“How’s your jaw, sweetie?” I tried to cup it.
He eyed me. “Schweww. Schwell,” he pronounced more carefully the second time. “Ow.”
Scrap. “You might have a little jaw damage, there.”
Isobel got Werner sitting up. “Maddie, the detective has a knot and a half on his head.”
“Ice packs!” I ordered, and she ran. “Hmm. She might make a good intern after all.”
The men in my life eyed me, like, well, maybe I should put the owl back where it belonged. I did so. “Guys, you could have called my name, introduced yourselves, something, before walking in. Frankly, when I saw that doorknob turn, all I could think of was Isobel’s threatening caller and her fear of being followed today. I did what I had to, to protect her.”
They nodded like I made a certain sense.
I put my fists on my hips. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”
I looked from one of them to the other. “You beat the scrap out of each other, didn’t you?
Who won?”
They each pointed to themselves.
“I thought you were discussing the case,” I said.
Werner cleared his throat. “We got, er, sidetracked.”
Nick pointed at Werner, like the detective got it right, and Werner wagged his finger and nodded enthusiastically, like I should pay attention.
“Yeah, that,” I muttered.
“The upshot was that Nick and I both vowed not to hurt you.”
“Fancy that,” I said, touched, and my need to annihilate them became a shot of the warm fuzzies. Pity, I’d already beat the scrap out of them.
Werner took the ice packs from Isobel, held one to his head and one to his purple eye. “I’m here to protect Isobel,” he said.
“Why?” Isobel asked.
Nick leaned on an elbow and held his jaw, looking at me like a hungry puppy. “Iiisssth?”
“Oh, ice. Isobel, two more ice packs.”
“Think you broke something?” I asked Nick, horrified.
He pointed at me.
“I broke something?”
Nick shrugged, got off the floor, sat on a sofa, and gratefully accepted the ice packs. Werner sat beside him.
“Matching black eyes. Man, I wish I had a camera. Oh, wait.” I used my camera phone. Click! “For posterity . . . and blackmail.” I showed it to Isobel. She nodded. “That’d make a fine Christmas card.”
I shoved her arm. “We’re gonna get along great!”
Nick moved to the sofa opposite.
“Too late,” I said. “So, Nick, if Werner’s here to protect Isobel, who are you here to protect?”
Again, he pointed to me.
“From who?”
Nick glared at Werner.
Isobel giggled. “They were fighting over you? Go, boss.”
“We’re friends. Just friends. I think we should take them to the hospital.”
The ice pack club denied the need with mutinous looks.
“Isobel, go get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep Werner busy so he doesn’t fall asleep, in the event he has a concussion.”
Nick’s head came up, and he gave Werner the evil eye. “No sweep. No anysing.” He was, of course, referring to the night of Werner’s concussion when we shared that thermonuclear kiss.
I sat beside Werner, and Nick growled. “Oh, for pity’s sake. I need to make sure Werner’s pupils aren’t dilated.”
“I think they are,” Werner said.
Nick narrowed his eyes at the two of us, and if black looks were darts . . . Eleven
Clothing should be used as a tool and as a weapon.
—JOHN T. MOLLOY
“Boy, I hate to do this,” Werner whispered, practically kissing my ear, so I pretended to be half-asleep; then he moved me away from him, lowered me so my head rested on the sofa pillow instead of his shoulder. He stood and covered me with Aunt Fee’s Irish knit afghan. Both of us checked on Nick, asleep, half sitting up, looking hunky dishy, to tell the truth, and I feared that someday I might be forced to choose between them. How could I be half in lust with both of them?
“Thanks, Lytton,” I said, yawning, too tired to figure it out. Time would surely tell. The scent of coffee and pancakes woke me at about the same time
He eyed me. “Schweww. Schwell,” he pronounced more carefully the second time. “Ow.”
Scrap. “You might have a little jaw damage, there.”
Isobel got Werner sitting up. “Maddie, the detective has a knot and a half on his head.”
“Ice packs!” I ordered, and she ran. “Hmm. She might make a good intern after all.”
The men in my life eyed me, like, well, maybe I should put the owl back where it belonged. I did so. “Guys, you could have called my name, introduced yourselves, something, before walking in. Frankly, when I saw that doorknob turn, all I could think of was Isobel’s threatening caller and her fear of being followed today. I did what I had to, to protect her.”
They nodded like I made a certain sense.
I put my fists on my hips. “Now what the hell are you doing here?”
I looked from one of them to the other. “You beat the scrap out of each other, didn’t you?
Who won?”
They each pointed to themselves.
“I thought you were discussing the case,” I said.
Werner cleared his throat. “We got, er, sidetracked.”
Nick pointed at Werner, like the detective got it right, and Werner wagged his finger and nodded enthusiastically, like I should pay attention.
“Yeah, that,” I muttered.
“The upshot was that Nick and I both vowed not to hurt you.”
“Fancy that,” I said, touched, and my need to annihilate them became a shot of the warm fuzzies. Pity, I’d already beat the scrap out of them.
Werner took the ice packs from Isobel, held one to his head and one to his purple eye. “I’m here to protect Isobel,” he said.
“Why?” Isobel asked.
Nick leaned on an elbow and held his jaw, looking at me like a hungry puppy. “Iiisssth?”
“Oh, ice. Isobel, two more ice packs.”
“Think you broke something?” I asked Nick, horrified.
He pointed at me.
“I broke something?”
Nick shrugged, got off the floor, sat on a sofa, and gratefully accepted the ice packs. Werner sat beside him.
“Matching black eyes. Man, I wish I had a camera. Oh, wait.” I used my camera phone. Click! “For posterity . . . and blackmail.” I showed it to Isobel. She nodded. “That’d make a fine Christmas card.”
I shoved her arm. “We’re gonna get along great!”
Nick moved to the sofa opposite.
“Too late,” I said. “So, Nick, if Werner’s here to protect Isobel, who are you here to protect?”
Again, he pointed to me.
“From who?”
Nick glared at Werner.
Isobel giggled. “They were fighting over you? Go, boss.”
“We’re friends. Just friends. I think we should take them to the hospital.”
The ice pack club denied the need with mutinous looks.
“Isobel, go get some sleep. I’ll stay up and keep Werner busy so he doesn’t fall asleep, in the event he has a concussion.”
Nick’s head came up, and he gave Werner the evil eye. “No sweep. No anysing.” He was, of course, referring to the night of Werner’s concussion when we shared that thermonuclear kiss.
I sat beside Werner, and Nick growled. “Oh, for pity’s sake. I need to make sure Werner’s pupils aren’t dilated.”
“I think they are,” Werner said.
Nick narrowed his eyes at the two of us, and if black looks were darts . . . Eleven
Clothing should be used as a tool and as a weapon.
—JOHN T. MOLLOY
“Boy, I hate to do this,” Werner whispered, practically kissing my ear, so I pretended to be half-asleep; then he moved me away from him, lowered me so my head rested on the sofa pillow instead of his shoulder. He stood and covered me with Aunt Fee’s Irish knit afghan. Both of us checked on Nick, asleep, half sitting up, looking hunky dishy, to tell the truth, and I feared that someday I might be forced to choose between them. How could I be half in lust with both of them?
“Thanks, Lytton,” I said, yawning, too tired to figure it out. Time would surely tell. The scent of coffee and pancakes woke me at about the same time
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