Rubbing her throbbing head, she walked into her living room and plopped down onto the couch. She’d been too busy to think of her feelings for these two men, but now she was exhausted from everything she’d accomplished. The detectives in the precinct had interviewed more people, and from these interviews, they’d gotten more leads. But they still weren’t any closer to finding Hillary Bank’s killer.
Kurt, Tyrone and Gibbs leaned more toward Austin and Chad Johnson, mainly because they were rich. She happened to think the congressman’s son, Tim Beaton, had a questionable alibi. None of these men—save for one—admitted to have paid for Hillary’s services. Was Austin the only honorable man on the precinct’s list of suspects?
Nothing made sense. While she was interviewing leads, Kurt tried to find out everyone in Seattle that might have a collection of medieval weapons. The medical examiner had the broken piece, so all they needed to do was to find the rest of the weapon in hopes of catching the murderer.
Around four-thirty, they had returned to Isabella’s Escort Service, only to find it had been closed for the day.Figures.Both she and Kurt knew that escort business was hiding something. Apparently, they were trying to conceal the owner, Mr. Martin. What other things have they disclosed?
A knock came upon the door. Hesitantly, she trudged across the room to see who had come. Instead of looking through the peephole this time, she just opened the door. Austin stood in front of her, holding a bouquet of red roses. Her heart softened to see him after such a long and grueling day, but her heart leapt with happiness that he was thoughtful and brought her flowers, too.
“Austin! What a surprise. Please, come in.”
He walked in and she closed the door. Shaking her head in confusion, she took the flowers he handed to her.
“How did you know where I lived? Or did I give you my address and just forgot?”
“I was leaving the flower shop when I saw you drive past. I quickly jumped into my car and followed you.” He stepped closer to her and stroked her cheek. “I hope you don’t mind if I start our date a little earlier than planned.”
“Not at all. Thank you so much for the flowers. I’ll put them in a vase.” She moved into the kitchen to look through her cupboards. She had a vase once, but she couldn’t remember where she placed it.
“So this is where you live?” he asked as he walked toward her living room.
“Yes. It’s nothing fancy.”Oh, there’s a vase!She carefully placed the roses inside.
He tsked and shook his head before looking over his shoulder and grinning wide. “And to think, you turned down a penthouse suite for this.”
She laughed. “Exactly. Now you can see why, right?”
He moved back to her at the counter by the sink as she filled the vase with water.
“Yes, I can see why you wouldn’t be able to give up a place like this. Creaky floors, chipped walls and ceilings. Warped cupboards in the kitchen. And if I’m not mistaken,” he glanced at the sink’s faucet, “a dripping problem to go along with the other extra bonuses that came with the apartment.”
She playfully slugged him in the arm. “Right, and it’s all mine…for only eight-hundred dollars a month.”
“You certainly live in a fairy tale, don’t you?” He winked.
“But of course. That’s the only way to make it through the day…to pretend I’m in a fairy tale.” Closing her eyes, she opened her arms wide and sighed.
“Am I your Prince Charming?” he asked, closing the space between them as he circled his arms around her.
She released another sigh, heavier and more meaningful this time, cuddling against his chest. “Definitely, you’re my Prince Charming.”
He stroked the length of her ponytailed hair. “Then you shall be my Princess Charming.”
Giggling, she peered up into his seducing gaze. “Princess Charming? Who in the world is that?”
“It’s whoever you want to be, sweet lady.”
“For tonight, I just want to be myself with you.”
He kissed her forehead. “Do you want me to take you out to eat?”
“Actually,” she caressed his muscular chest, “if you don’t mind, I want to stay right here with you. We can have dinner here. I’ll order pizza—or Chinese delivery. Which one do you want?”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Would you think I’m a snob if I confess I haven’t had pizza or Chinese delivered to me for many years?”
“No, I wouldn’t think that way about you.” She pulled out of his embrace, “However, I think you’re going to love either one of them. The nearby restaurants in this area have the best food.”
“Which one are you hungry for?” he asked.
