Max walked the three car lengths to her Miata, retrieved the boxes from her trunk, and returned. Witt set them in the bed, while she hoisted herself up into the truck. Witt joined her a moment later.
The interior had that well-loved smell, essences of Armor All and evergreen air freshener. The floor mats were spotless and fluffed up as if no one had ever used them. A stainless steel travel mug sat in the cup holder. No way any coffee was going to spill out of that thing in his precious truck.
He didn’t immediately start the engine. Instead, he turned, observed her from the corner of his eye, then leaned closer. Closer. Close enough to breathe in the scent of her hair.
“Damn, you smell good.”
She pulled back, self-consciously touching her new do. “Miles Lamont’s work. I got the whole treatment. He didn’t want me to shame the shop.” She couldn’t believe Witt had picked up on the aroma of all the goop Ariel had put on her hair.
“I like it. I like—”
“Stop.” She shoved a hand in his face, and inadvertently, touched his mouth. Her heart stuttered, then kick-started again. “We’ve got lots to do tonight. There’s no time for any of your funny business.”
“Always time for funny business. Some day you’ll figure that out.” Then he licked her palm right up the center.
Oh my God. She was about to have an apoplectic attack.
The gleam in his eyes said he knew exactly how he affected her. So did his next threat. “And when you do, I’ll be there, Max. Count on it.”
With that, he cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb. Despite the feet that separated them, she didn’t feel one whit better.
Fifteen minutes and very little conversation later—Max was still in detox from the overheated touch of his tongue—they arrived at Nadine Johnson’s. At six o’clock, the parking lot was relatively empty. If Nadine wasn’t there, they’d wait. Then again, in the stall marked with the number of Nadine’s apartment sat a once cherry red vintage Mustang. The paint had long since faded to a dull orange-red, the imitation leather top flaking.
“I’ll do this alone.”
Witt eyed her, something flickered in the deep blue, then he gave a barely perceptible nod. Agreement. Max sure as hell wasn’t going to call it approval.
He helped her with the boxes, stacking one on top of the other in her arms. “You scream if you need me.”
“Loud and clear, Ace.”
He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. Arms laden, she couldn’t belt him, but she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that again.”
Witt laughed. “Next time, you’ll have to beg.”
Puhleeeese. “Over your dead body.”
He turned her around and patted her on the butt, shooing her away like a recalcitrant child.
“And don’t ever do that again either,” she called over her shoulder. She should have been outraged, but her tone was flippant. Maybe it was Tiffany’s influence. Maybe it was finding Bud Traynor’s name in the computer. Or maybe she’d lost her mind.
Or maybe it’s you, not Tiffany, who’s all hot for the guy. You almost had an orgasm when he licked you. And that was only your hand.
“Just bug off,” she snapped at Cameron, but even that was pretty mild.
“You say something, Max?”
“Just reminding you to keep your hands off my butt, Detective,” she sang out sweetly, then deliberately sashayed that part of her anatomy as she climbed the stairs.
Witt’s laughter followed her. Or was it Cameron’s?
At the top, a light glowed in the small opaque window that must be Nadine’s bathroom. Balancing the load on her hip, Max knocked on the door. It took Nadine Johnson five minutes and a second knock to answer.
She had a dusting of flour across her cheek and a dish towel in her hand. She was an older version of Tiffany by about five years, but those had been long, hard years. Her hair had lost its natural blonde luster and frown lines marred the corners of her mouth and forehead. “I’m not buying anything.”
“I’m not selling anything. I work at A Cut Above. I brought you your sister’s stuff.”
Nadine’s lips curled with bitterness. “Why’d they send you? I don’t even know you.”
“I offered. I knew her from the Round Up. My name’s Max. I’m really sorry about what happened to her.” She used the same story she’d given Jake.
“You sound like you actually liked her.”
Ooh, this woman was a tough one. The boxes were getting heavy. Max set them on the porch, but Nadine didn’t invite her in. She searched for the right words, ones that bordered on the truth. “I just don’t think she deserved to die, especially not like that.”
Nadine laughed, then clamped her lips shut on the caustic sound. “You didn’t know her very well then, did you?”
Max shook her head in wonder, and the action wasn’t faked. This woman was Tiffany’s sister. “You make it sound like you think she got what she had coming to her.”
“You lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas and dog shit all over you. Okay?”