A second admission, no less surprising.
“In my defense,” he continued, “you shouldn’t have been leaving alone. Downtown is practically deserted at that time of night except for predators on the hunt for easy pickin’s like you. Were you armed?”
“You mean with a gun?”
“A gun, pepper spray, brass knuckles, slingshot, pea shooter, anything?”
“I wasn’t armed.”
“What I thought. Walking to your car in the dark like that—”
“There’s a light in the parking lot.”
“One. With a forty-watt bulb that flickers. It only makes it easier for a bad guy to spot you.”
“Orstalkme.”
That stopped his banter cold. He placed his hands on his hips, lowered his head, and stared down at the ground, then gave the street a slow visual sweep before coming back to her. “Pretty cul de sac.”
“Thank you. What are you doing on it?”
“I’m not being cute, Dylan,” he said with a sigh. “I need to talk to you. For real. No bullshit, no joking.”
He seemed serious. He looked downcast. For all her misgivings where he was concerned, she found herself believing him. “You have an appointment tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t make it. That’s why I’m here.”
“You could have called.”
“And gone through that endless menu I’ve memorized by now? It took less time to drive here.”
“How did you know that I would be at home?”
“I took a chance. It’s that important. Can we talk? You can add the time to John’s tab. Double your normal rate.” He flashed a half grin. Still, she hesitated, and he picked up on it. “Look, we don’t have to go inside. We can sit in my truck, or in your car.”
Those confines would feel even more intimate and inappropriate. She shook her head.
“Okay, what if we went someplace public?”
“You want to talk about something ‘that important’ with other people around?”
“I’d rather not, but if you make that a condition, I will.”
“Like where?”
“There’s that café at the highway turnoff. The one with the blue neon crawfish on the sign. Never have understood why it’s blue and not red, but how about there?”
To give herself time either to talk herself out of this or to rationalize agreeing to it, she looked at her wristwatch. But she already knew she was going to agree to it. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
“You promise? You’re not just saying that to get me to leave so you can lock yourself inside your house? I can pick locks, you know.”
Tightly, she repeated, “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, jogged back to his truck, and drove away.
Telling herself that she must be crazy, that she was the one in desperate need of therapy, she retrieved her briefcase from her car, let herself inside the house, and went straight upstairs to her bedroom. She changed from work clothes and heels into a pair of jeans, a white tee, and a black linen jacket. Black flats for shoes. All very tailored. Definitely not date clothes.
She brushed out her ponytail, but made a fresh one even tighter than the original. She applied lip gloss. Looking at herself in the mirror, she said, “That will do.” But on her way out, she changed her mind, and went back to whisk her cheeks with blush and her lashes with mascara.
