okay.”
I skipped sideways down the stairs, pulled out my Glock and flung open the door. I took aim at a man who had slightly curly dark brown hair with a touch of premature gray at his temples. He wore a sleek, camel-colored sport coat that stopped at his knees. His wide stance and packed build made it clear he wasn’t intimidated. He looked at me over the barrel of my gun with a deepening frown.
“Is that thing registered?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Yes. What’s it to you?” I started to lower the weapon when I realized this man wasn’t Tommy Drummond. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
“Detective Riccuccio Marco. I hope you’re not going anywhere, Ms. Baker, because you and I need to have a little chat.”
Chapter 2
The Wild, Wild Midwest
“S orry, I’ve got plans,” I said and shut the door. Another knock. I reopened it and smiled. “Look, Detective, I’m working.”
“So am I.” Eyes that had seen it all and questioned everything glanced down at my gun, which I’d put in its holster, and back up to my tattoo. “What exactly is it you do?”
I had the feeling he already knew, but I’d play along. “I’m a Certified Retribution Specialist. I’m getting ready for an appointment.” I started to shut the door. He stopped it with a strong arm.
“It’s important, Ms. Baker.” With that he pulled out a hologram badge from inside his sport coat and flipped it open.
I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as a three-dimensional display of his head pivoted for my benefit on the business-card-size disk. With his chiseled jaw and seductive, dark eyes, he was movie-star gorgeous, and I never trusted handsome men.
I turned from the hologram to the real thing, my gaze skimming over his bare ring finger. Even though he had to be at least thirty-five, he wasn’t married. Why bother when he probably had women falling at his feet? I’d met men like him before. I’d almost married one, in fact. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
I tipped up my chin and sneered. “Yeah, so you’re a real cop with a real 3-D badge. I’m impressed. I still have to get going.”
His exquisite mouth widened with a patient smile. “If I can’t come in and chat, then I’ll have to assume you’re hiding something.”
My jaw muscles tightened and I said in a low voice, “I’m not hiding anything, Detective. I’m a professional. I’m just doing my job. A job, incidentally, I wouldn’t have to do if you and your brothers-in-arms were more successful at yours.”
I glanced over his shoulder and saw a lumbering big blond man on the sidewalk across the street. He glanced from a piece of paper to the street sign. Oh, my God, it was Drummond. I touched the fake warrant tucked in my hip pocket. I couldn’t whip this out in front of a cop. Marco’s gaze followed my hand, which I then tucked into my pocket, pretending to strike a casual pose. From the corner of my eye, I saw Drummond get his bearings and headdown toward the green lot. Somehow, I had to get rid of Detective Marco before Drummond got tired of waiting for me and left.
“Look,” I said, clearing my throat, “I apologize for what I just said. I’ve been a little sensitive ever since the Gibson Warrant controversy blew up in the press. Some police officers seem to be blaming me and my colleagues just because a judge decided to start giving out death warrants. But I assure you, my profession is just as dedicated to law and order as yours. Now that you mention it, Detective, I would like to chat.” I smiled like a Southern belle offering a mint julep. “Won’t you come in? I’ll be with you in a minute. Actually, maybe a few. I have to buy some, uh, sugar at the corner store.”
His strong, smooth forehead wrinkled with doubt. “Sugar?”
I pointed to the left. “It’s just two doors down.”
Clearly, he wasn’t buying it, but I knew he’d borrow the excuse if it gave him a chance to check out my place without a warrant. I
I skipped sideways down the stairs, pulled out my Glock and flung open the door. I took aim at a man who had slightly curly dark brown hair with a touch of premature gray at his temples. He wore a sleek, camel-colored sport coat that stopped at his knees. His wide stance and packed build made it clear he wasn’t intimidated. He looked at me over the barrel of my gun with a deepening frown.
“Is that thing registered?” he asked in a deep voice.
“Yes. What’s it to you?” I started to lower the weapon when I realized this man wasn’t Tommy Drummond. “Who the hell are you anyway?”
“Detective Riccuccio Marco. I hope you’re not going anywhere, Ms. Baker, because you and I need to have a little chat.”
Chapter 2
The Wild, Wild Midwest
“S orry, I’ve got plans,” I said and shut the door. Another knock. I reopened it and smiled. “Look, Detective, I’m working.”
“So am I.” Eyes that had seen it all and questioned everything glanced down at my gun, which I’d put in its holster, and back up to my tattoo. “What exactly is it you do?”
I had the feeling he already knew, but I’d play along. “I’m a Certified Retribution Specialist. I’m getting ready for an appointment.” I started to shut the door. He stopped it with a strong arm.
“It’s important, Ms. Baker.” With that he pulled out a hologram badge from inside his sport coat and flipped it open.
I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as a three-dimensional display of his head pivoted for my benefit on the business-card-size disk. With his chiseled jaw and seductive, dark eyes, he was movie-star gorgeous, and I never trusted handsome men.
I turned from the hologram to the real thing, my gaze skimming over his bare ring finger. Even though he had to be at least thirty-five, he wasn’t married. Why bother when he probably had women falling at his feet? I’d met men like him before. I’d almost married one, in fact. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
I tipped up my chin and sneered. “Yeah, so you’re a real cop with a real 3-D badge. I’m impressed. I still have to get going.”
His exquisite mouth widened with a patient smile. “If I can’t come in and chat, then I’ll have to assume you’re hiding something.”
My jaw muscles tightened and I said in a low voice, “I’m not hiding anything, Detective. I’m a professional. I’m just doing my job. A job, incidentally, I wouldn’t have to do if you and your brothers-in-arms were more successful at yours.”
I glanced over his shoulder and saw a lumbering big blond man on the sidewalk across the street. He glanced from a piece of paper to the street sign. Oh, my God, it was Drummond. I touched the fake warrant tucked in my hip pocket. I couldn’t whip this out in front of a cop. Marco’s gaze followed my hand, which I then tucked into my pocket, pretending to strike a casual pose. From the corner of my eye, I saw Drummond get his bearings and headdown toward the green lot. Somehow, I had to get rid of Detective Marco before Drummond got tired of waiting for me and left.
“Look,” I said, clearing my throat, “I apologize for what I just said. I’ve been a little sensitive ever since the Gibson Warrant controversy blew up in the press. Some police officers seem to be blaming me and my colleagues just because a judge decided to start giving out death warrants. But I assure you, my profession is just as dedicated to law and order as yours. Now that you mention it, Detective, I would like to chat.” I smiled like a Southern belle offering a mint julep. “Won’t you come in? I’ll be with you in a minute. Actually, maybe a few. I have to buy some, uh, sugar at the corner store.”
His strong, smooth forehead wrinkled with doubt. “Sugar?”
I pointed to the left. “It’s just two doors down.”
Clearly, he wasn’t buying it, but I knew he’d borrow the excuse if it gave him a chance to check out my place without a warrant. I
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