He paces the area before the stove. Then he says, “We could go through Julie’s bank statements.”
I jerk up, suddenly alert, the moment of the kiss lost. “You have her bank statements?”
He nods. “I have all of her mail.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Rikki
I could have kissed Lucas for telling me about Julie’s mail. Truth be known, I could have kissed him, anyway, wanted to, more than I’ve wanted anything with any man since that crazy night with Den Hamilton.
There’s a humming in the back of my head now, like a love song playing softly in the next apartment, just loud enough to hear if you stop to listen. I don’t justlookat myself in a mirror now. Iexamine—wondering if my minimalist makeup plays all right, if my manicure-scissors-clipped hair is reallyfun,as my stylist insists, or just weird. Is my natural peach-fuzz color honest or bizarre? Then there’s my hair, in general. Should I keep it defiantly short like this, or let it grow?
And my body of course. Damn. I make even myself ill. Thank God no one else can hear my sudden detour into Vanity Land.
I’ve dealt with this delicious indecision only one other time in my life, with Den Hamilton. And when he became my boss, and that relationship ended before it began, I paid big-time dues. Swore I’d never revisit that Fantasy Island again. Now here I am, ready to head there tomorrow, on a sailboat, no less. It’s the worst and best part of being a woman.
I hate it.
I love it.
And I can’t stop wondering if Lucas Morrison really likes me.
It has to be business today, and I will see that it is. We are going to Julie Larimore’s home. I’m sure Lucas hasn’t shared those plans with Bobby Warren, but I could be wrong. Loyalty is his strength, just as tenacity is mine. It’s good to know your strength, as Lucas pointed out, so that you can also know your weakness.
I meet him there, because as much as I’d like to ride in the same car with him, I feel more secure with my own wheels. Embarrassed that I spent so much time self-evaluating and primping, I pulled on, at the last minute, allblack everything, without stopping to think which or what.
Now I stand outside a discreet condominium complex, vaguely visible through what look like castle gates. I see his smooth gray little car, something retro that’s supposed to remind those who can remember them and those who’d like to of the Datsun 240Zs. It slides up beside me; I jump in, smelling crisp fabric and that citrus scent of his before we can as much as look at each other.
“I appreciate this,” I say. How formal and stupid is that?
“I trust you.” I can almost taste the words, and I can feel the sweet decency that caused him to speak them.
“I’ll earn that trust,” I say, looking straight ahead into the jungle of this remote complex. “I promise.”
“Bobby W insisted we pay all of Julie’s bills and her house payment, as well as the lease on her Mercedes, which is a company car, anyway. That’s why I have a key. It’s his way of gambling that she’s coming back.”
“If he really talked to her on the phone, she might be.”
“If.”
Now I have to turn, but his face is stone, all profile and posture. “I’m sure she will,” he says.
I go the friendly reporter route. “I’m glad you’re letting me take a look at it. Once I see the place, maybe I’ll think of something I didn’t before.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he says.
He stops to retrieve Julie’s mail, and we pull into the garage in front of the gated unit. He’s dressed down, as well, in a shirt that skims over his muscles and jeans, with which he’s wearing what I can only call boat shoes. The bruise still welts the area beneath his eye.
As if feeling my gaze, he stops, and even with the dark glasses, I can see his eyes soften into the way they looked yesterday when we were on the sailboat.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Nothing. I was just thinking this is the second time I’ve seen you without a tie.”
“But not the last time, I hope.”
His voice makes it sound erotic. I don’t answer, moving instead into the living room.
