As I hung up my clothes in his closet, I resolved to ignore those neurotic thoughts and dwell instead on the fact that he chose to stay with me at my house.
But I knew one of his assistants was working with a local real estate broker to find a suitable home for him in the city. Eventually, when he found the perfect residence, he would move out of my place and into his own. And that was probably for the best. Frankly, I was surprised we were still enjoying each other’s company after a full month of living together. It couldn’t last much longer, could it? We were so different from each other. He was traditional upper-crust English; I was laidback California commune. He was dangerous, secretive, and carried a gun. I was peace, love, and free speech. We were completely wrong for each other, and yet we had fun. We loved to eat good food and drink good wine and we argued and laughed and fought—and made up, of course. He liked my family. He laughed at my jokes. But beyond the fun stuff, Derek had more integrity than anyone I knew, and that coincided with my desire for justice and good to prevail. I thought that was a pretty important quality in a guy. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that he was so gorgeous. I wasn’t sure if it was his face or his body or his accent that made him so hot, but . . .
“I know it’s late, but I’ve ordered hamburgers from room service,” he said, coming up behind me and slipping his arms around my waist.
“With French fries?” I asked.
He kissed my neck. “Of course, darling.”
“Sweet.” Resting my head against his bare skin, I savored the solid, muscular feel of his chest.
Okay, in this moment, it was definitely his body. Call me shallow. The guy was hotness personified.
The following morning, Derek dropped me off at my place and I began cleaning up the mess. I arranged to meet the guy from the door company and a locksmith who’d been recommended by our homeowners association.
Looking at all the disorder in the light of day, I could see that there wasn’t that much actual destruction. Drawers had been pulled out of my desk and the contents dumped on the floor; materials and supplies had been swept off the countertops. There were a few broken jars, but for the most part, everything could be straightened up easily.
Much worse would be the job of cleaning fingerprint dust off every flat surface in my house. I’d found out the hard way the last time my place was broken into that this stuff was a pain in the butt to clean up. The powder was made of graphite and seemed lighter than actual dust. The minute the crime guys fluttered those dainty little dusters over anything, particles flew all over. I learned that even water wouldn’t soak up those darn particles, so it was useless using a sponge to clean things up. The black powder had settled into one of my small area rugs and some cloths I used for cleaning books, and they had to be replaced.
One of the previous crime scene guys had recommended a product, and I was relieved to find a small amount left under my sink. It was a thick gel that broke down the bonds between the graphite ions. Don’t ask me how. That bit of information exhausted my vast knowledge of the science of bonding.
Three hours later, my studio was back to normal and I had a new door with a stronger dead bolt. The rest of the house took only another hour or so to straighten up, because the intruder hadn’t done as much damage there. Based on little Tyler’s story, Inspector Lee theorized that the rest of the house was barely touched because the guy had run out of time.
Maybe, as Tyler had suggested, he’d heard the elevator stirring to life and had rushed out while he could. That was one more reason I loved that old creaky elevator. You always knew when someone was coming home.
As if on cue, I could feel the light vibration that signaled the elevator was being summoned. Two minutes later, Derek walked in. After changing from suit and tie to jeans and a light sweater, he joined me in the kitchen, where he whipped up a pitcher of martinis.
“This is a treat,” I said, sipping my drink. “Do you want to listen to music while we cook?”
“No, I had something else in mind for us to do before dinner.”
I smiled, watching him as he took a quick first sip of his drink, then set his glass down. Extracting a notepad and two pens from the telephone drawer, he led me over to the dining room table and gestured for me to sit.
Okay, this was not what I thought he meant.
As Derek took the chair on the other side of the table facing me, he ripped off a few pieces of paper and handed them to me with a pen.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “We’re going to play your favorite game.”
Puzzled, I shook my head. “I’m no longer sure what you think that might be.”
“We’ll call it Find the Killer,” he said, setting the pad down and clicking the top of the pen. “You go first. Tell me everything you know about the night Robin first met Alex.”
Chapter 10