Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) by Joanne Pence
Authors: Joanne Pence
Ads: Link
“Did Eastwood offer protection or a place for you to stay?”
“No. He knows I can take care of myself.”
He studied her. “My offer still stands—my place.”
She realized he was her best choice. But still … “How do I say this? If I’m there, I don’t want any”—she struggled for the words—“funny business.”
He grinned at the old-fashioned term. “Just think of me as your guardian angel.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but you’re no angel. On the other hand, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Good.”
They waited in silence for CSI. After a while, he asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
That surprised her. “Not that it has anything to do with anything, but yes. There’s a pharmacist.”
“A pharmacist? My.”
Something about his comment made her grit her teeth. She had no idea why, but she felt compelled to add, “And a guy who works at Kiki’s spa.”
“Oh, a spa guy. Super. Does he put the cute little umbrellas in the fruit fizz?”
She grimaced. “He’s a masseuse.”
“A hands-on guy. I see.”
“Not funny.”
“Finally, something I agree with.”
She was glad to see the CSI pull up. She got out of the car, showed Crime Scene Inspector Pacheco to her apartment, gave him her keys, and then left.
o0o
Richie drove in silence to Twin Peaks boulevard, taking a number of small winding streets up to his house, a mid-century modern structure with a garage on street level and directly over it, the living room with an enormous picture window taking full advantage of the view of the Bay Bridge and East Bay hills in the distance.
His silence made her feel both awkward and overwhelmed by all that had just happened to her dog, his friend, her crummy little apartment, and even the conversation they just had about “funny business” and the men—or lack thereof —in her life. That last conversation had broken off with too much left unsaid. She wanted to explain.
He pulled into the garage and stopped the car. Instead of getting out, she stared at her lap a moment, then said, “My staying at your house like this is awkward for me. But I want to be clear. You once told me you could never see yourself dating a cop.” She faced front, still not looking at him. “This situation, this danger, only shows that you’re right. It shows why a cop shouldn’t get close to civilians ... not even to an ugly little mutt that nobody else wants.” Her voice broke, but she kept her shoulders square, her jaw rigid until she regained control.
He turned towards her. “Rebecca, don’t.”
She opened the passenger door and got out.
She tried to open the front trunk to get her things, jerking on it several times, but it was locked.
“I’ll get it.” He released the lock. He started to lift her carry-on out of the trunk when she took it from him.
“I can handle it!”
He clamped his jaw tight, and picked up the clothes on hangers.
She marched towards the stairs up to his kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she tried to open the door, twisting the knob back and forth, but it, too, was locked.
He shifted her clothes, dangled the house key in the air a moment, then without a word, casually slid it in the lock and opened the door.
She stepped into the middle of the large kitchen with blue, gray, and white granite countertops and white cabinets, and felt like a cranky teenager having a temper tantrum. “I’m sorry, Richie. You’re trying to be nice and I’m treating you horribly. It’s not you, it’s me. I appreciate your help. I really do.”
He met her gaze. “I know you do, even if you have a hard time admitting it. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.” He headed across the living room to the side of the house with the bedrooms. She followed.
The guest room was quite nice, decorated in pale blues and taupe. It wasn’t in any way frilly, but had a crisp, clean feel to it. He opened the closet door and she helped him hang her clothes in it. That done, he
“No. He knows I can take care of myself.”
He studied her. “My offer still stands—my place.”
She realized he was her best choice. But still … “How do I say this? If I’m there, I don’t want any”—she struggled for the words—“funny business.”
He grinned at the old-fashioned term. “Just think of me as your guardian angel.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but you’re no angel. On the other hand, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Good.”
They waited in silence for CSI. After a while, he asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”
That surprised her. “Not that it has anything to do with anything, but yes. There’s a pharmacist.”
“A pharmacist? My.”
Something about his comment made her grit her teeth. She had no idea why, but she felt compelled to add, “And a guy who works at Kiki’s spa.”
“Oh, a spa guy. Super. Does he put the cute little umbrellas in the fruit fizz?”
She grimaced. “He’s a masseuse.”
“A hands-on guy. I see.”
“Not funny.”
“Finally, something I agree with.”
She was glad to see the CSI pull up. She got out of the car, showed Crime Scene Inspector Pacheco to her apartment, gave him her keys, and then left.
o0o
Richie drove in silence to Twin Peaks boulevard, taking a number of small winding streets up to his house, a mid-century modern structure with a garage on street level and directly over it, the living room with an enormous picture window taking full advantage of the view of the Bay Bridge and East Bay hills in the distance.
His silence made her feel both awkward and overwhelmed by all that had just happened to her dog, his friend, her crummy little apartment, and even the conversation they just had about “funny business” and the men—or lack thereof —in her life. That last conversation had broken off with too much left unsaid. She wanted to explain.
He pulled into the garage and stopped the car. Instead of getting out, she stared at her lap a moment, then said, “My staying at your house like this is awkward for me. But I want to be clear. You once told me you could never see yourself dating a cop.” She faced front, still not looking at him. “This situation, this danger, only shows that you’re right. It shows why a cop shouldn’t get close to civilians ... not even to an ugly little mutt that nobody else wants.” Her voice broke, but she kept her shoulders square, her jaw rigid until she regained control.
He turned towards her. “Rebecca, don’t.”
She opened the passenger door and got out.
She tried to open the front trunk to get her things, jerking on it several times, but it was locked.
“I’ll get it.” He released the lock. He started to lift her carry-on out of the trunk when she took it from him.
“I can handle it!”
He clamped his jaw tight, and picked up the clothes on hangers.
She marched towards the stairs up to his kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she tried to open the door, twisting the knob back and forth, but it, too, was locked.
He shifted her clothes, dangled the house key in the air a moment, then without a word, casually slid it in the lock and opened the door.
She stepped into the middle of the large kitchen with blue, gray, and white granite countertops and white cabinets, and felt like a cranky teenager having a temper tantrum. “I’m sorry, Richie. You’re trying to be nice and I’m treating you horribly. It’s not you, it’s me. I appreciate your help. I really do.”
He met her gaze. “I know you do, even if you have a hard time admitting it. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.” He headed across the living room to the side of the house with the bedrooms. She followed.
The guest room was quite nice, decorated in pale blues and taupe. It wasn’t in any way frilly, but had a crisp, clean feel to it. He opened the closet door and she helped him hang her clothes in it. That done, he
Similar Books
