No, she had nothing to worry about from this man. Unless she counted the way his heated inspection of her belly button made her toes curl in her boots.
Ginger put a little steel in her spine, refusing the urge to shield herself from his interested gaze, then frowned, wondering why Officer Needs-a-Nap elicited such an odd reaction from her. She’d never shied away from being checked out before, having accepted at a young age that men liked the look and shape of her face and body. A fat lot of good it had ever done her.
But then his eyes snapped up to hers. And determinedly stayed there.
Interesting.
She flashed him her best smile. “Sorry to disturb you, Officer. We didn’t think there’d be anyone at home, being that it’s the middle of the day and all.”
“Well, here I am. And it’s Lieutenant.”
Ouch. She shoots, she misses. Ginger could practically feel Willa’s sarcastic oh, you don’t say! expression aimed squarely at the lieutenant even though her back was turned to her sister. Ginger was having a difficult time keeping the same expression off her own face. If her teeth were slightly clenched behind her smile, surely Lieutenant Cranky Pants didn’t notice.
“My apologies, Lieutenant,” she countered stiffly. “And that’s my second and final apology for the day.”
Ginger gave him her back once more to lift the end of the table, catching a hint of amusement on his face as she turned. Not that she gave a damn.
The cell phone in her front pocket vibrated for the umpteenth time today. She knew who called and why. She also knew she wouldn’t answer, or listen to the subsequent voice mail message. First chance she got, she’d cancel the plan and get new cell phones for herself and Willa.
With a nod in her sister’s direction, they picked up the table with the intention of continuing into the apartment.
“What the hell is that?”
Ginger dropped the table and faced the questioning lieutenant, making Willa shout a four-letter expletive at the ceiling. His annoyed green gaze flicked to Willa before inclining his head toward the statue propping open the door.
Both she and Willa looked toward the statue, then back at him.
Ginger answered slowly, as if speaking to the town idiot who also happened to be hard of hearing. “I assume you meant, ‘Who the hell is that?’ and to that question I say, who are you? Who are any of us?”
“I don’t follow.”
“That, Lieutenant, is the Smoky Mountain Songbird herself.”
“The Backwoods Barbie,” Willa chimed in angrily.
The man looked completely confused, so Ginger decided to take pity on him. “Dolly Parton.”
“Dolly motherfucking Parton.”
“Language, Willa. Honestly.”
Ginger waited for a reaction and felt far from satisfied when he merely shrugged his broad shoulders as if to say, “Should I know who that is?”
And that was the final straw.
“Willa, darling, you mind waiting for me inside the apartment?”
She felt rather than saw her sister’s eye roll, but heard her comply noisily, stomping inside the apartment. Then Ginger stood alone in the brightly lit hall with the scowling Lieutenant Von A-hole.
Twice he’d made her apologize after blatantly giving her the once-over, shot her little sister a dirty look, and then shrugged, shrugged at the mention of the Queen of Nashville. And this was after he’d yelled at them like a lunatic from his upstairs window.
Ginger couldn’t let it stand.
She sauntered forward, coming to a stop a foot away from his tall frame, and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes narrow warily. Up close, she saw his green eyes were rimmed with red and recognized a hangover when she saw one. Having skimmed his starched, navy blue uniform all the way up to his ruthlessly shorn, dark brown hair, something told her tying one on wasn’t something he did on a regular basis. No, despite his overtly masculine appearance, his reserve suggested he would be the type to order a glass of milk at the bar.
That offended her as a bartender and as a recreational drinker.
She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. This morning, she’d woken up happy and optimistic. Ginger couldn’t remember the last time that was the case. She’d outrun the storm cloud darkening the sky above her head in Nashville and had come to Chicago for a new start. For her. For Willa. Adios leaky roof and questionable future.
After spending a week in a cheap, dingy motel, Ginger finally found an affordable neighborhood with a good high school nearby, close enough to downtown Chicago and potential work for herself. Then she’d sweet-talked the landlord into a double security deposit in lieu of the mandatory credit check. And bam! They now had themselves a sweet two-bedroom with new appliances and hardwood floors. Amenities that up until yesterday sounded like a foreign language. She and Willa had picked out furniture at thrift stores and yard sales throughout the week, pretending to be college students living off-campus. They’d had fun, dammit. Without a time limit.