His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at his bare, hairy legs then back up at me like I was from outer space. He wasn’t too far off. My hometown wasn’t even on the map.
“Go on, now, shoo. I’ve got work to do.” I strode over to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed the police.
He stood still, staring dumbstruck through the glass, so I raised my voice. “Better yet, stay there. I’m sure the police will appreciate you making their job easier.”
Flasher Freak blasted me with an evil little smile then opened his coat and did a little dance, giving me a full view of his wiggling package. I watched him bolt down the street. His combat boots smacking the pavement and Trench coat flapping in the frigid winter breeze left me with one insane thought hammering through my tired, overworked brain.
“Darn it, there goes my pickle!”
***
Note to self: Pickles are a strange breed.
Back on my perch, listening to the hum of the fluorescent lights above, I tried to put Flasher Freak’s little peep show out of my mind. Glancing up, I looked out the window. For a moment, I thought I was imagining things, but then I saw something move again from the edge of my vision. A shadow peeked around the corner through the window and swayed from side to side. A streak of silver flashed. The outside light reflected off the barrel of a gun, then the gunman crouched down and crept toward the front door of the motel. I watched in fascination, until it hit me.
Flasher Freak had come back, and he had a gun.
This couldn’t happen twice, could it? My mind raced, contemplating how to handle this latest development. After I’d hung up with the police, I’d unlocked the door in case any other psychos wanted to rent a room at this high-rise version of the Bates Motel. And I honestly hadn’t thought the flasher would be stupid enough to return when I had a positive I.D. on him.
Okay, so I made a mistake. Huge surprise there. I surged to my feet and grabbed the phone then tried to reach the door first. Too late. The door creaked open, and a gun barrel appeared. I froze. Trapped.
A man poked his head in the door and looked side-to-side as he scanned the room. Ho, baby. My stomach hit my throat and then plummeted to the floor. I exhaled a huge puff of air.
He sure as heck wasn’t Flasher Freak.
Flasher Freak didn’t have thick dark hair. Although I couldn’t be sure how thick, since this guy had pulled it back in a sleek, black ponytail. But the slight curls flowing down his neck said soft and full, and a silky-looking goatee circled the sexiest set of lips I’d ever seen. I didn’t even want to think about the muscled neck sporting a gold chain, which could only mean firm biceps to match. And the small gold hoop that shone in the light at his ear? In a word, yummy.
God, why did I have to be such a sucker for bad boys? Bad boys equaled trouble. Men, in general, equaled trouble. Something I didn’t need any more of. Then I blinked at the pair of mirrored sunglasses shielding his eyes. Sunglasses? At night? I shook my head. “Dangerous” came to mind. Dangerous and... delicious. I swallowed, terrified, but all I could think about was playing “pocket pool” with Hot Britches.
Gloria was right. I had serious issues.
He seemed to hesitate when he looked at me, then he reached in his pocket. I held my breath, but he came up empty-handed and cursed. “Detective Cabrizzi, ma’am,” he whispered. “Is the suspect still here?”
Detective? He didn’t look anything like the Detectives I’d met back home. Not that you could compare small-town USA to Queens. Still, where was his badge? I needed proof.
“Not anymore,” I whispered back, “he went that way.” I pointed down the road, hoping he’d look and then leave. “Cops are on their way,” I added. Bad guys didn’t usually like hanging around good guys. At least in the movies I’d seen, they didn’t. I clenched the phone in my hands, fumbling for the numbers. This guy, hot or not, had a gun pointed in my general direction.
He frowned at me. “I’m gonna check the place out.”
He still had that darn gun raised as he scouted around the room. “Uh, okay. I’ll just stand here, I guess.”
He looked at me, but I couldn’t tell what was going on beneath those darn sunglasses. “You do that,” he said, then continued to move around the room, opening doors and checking closets.
“The suspect appears to be long gone,” Hot Britches mused, his six-foot-two inch frame stopping right in front of me. Two whole inches taller than me. That thought shot straight to my libido. He looked like he’d poured his muscular body into a pair of faded Levi jeans with holes in the knees. Fine black hairs curled enticingly in the deep V of his light blue T-shirt, and a black leather jacket set off the sexy ensemble.