About That Kiss:A Heartbreaker Bay Novel(4)

"To go," Kylie said to Sean.

He eyed her undoubtedly crazed expression. "How much have you already had today?"

"Oh, not much." She took a grateful sip as he poured her more. Her hands  were shaking. She could hear colors. But that wasn't the point right  now. She looked at Molly. "The answer to your question is nothing.  Nothing's going on with me and Joe, although I'm pretty sure we don't  like each other very much-no offense intended."

Molly shrugged. "He's an acquired taste, so no offense taken."

"Not only don't we like each other," Kylie said, "we irritate each other. Just by breathing. Like, all the time."

"Huh," Molly said and looked at Elle. "You hearing what I'm hearing?"

"Yep. It's a classic case of protesting too much."

"No," Kylie said. "Really."

"Definite denial," Elle said.

"See, that's why you don't ever deny," Sadie said calmly.

"I'm denying because it's not true!" Kylie said. "The Joe thing is nothing."

"And now there's a Joe ‘thing,'" Haley said, using air quotes. "Fascinating."

"Okay, we're out," Kylie said, lifting Vinnie's carrier. "We're going to the barbecue now."

Vinnie perked up at this. Vinnie loved food.

"Which is at . . . whose house again?" Haley asked innocently.

"Joe's." Shit. Kylie slapped a hand over her mouth. "What the hell is that?" she asked around her fingers.

Her so-called friends grinned.

"Gah. I'm going to Gib's," she corrected herself, horrified, enunciating  his name carefully. "G-I-B, Gib's." Then, before she could make  anything worse, she left.

She dropped Vinnie off at home with a hug and his dinner. Then, thirty  minutes later, she stood on Gib's front porch. He'd inherited a tiny  Victorian on the edge of Pacific Heights. It was a cute, little old lady  place, and everyone who came here made fun of Gib for keeping it.

He couldn't care less. Property in San Francisco was priced out of the  atmosphere and so he made this house work for him. He'd added some  modern touches, such as an eighty-inch LED TV and an extra fridge, and  called it good.

Kylie knocked but he didn't answer. Probably because his music was on loud and there were people inside. As in lots of them.         

     



 

This wasn't a date. It was a party.

Feeling stupid, she turned to go just as Gib finally opened the front  door. "Hey!" he said, smiling at the sight of her. "You came! Listen,"  he said more quietly, taking a quick peek over his shoulder. "A few  friends showed up unexpectedly and brought-"

From behind him, two arms wrapped around his waist and then the smiling  face of Rena, his beautiful, perfect ex-girlfriend, appeared over his  shoulder. "Hey, Kylie," she said sweetly. She squeezed Gib  affectionately, resting her chin against him. "How you doing?"

"Good," Kylie said automatically, eyes still locked in on Gib, who winced and mouthed, "I'm sorry."

But Kylie was the sorry one, sorry that she felt like a complete idiot. "I can't stay. Something's come up and I've gotta-"

Gib tugged her inside, shook off Rena, and put a glass of wine in  Kylie's hand. "Stay. Drink. Be merry." He lowered his voice. "Seriously,  I'm so sorry. I didn't expect her. Stay? Please?"

Mostly Kylie preferred to eat her carbs but tonight she downed the glass  and, bolstered by liquid courage, even danced with Gib. Twice. And she  stepped on his toes only one of those times.

When it became clear Rena wasn't going to leave before she did, she  finally headed home just before midnight, because like Cinderella, she  had to work in the morning.

And because she was also a little frustrated and very tired, she didn't  notice the manila envelope that had been shoved through the mail flap on  her front door. It wasn't until she'd greeted a sleepy, adorable Vinnie  and then gone straight to the kitchen for the ice cream in her freezer  that she looked back as she leaned against the counter to inhale her  dessert.

On the floor, just inside her front door, lay the envelope. Odd, as  she'd gotten all her mail the first time she'd been home, but she set  down the ice cream and picked it up. Inside was an instant Polaroid and  it stopped her heart.

It was a close-up of her missing penguin in mortal danger, staged to  look like it was falling off the Golden Gate Bridge into the bay.

What. The. Hell.

