“Touché, my dear. You’ve really become a pro at verbal dueling.”
“Thank you. That man is creepy. What the hell are they doing in there with the door locked?”
“Haven’t a clue, sweetheart. Porking perhaps?”
Max suppressed a little ewwe noise.
“I wonder what he thinks of your little on-again-off-again bimbo act?”
“Ooh, shit, you’re right. I forgot that was for Pippa’s benefit. Well, hell, he’ll probably just chalk it up to multiple-personality disorder.”
“It’ll certainly help explain why you’re standing in the hallway talking to yourself.”
“Bastard.”
“You really need to find a new word, sweetheart. That one’s getting old. Now why was it we’re leaving early?”
“I want to get a jump start on ... getting ready to break into Bud’s house.”
“You’re avoiding Witt.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Damn. Around him, a woman couldn’t even have secrets any more. “I don’t think you’re taking this Bud business as seriously as you should.”
“First, we both know you’re running away from Witt. Second, I know exactly how important this is. Maybe more than you do.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But he was gone in a swirl of peppermint essence.
Back up front, she reached beneath the counter for her purse, waved at Ariel, who was now rinsing off whatever gunk she’d put on her client, and left without a thought for the Three Stooges.
She should, however, have anticipated Detective DeWitt Quentin Long. He was waiting out front beside his Dodge Ram Sport. Lounging against it actually, ankles crossed, wearing jeans, T-shirt, and the most annoying know-it-all grin. Damn, that grin was sexy.
“I’m not going anywhere in that truck,” she started in on him immediately, in an attempt to throw him off balance.
It didn’t work. He looked at his big watch. Everything about the man was big. “Why are you leaving early, Max?”
Damn that Cameron, he probably whispered things to Witt. She sniffed the air for any traces of her late husband’s peppermints and found none. “Is it early?” she asked innocently.
“You’re trying to sneak away without me.”
“I’ve already had this conversation, Detective.”
“With whom?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She walked down the front walk to stand in front of him. “So, what was it we had planned for tonight?”
Witt raised a brow. “Is that an invitation?”
“You wish.”
“You’re right, I do. But I guess this time I’ll have to settle for tracking down your Snake.”
God, Snake. One look at Traynor’s computer file, and she’d forgotten the wino, Nadine Johnson, her relationship to Jake Lloyd, and Tiffany’s belongings in the trunk of her car. None of it could be as important as following up her Traynor lead.
“You don’t need me for that. All you need to do is find out what’s in his locker and if he took anything from the crime scene.”
Still leaning against his beautiful black truck, the sight of which gave her goosebumps, Witt folded his arms across his chest. Why the hell did the guy have to look so ... gorgeously guyish in jeans and a T-shirt? Why did he have to prefer tight black jeans, and, oh jeez, tonight it was boots. Workboots. Hell’s Angel boots. Big stomping boots. Kick-them-off-beside-my-bed boots.
Oh man. With Tiffany humming inside her, she was a goner.
“Now why do I get the feeling you’re trying to brush me off, Max? You’ve got something planned. What are you up to?”
Better get it over with. She told a lie. But it was only a sort-of lie because she intended to do it, just not tonight. Tonight, she had major plans that far outweighed Nadine Johnson. “I’ve got a couple of boxes of Tiffany’s things. I was going to take them over to her sister’s and scope things out.”
He smiled. “Good thinking.”
She blew on her nails and rubbed them against the sleeve of her shirt. Mission accomplished. She’d impressed him and thrown him off track.
“We’ll go together.”
Damn. Well, they could do that first, then she’d have to think of a way to ditch him. “Fine.”
He stepped back, opened the truck door with a graceful bow.
“The stuff’s in my car.”
“I’ll wait while you get it.”
Double damn. Nothing would get rid of the man. “What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you back when we’re done.”
She eyed the truck, the man, and the big front seat. Trouble with a Capital T. “Don’t you have better things to do, Witt?”
“Not since you strolled into my office talking about dead bodies again. It was music to my ears,” he said with a grin. There was that smiling and laughing thing again. It made her uneasy.