don’t have to—”
“Oh, I have to. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed a bicycle she hadn’t noticed leaning against the railing. Maybe the alcohol was still slowing her brain down, but it took him throwing his leg over the seat before she realized it was his.
“You came here on a bike ?”
Chase shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders doing interesting things beneath the almost see-through thinness of his shirt. “I don’t like cars.”
“Oh God. You’re one of those techno-phobe tree huggers, aren’t you?”
It was not the most tactful thing to say. Mia could have blamed her lack of verbal filter on the alcohol still working its way out of her system, but the truth was her social filters were pretty much permanently busted. But Chase just laughed. An easy, open burst of sound that made her want to smile with him. The man was impossible to offend.
“Nope,” he said. “I’d just rather get around this way when I can.” He tipped an imaginary cap at her. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
He kicked off and pedaled smoothly out of her neighborhood, Mia watching his every move until he turned the corner and glided out of sight. He biked everywhere. Bet you can bounce a quarter off that ass.
Mia flushed, slamming the door and putting her back to it. Riding a bike wasn’t hot. It wasn’t. He was like a middle schooler. A grown man who looked like a Calvin Klein model and rode a bike. That was not attractive.
It was eco-friendly though. Mia wasn’t against the environment. She just disliked the rabid environmentalists who were anti-science. Anti-progress.
Chase Hunter just seemed… God, she didn’t know what he seemed. He confused her. Something she could safely say no man had ever done.
But could he help her?
From the kitchen, her mother’s ringtone sounded again. She couldn’t answer. Not yet. Not until she had the watch so her mother wouldn’t hear the lack of it in her voice and drive over here to murder her.
My fate is in the hands of a beach bum on a bicycle. Mia groaned and sank to the floor. She’d give herself five minutes to wallow. Then five minutes to put herself in order, and twenty to research the hell out of Karmic Consultants. Thirty minutes to regain her sanity; then she had to go meet the Ghostbusters.
Right after she called the cops.
“And here’s a copy for your insurance adjuster.”
Mia’s brows pinched together as she accepted the police report being extended to her by the one-foot-in-retirement officer who had taken her complaint. “Why would my insurance adjuster need one?”
Officer Grant shrugged. “Standard policy for reimbursement.” When she blinked at him blankly, he went on. “So you can replace the watch.”
Mia frowned. “I don’t want to replace the watch. It’s irreplaceable. I want you to find it. Won’t there be an investigation?”
“No sign of forced entry. Nothing else taken. A time frame of a year when the item could have been taken. If it was taken.” Officer Grant shook his head. “Look, lady, we do what we can, but petty theft isn’t enough to mobilize the force, okay? My advice? Go home and take another look. Odds are you put it in some drawer and forgot about it. Happens all the time.”
“Not to me. I’m organized.”
“And that’s commendable. But everybody makes mistakes.”
Losing the watch wasn’t a mistake. It was a catastrophe. “There isn’t anything you can do?”
Officer Grant reached into his desk and pulled out a card—a very familiar-looking card. “It’s out there, but you could try this private consulting firm. They’ve worked on missing items cases with us in the past. I don’t put much stock in it, but damned if they don’t get results.”
Mia accepted the card, her scientific heart sinking at the sight of the name emblazoned boldly across the front. Karmic Consultants.
Chapter Six
Neurotic & Neurotic-er
Karma studied the fervent young
“Oh, I have to. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and grabbed a bicycle she hadn’t noticed leaning against the railing. Maybe the alcohol was still slowing her brain down, but it took him throwing his leg over the seat before she realized it was his.
“You came here on a bike ?”
Chase shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders doing interesting things beneath the almost see-through thinness of his shirt. “I don’t like cars.”
“Oh God. You’re one of those techno-phobe tree huggers, aren’t you?”
It was not the most tactful thing to say. Mia could have blamed her lack of verbal filter on the alcohol still working its way out of her system, but the truth was her social filters were pretty much permanently busted. But Chase just laughed. An easy, open burst of sound that made her want to smile with him. The man was impossible to offend.
“Nope,” he said. “I’d just rather get around this way when I can.” He tipped an imaginary cap at her. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
He kicked off and pedaled smoothly out of her neighborhood, Mia watching his every move until he turned the corner and glided out of sight. He biked everywhere. Bet you can bounce a quarter off that ass.
Mia flushed, slamming the door and putting her back to it. Riding a bike wasn’t hot. It wasn’t. He was like a middle schooler. A grown man who looked like a Calvin Klein model and rode a bike. That was not attractive.
It was eco-friendly though. Mia wasn’t against the environment. She just disliked the rabid environmentalists who were anti-science. Anti-progress.
Chase Hunter just seemed… God, she didn’t know what he seemed. He confused her. Something she could safely say no man had ever done.
But could he help her?
From the kitchen, her mother’s ringtone sounded again. She couldn’t answer. Not yet. Not until she had the watch so her mother wouldn’t hear the lack of it in her voice and drive over here to murder her.
My fate is in the hands of a beach bum on a bicycle. Mia groaned and sank to the floor. She’d give herself five minutes to wallow. Then five minutes to put herself in order, and twenty to research the hell out of Karmic Consultants. Thirty minutes to regain her sanity; then she had to go meet the Ghostbusters.
Right after she called the cops.
“And here’s a copy for your insurance adjuster.”
Mia’s brows pinched together as she accepted the police report being extended to her by the one-foot-in-retirement officer who had taken her complaint. “Why would my insurance adjuster need one?”
Officer Grant shrugged. “Standard policy for reimbursement.” When she blinked at him blankly, he went on. “So you can replace the watch.”
Mia frowned. “I don’t want to replace the watch. It’s irreplaceable. I want you to find it. Won’t there be an investigation?”
“No sign of forced entry. Nothing else taken. A time frame of a year when the item could have been taken. If it was taken.” Officer Grant shook his head. “Look, lady, we do what we can, but petty theft isn’t enough to mobilize the force, okay? My advice? Go home and take another look. Odds are you put it in some drawer and forgot about it. Happens all the time.”
“Not to me. I’m organized.”
“And that’s commendable. But everybody makes mistakes.”
Losing the watch wasn’t a mistake. It was a catastrophe. “There isn’t anything you can do?”
Officer Grant reached into his desk and pulled out a card—a very familiar-looking card. “It’s out there, but you could try this private consulting firm. They’ve worked on missing items cases with us in the past. I don’t put much stock in it, but damned if they don’t get results.”
Mia accepted the card, her scientific heart sinking at the sight of the name emblazoned boldly across the front. Karmic Consultants.
Chapter Six
Neurotic & Neurotic-er
Karma studied the fervent young
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