“It’s a nice house,” Tanya said, having attended the memorial service at the house last Saturday.
“Yeah, but . . . The day Mom moved into the house is the day she found out the cancer had come back. I went over there to help her unpack and she was sitting there in the middle of boxes just staring at nothing. Now, every time I think about the house, all I think about is cancer.”
“Bummer.” Tanya pressed a finger to her temple. “Please tell me I’m not the only one hung over.”
Cali grimaced. “Got a whopper of a headache.”
“Good,” Tanya said. “Misery loves company. I’m gonna shower.”
~
Brit paced in front of Cali’s classroom. The lady in the office had said Cali usually got here about 7:00. It was already 7:15. Had something happened to her? For about the hundredth time, he wished he’d made her tell him where she was staying.
He’d searched her mother’s home up and down for telephone numbers that would lead him to Cali. But nothing. Today, he wasn’t leaving without knowing how to reach her.
Of course, finding out how to contact her wasn’t why he was here. He needed to find that bracelet; he needed to find Stan Humphrey. And he needed to apologize for being an ass. Her mom had just died and then he’d come along and took his bad mood out on her.
Still, he was here strictly for work-related reasons.
“Right,” an internal voice echoed from deep in his gut. He was attracted to her, had already spent too much time envisioning her naked.
Leaning against the wall, he rubbed his shoulder and chose to ignore all the voices. With as little sleep as he’d had, it was amazing the voices made any sense at all. Maybe if he hadn’t been so exhausted, he’d not have let Humphrey get the upper hand.
He should have been more alert than that. He glanced at his hands. Ten minutes scrubbing in the shower and he still had soot under his nails.
Closing his eyes for a second, he thought about how Keith would have laughed his ass off at the sight of him, covered in charcoal and smelling like grilled meat and dog shit. Brit remembered the few jokes Quarles had tossed out last night. Brit smiled, then an unexplainable stab of guilt hit his gut. Somehow it felt like a betrayal to Keith.
The tap of high heels echoing down the hall brought him to attention. He waited to see if it was Cali who made the corner. A frown tightened his lips when a brunette wearing an orange sweater over a jean skirt came into view.
She clicked past him, a stack of books balanced on her hip. Brit’s gaze, moving on its own accord, zeroed in on her backside. She swung around.
He raised his eyes, nodded, and offered her half a smile. It was, after all, the polite thing to do after being caught checking out a woman’s ass. Not that he was even interested.
She frowned.
Brit’s smile faded. Yup, the Lowell charm had vanished.
“You’re looking for Cali, aren’t you?” She shifted her armload of books.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m—”
“I know who you are. Little…er, Detective Lowell, right?” Her cutting tone could have etched glass. Deep etching.
He nodded and gave her a quick once over. “Have we met?”
“No.” Her frown pulled at her brows. “Cali is my friend.”
“She mentioned me, huh?” Maybe a little of the ol’ charm still lived.
“Yeah, and if you’re rude to her again, I’m gonna make sure she files charges against you.” The books on her hip slipped and scattered on the floor. She leaned over, stopped, and pressed a hand to her head. “Damn.”
Brit knelt and collected the books. When he stood, he said, “I...didn’t know her mother had died. I was doing my job, but if I’d known about her loss, I probably would have been easier on her.” He handed her the books.
She took them, and her gaze cut over his shoulder. “You were still an ass.”
He gritted his teeth. “I plan on apologizing.”
“You do that.” She pivoted on her three-inch orange heels and entered a nearby room.
Her door slammed, then, he heard someone behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Eleven
He turned and faced Cali. She had two coffees in her hands. But his gaze didn’t linger on the coffees. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dress. Actually, it wasn’t the dress. The neckline wasn’t low, the hem wasn’t short, it wasn’t tight, but it did fit, and it didn’t leave a curve to the imagination. Steam billowed from the cups she held in her hands. But the coffees weren’t the only things hot. Damn, she looked good.
“Hi,” he said, hoping to rescue some of the Lowell charm.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Four hours with you in bed. He chased that little thought away. But when she moved and the pink fabric shifted across her breasts, the thought zipped right back, only this time it insisted on five hours.
She shifted ever so slightly drawing his attention back to her hourglass figure. Maybe six hours.
“I need to talk to you about the case.” He tucked his dirty nails into his pockets.