“Do you have a trench coat?”
“I have my old gray wool coat,” I said, wincing. “I think that will do.”
“All right, I’ll bring you sunglasses.” She ended the call.
I needed ibuprofen. My temples ached in a way that ticked through my entire skull to land in my neck. This was shaping up to be a bad day. I made my way out of the office and down the hallway to where Bud waited in full uniform, leaning against the wall. He straightened.
“You know, you could sit down once in a while,” I said.
He didn’t answer, his alert gaze focused on me.
All right. I might’ve gotten him shot, knocked out, and then fired upon more than once. Yet he made excellent backup. “I need to run an errand, and I wouldn’t mind if you were there.”
“If you’re running an errand, I will be there,” he said.
“Great,” I murmured. “You’re going to love Lisa Robinson.”
Chapter32
After a brief argument where Bud wanted me to sit in the patrol car’s back seat, and I insisted upon sitting in front, I won. I may have winced a little and pretended my shoulder hurt worse than it did to gain sympathy. I wasn’t sure it worked because he rolled his eyes as he opened the front door. But yet, here I sat in the front, oddly tempted to play with the siren.
“Leave the siren alone,” he said, driving away from the main hub of town.
“I didn’t even move.” I kicked my feet toward the warm heater. “Bud, when are you going to forgive me?”
“For what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Well, I got you shot at, knocked out, and attacked—more than once.” I winced. “You know, all of it was an accident.”
He flipped the windshield wipers on faster. “Of course, it was an accident. I’m not mad at you.”
That was somewhat reassuring. “You don’t seem to enjoy being around me.”
His snort was totally unlike him. “A guy can only take so many bullets, Albertini.”
I smoothed my slacks down. “You make a good point.” Perhaps I should reassure him of his safety. “I promise, we’re just going out to the antique store. You’re in your uniform, and you look tough. There won’t be any problems.”
His silence seemed disagreeable.
“I mean it,” I insisted.
“Fine.” He turned down the heat.
I watched as we entered a more rural area and glanced up toward the white-capped mountains. Thank goodness we’d had a heavy snowpack this year. It would be good for fire season in the summer. “How’s it going with the wife?”
“That’s personal,” he said.
“But we’re friends.”
Somehow, his shoulders straightened. “I don’t think we’re friends.”
“I think we’re friends.” I turned and stared at him.
A light flush crept over his broad cheekbones. “Sheila doesn’t like Idaho, and I don’t like living in the city.”
I perked up. “Which city?”
“Oakland,” he said.
