His features remained rigid, and he didn’t say a word.
All right, so maybe interjecting a little sexual jest wasn’t the appropriate thing. She hated being on the defensive, but at this point, Witt wasn’t giving her much of a chance.
She answered his charges. “He didn’t have an alarm. And I didn’t get caught or raped or murdered. And if you hadn’t done a little B&E on my house, you never would have known about it. Besides, I did get this.” She waved the disk in his face. “I know it’s important.”
“You’re obsessed, Max. Bud Traynor is not your nemesis. You are your own worst enemy.”
“Cameron told me to take it.”
He stopped, stared down at her. “And you’re crazy on top of it.” He threw his hands in the air. “How the hell am I going to explain about you to my mother?”
“What?”
“My mother. How am I supposed to introduce you? Mom, this is Max, the woman of my dreams. But she talks to her dead husband and has psychic visions.”
“I am not meeting your mother.” She felt the blood seep right out of her brain. The thought horrified her. If she’d quaked before at the sight of Witt’s ire, she was downright close to peeing in her pants just contemplating a visit with his mother.
“You don’t have a choice. She wants to meet you, and what my mother wants, she gets.”
She stared at him aghast. “Are you a momma’s boy?”
“Do I look like a momma’s boy?”
She eyed him up and down. Nope, he did not, in any way, shape, or form.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the top of the stairs. “Come on.”
“I am certainly not going to meet her now. It’s almost midnight.”
“She’s seventy-eight. She goes to bed at nine o’clock. I’m taking you to my house to watch this damn thing you stole. Then in the morning, I’m going out to buy you a decent deadbolt because the one you have sucks. It practically fell apart when I touched it. And when I lose my badge because of your antics, you’re going to have to support me. Are you prepared for that, Max?”
Wow, what a speech. She couldn’t tell if he was serious.
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. She wanted to meet his mother.
Holy shit. Things were really getting scary. Without even bringing Bud Traynor into it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Max had wanted to drive her own car. Witt had refused. It was the price she’d have to pay to see what was on that video.
But she found ways to make him pay, first by nagging him the entire trip up Highway 101 to his house.
“Admit you tried to trick me.” She hadn’t seen his truck because he’d parked it around the corner.
He smiled, but didn’t look at her. “Couldn’t take the risk of tipping off your assailant if you were being held captive. You might have been lying prostrate on the floor or with a knife at your throat, so I let myself into your place.”
“You’re such a liar.” Way worse than she was. But damn, she loved arguing with him. It was sort of like the way she and Cameron argued ... no, she wasn’t going there.
Witt lived in Burlingame, the city next to his own police jurisdiction. She, on the other hand, lived in the South Bay, which meant almost a forty-five minute trek for him every time he came down her way, worse in heavy traffic. “How the hell are you getting your detective work done if you keep running down to my place every day?”
They pulled onto a tree-lined street she assumed was his. “I’m not. My captain’s threatening to fire me. It’s puppy love, Max. Put me out of my misery. Kiss me.”
She sighed. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”
“Yeah. The old Dodge Ram does it every time.” He patted the dash.
She sputtered. “How did you know about—”
He winked at her, turned into a driveway, then shut the lights off. Darkness and quiet enveloped them. It was long after midnight. She thought of things she usually did with men after midnight. Her cheeks blazed in the gloom.
He leaned close, smelling of soap and horny thoughts. “How do I know? By that little ooh noise you make whenever you see one of these black and red babies. Especially when you see my truck.”
“I do not make a noise.”
“Yeah, you do. Under your breath. Don’t think you even know you’re doing it. Drives me nuts.”
She couldn’t think of a suitable set down. Which wasn’t like her.
“Wonder what other things you make that little ooh sound for.” He slid his arm along the seat behind her, his sleeve brushing the hair at the back of her neck.
“You’ll never know, buddy boy.” She opened the door and slid out before he could touch her. She was damn good at the running game.
Witt kept his good humor. She wondered how long he’d stay that way. Historically, men didn’t have long attention spans.