Someone had stolen her statue. And worse, was now taunting her with it.  Why? She couldn't think of one good reason and knew she needed to  confide in someone. But who? Not Gib. You didn't go running to your  crush to play the damsel-in-distress in the twenty-first century. Or at  least, she didn't. She could try the police but she could already see  how that would go. "Hello, someone stole my beloved but worthless  penguin carving and is pretending to knock it off the bridge."

They'd laugh her out of town.

She could also do absolutely nothing, but whoever had done this knew  her, or at least knew where she lived. Suitably creeped out, she  double-checked all the locks on her windows and doors. Then she tucked  Vinnie into his crate, turned out the light, and climbed into bed.

And lay there, jumping at every creak.

Two minutes later, she got out of bed, retrieved Vinnie, and climbed  back beneath the covers. Excited to be where he wasn't usually allowed,  he snuggled her, curling up on her pillow with her. A gust of wind  brushed a branch against her window and she stilled. "Did you hear  that?"

Vinnie, apparently secure in his safety, closed his eyes.

But not Kylie. She didn't sleep a wink, and by morning she knew she not  only couldn't go on like this but also needed answers. And to get them  she was going to need help.

The thing was, she really hated needing help of any kind. She'd been  raised to count on herself and only herself. So it went against the  grain, but fear was a big motivating factor here. She needed someone  good at this stuff.

Archer, the head of Hunt Investigations, was the first person to come to  mind. She could go to him. He'd help for sure. But the problem was that  he knew she was strapped for cash so he wouldn't charge her, and she'd  feel guilty taking him away from his own work.

She racked her brain for any other way, but the only answer that came to  her was . . . Joe. She could make him the mirror in exchange for his  help.

Dammit.





Chapter 3





FastenYourSeatbeltsItsGoingToBeABumpyRide         

     



 



Joe Malone wasn't a big fan of mornings and never had been. Growing up,  his alarm clock had been his dad banging a pan on the stovetop. Later,  in the military, it'd been some higher ranked asshole screaming into his  ear.

Today it was 100 percent pure responsibility that had him rolling out of  bed. He worked on a team of independent contractors who took on  criminal, corporate, and insurance investigations along with elite  security contracts, surveillance, fraud, and corporate background  checks. There were also the occasional forensic investigations, big bond  bounty hunting, government contract work, and more. The guy in charge,  Archer Hunt, was a tough taskmaster, but it was the best job Joe had  ever had. He was second in command and the resident IT genius. Not that  he'd started out in IT.

Nope, he'd begun his illustrious career in . . . breaking and entering.

Shrugging the old memories off, he pulled on running gear and managed to  get to the previously arranged meeting spot without killing anyone for  looking at him cross-eyed. A real feat for how early it was.

Spence was waiting for him and wordlessly handed him a coffee. He was  kind enough to wait for the caffeine to kick in before saying, "You're  late."

"Alarm didn't go off," Joe said.

"Because you don't use an alarm."

True enough. Joe had an internal clock, one of the things he could thank the army for beating into him.

"You alright?" Spence asked. "I mean, you're always a bitch in the mornings but you look particularly bitchy today."

"Bite me."

Spence was richer than God and brilliant enough that he'd once been  recruited to work for a government think tank. Joe was not richer than  God, and though he'd also once worked for the government-in special  forces, to be exact-it hadn't been his brain that had been coveted, but  his ability to be as lethal as needed.

To say he and Spence were unlikely friends was an understatement. It'd  started at the weekly poker game that went on in the Pacific Pier  Building's basement. Spence owned the building, so he played poker with  an easy abandon. Joe played poker the same way he lived his  life-recklessly. It'd bonded them.

Spence, not really a morning person either and certainly not a coddler,  accepted Joe's "bite me" for "I'm fine," and they tossed the coffee cups  in a trash and took off running. Today they hit the Lyon Street stairs,  which-talk about being a bitch-were a straight-up torture rack of 332  steep steps, made all the more daunting by the early morning fog hiding  the top third of them from view. This made it feel like an endless,  unobtainable goal, not that they let this stop them. If anything, they  each pushed harder, trying to outrun each other.