from her lips.
“What are you doing?”
Her lids popped open. She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes. “I’m eating.”
“Well, quit it.” His pupils dilated. His fist clenched on his knife.
She stopped, her fork two inches from her mouth. “Quit eating?”
“Quit making it sound like you’re having sex.” His tone, low and harsh, was meant for her ears only. It gave her chills. Very nice chills.
She sucked in her breath, remembered the dream and wondered what sex with Witt would be like. Talk about sexual energy, the way he watched her was like ... well, like he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that he’d do her fantasy one better, way better.
Of course, he was right, the steak had been damn near orgasmic. But she’d better stop that line of thinking before things got out of hand, before she got out of hand. “Do all cops have one-track minds?”
“Only me when I watch you eat. It’s a religious experience.”
“I’m serious here, Witt. We were talking about motives.”
“I’ve got one.”
“Not your motive, you turkey.”
He tapped the end of his fork on the table before spearing a piece of his steak. Thank God. She’d sidetracked him. Hopefully.
“Detectives Scagliomotti and Berkowsky—”
“Scagliomotti? That’s the guy’s real name?”
He sighed. “Don’t interrupt unless it’s to drag me outside to ravage my body.” He didn’t blink or comment on the fact that her mouth had dropped open, just went on as though he hadn’t made her heart pound. She had a suspicion he knew his effect on her, too. “The boys think it had something to do with the disturbance at the Round Up Saturday night.”
Max almost choked on a bit of meat. “Disturbance?” she countered. She should have known the cops would put two and two together. Only idiots really believed the police were dumb. And those were the ones who got caught.
“A woman matching Tiffany Lloyd’s description performed ... er ... was seen ...”
Poor Witt. His fair skin began to glow. The flush started at the neckline of his pink shirt, then worked its way up. Amazing for a man who made more than his share of sexual innuendoes.
Max smiled oh so innocently. “Tiffany did what, Detective?” A sip of champagne sizzled down her throat, and she began to enjoy herself in earnest. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the glass across her lower lip.