Cam leaves before me, as do Mirabelle and Kowalski, who saunter in and out after chasing a false lead. A few of the uniforms have to remain behind for clean up, but I slip out. I grab dinner on the way home and find five dresses on my couch to choose from. Justin must have given Shannon his key. Considering the woman has no problems with my occasional demands for errand running, I let this invasion of privacy slide. I settle on the cerulean one with black netting underneath that flares in a bell skirt down to my knees. Brings out my eyes and skin, my two best features. As I’m putting the other four back into their garment bags, my phone chirps letting me know I have a text. When I read it, a huge smile stretches across my face.
I pull up to his apartment building half an hour later. His doorman, Bruce, opens the door for me. “Spiffy coat,” he says. I smile and nod. Harry lives on the second floor at the end of the hall. I fluff my hair, check my breath, and knock on the door.
He’s still in his work clothes, but his shirt is untucked and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He has a phone to his ear, but smiles and waves me in. “No, I’m happy with our progress. We know—”
The sight of me almost makes him drop the phone.
The now open coat falls to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my birthday suit and black knee high boots. His mouth drops open. “Um, Randy, can I call you back? Something just came up.” He hangs up the phone, and we more than make up for lost time.
I just can’t get enough of that man.
CHAPTER NINE
INTERVIEWS
I wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon, in my opinion the second best way to wake up. The first is a variation of what Harry and I were up to all last night. There’s always tomorrow morning. I stir in his four poster bed with a smile.
He’s fully dressed at the stove pushing the sizzling cholesterol around. I open the paper on the table. V’s story is on the front page, though it’s below the fold and doesn’t get the headline or space Gearhead does. Besides the information I gave her, she contacted the prison, a few of Alkaline’s old goons all of whom both she and I went to high school with, and a forensic psychologist. Good reading, but it doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Harry sets down the plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, and sits down across from me with the same on his. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.”
We both dig into our meals and read our respective papers. “So, quiet night?”
“Yeah. You know, I’m beginning to think he did leave the city. He would have put his plan into effect by now.”
I sip my coffee. “You do realize you just jinxed us, right?” I smile and nudge him with my big toe. “He’s probably setting charges at city hall as I speak. That’s on you.”
“Cute.”
“You know, there are other cases out there we can work. Murder doesn’t stop just because James Ryder busted out of prison.”
“I know. That’s why I’m going to call the commissioner and see if I can get Kowalski and Mirabelle released from the task force.”
“Why them?” I whine.
“Because you’re the face of the investigation. If he does wreck havoc, and the press finds out we reneged on our promise, it’ll be a political bloodbath.” He drinks his coffee. “Speaking of faces, you’d better put yours on. You have another press conference this morning. The press office faxed the statement you’ll give a few minutes ago.”
“They still want me to do that? Nobody cares anymore. If I speak, and there’s nobody around to listen, did I ever speak at all?” I lean back, all proud of myself for deep thinking. “Think about it.”
He smirks. “You’re quite philosophical this morning.”
“I will try anything not to have to put on make-up. You know that.”
“Well, I don’t think you need it. You’re gorgeous just the way you are.”
“Aww,” I say. “I’m glad you think that, but I’ve been on the Galilee worst dressed list far too many times to believe that. Sorry.”
He blinks a few times, shakes his head, and then sighs. “You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” Harry asks, both sad and shocked.
“Shut up,” I say, blushing. “I am not. I’m short. I need to lose ten pounds. I have cellulite. My hair’s frizzy and wild. I’m the color of paper. My nose is crooked. I can get away with many adjectives, but not beautiful.”
He leans across. “You just named every aspect about you that drives me wild.” He kisses the bump on my nose. “You’re beautiful. And trust me, I am not the only one who thinks so. You should hear some of the comments the men make about you.”