He turned, looked at Max, and a slow sexy smile spread across his features. She hated it when he looked at her like that; it made her want to crawl onto his lap. “Never known you to be catty, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.” That made her want to crawl onto his lap, too. “Why were you following me?”
He shrugged. “Midnight. Dark. Car mighta broken down.”
“And you’d swoop in on your white charger, is that the idea?” Please, God, do not let him have followed me from Ladybird’s. She hadn’t seen his department vehicle there.
“It’s a Taurus, not a Charger.”
So that’s what the damn tan department vehicle was. And she didn’t care. “Why didn’t you pull up along side me so I could see you?”
“Scared?”
Terrified. “Like hell. I thought you were a cop going to write me a ticket.”
He nodded sagely. “Eighty-eight’s a little over the speed limit.”
“You were clocking me, too?”
He poured cream into his coffee, added two packets of sugar, then stirred. She’d figured him for the coffee-black-enough-to-put-hair-on-your-chest type of guy. Nice to know he liked things sweet, too. Not that she’d ever call herself sweet. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes had darkened and the bantering was over. “Take my mother to the store tonight?”
Shit. She knew enough to lie while scrambling for a better answer. “Yes.”
“And what kind of store was it that she had to dress up for?”
“You know your mother.” She couldn’t look at him for fear of discovery and terror of the outcome. “She dresses up for everything.”
He sipped his coffee, looked at her over the rim. “Kinda funny, Max. When she called me on my cell phone to let me know you two were sitting in front of the fire with a cup of tea, I was sitting right outside her house, and neither of you were there.”
Double shit. Liars always get caught one way or another. She thought about telling him another lie, decided against it. At some point, you have to realize you’re going to get buried in that hole you’re digging yourself. “We went up to the City.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to look for the woman I saw in the dream.”
Another drink of coffee, eyes still hard on her. “The police are looking for her. They don’t need your help.”
“I had another vision.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “And I saw her at a hotel.”
“And you thought you might see her there again.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes were like ice chips. “And you took my mother there?”
Very clear enunciation, each word sharp as a blade. “Maybe that part wasn’t such a good idea.” She’d only done it to piss off Cameron.
“Don’t you ever ask what if, Max, and think of the worst?”
She swallowed. The worst had happened the night Cameron died. “It was a nice hotel, a band playing, lots of people. I wouldn’t take her anywhere that wasn’t safe. And she had fun. You ought to take her out more often.”
Witt didn’t even acknowledge the low blow. He grabbed her hand where she’d been running a nervous finger through the sugar crystals she’d spilled on the counter. His grip was just short of punishing. “Don’t do it again.”
She really did hate dictatorial men. She hated it more when they were right. “I guess it was a bad idea.”
He took a deep breath. “Thanks for seeing it my way without the knock-down, drag-out.” Then he smiled. Real, not sexy in the usual way, just plain real. Which was enticing all by itself.
God, he had lightning-fast reflexes and lightning-quick mood swings. If he thought his point was taken, he got over his ire. Well, most of the time.
“So, what’d you find out?” he asked.
Max breathed in a waft of sweet coffee scent, looked around to make sure no one was listening, then told him. “She’s a hooker.”
He groaned and covered his eyes with a big hand. “You let my mother watch a hooker in action?”
“Well, it wasn’t action action, if that’s what you mean. All the woman did was pick up a guy and leave the bar.” She tapped a nail against the side of the ceramic mug. “And your mother thought it was kind of fun.”
He lowered his hand. “That’s what I’m afraid of. She’ll probably start pointing out possible hookers next time I take her to dinner. Worse, she’ll probably want me to take her to the same place you two went. You don’t know my mother very well, Max.”
“Oh yes, I do. And she wants to enjoy herself. No harm in that.”
“You’ll be sorry, Max. You’ve created a monster.”
More than one monster, that was for sure. She kept the thought to herself; it would only mean more argument. Or more explanation. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him he was disturbing her peace of mind, especially not when Miss Pink Poodle was heading their way again, batting her stiletto-long lashes and puckering her cream-puff mouth.
“Decided who—I mean what you want.” The girl tittered like a teenager.
Max refused to do battle with a bimbo over any man. “He’ll take the stack.”