Together Again(84)

                Once into the house, she dropped her purse on a chair and stared at her living room as if seeing it for the first time.

                “How about I take a look around,” he said and started down the hall toward the guest room.

                “Thanks. I know it’s weird but … ” She went into the kitchen. “Want a cup of coffee or something? I’m going to make myself some cocoa. Maybe something warm will help.” From the refrigerator she brought out a carton of milk.

                “Hot chocolate sounds good.” He was at the foot of the steps, about to go upstairs, when he saw her on tiptoe reaching for the cocoa. “I’ll get that for you.”

                She brought down the container. “No thanks, I’ve got it.” Her hand began to shake. She grasped it with her other hand, which only made it worse because it, too, was shaking. The lid popped off and cocoa powder scattered over the counter.

                Tony closed the distance between them in a few steps and took the can from her. One look at her face and he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

                She began to sniffle. “I’m going to cry, aren’t I?”

                “Yeah, you are.”

                When she’d finished pouring a significant amount of the fluid in her body out through her eyes and onto his shirt, she fumbled for a paper towel. He got there first, pulled one off, gently wiped her face and held it so she could blow her nose.

                “You must think I’m some kind of wuss.” She could feel her eyes puffing up and her nose beginning to run again.

                “I think you’re a smart and resourceful woman who’s had a really bad day at work. You’re doing great.”

                Still sniffing, she reached for another paper towel. “This is embarrassing. Cops don’t cry.”

                “Sometimes they do. And the ones who don’t can do really stupid things instead.”

                “Oh, God, I’ve made a mess of your shirt.” She pointed to the wet spots streaked with mascara and make-up now decorating his chest.

                He glanced down and shrugged his shoulders. “This one was headed for the laundry anyway.” Taking the towel from her hand, he dabbed at her eyes. “How ’bout I make the hot chocolate. Go upstairs and get into bed. I’ll bring it up when it’s ready.”





Chapter 22


                When did it get to be so bright? Were all the lights in the marina on? Margo sat up, looked out at the river and realized the light wasn’t courtesy of the power company. It was morning. She barely remembered coming up the stairs, let alone falling into bed. But she obviously had.

                From downstairs, she heard the sounds of Charlie Byrd’s guitar jazz and a man talking. Then she smelled coffee. What the hell? She was groggy but she was awake. Who was down there? Maybe someone broke in. Another Russian had found her. But what kind of intruder would make coffee and play music?

                She’d better go find out what was going on. Throwing her legs out from under the sheet, she banged into her bedside table. There was a cup of something on the nightstand. It looked like chocolate milk. Right, she’d been making cocoa when she got home. Before she could connect the dots, she saw her reflection in the mirror. Why had she put on a man’s pajama top with her bikini panties?

                She’d sort that out later. Now, she needed her cell phone and something she could use as a weapon, just in case. Looking around her room, she couldn’t see her phone. And there were few weapons options. The only choices seemed to be an original Amanda St. Claire glass art piece or a ten-pound hand weight. The art glass was heavier and more dangerous to use as a weapon but it was also much more valuable. The hand weight, it was.