Unmanned Read Free

comes with age. I was looking pretty damn smart. And my nose was red. Maybe that was a sign of genius. I sighed, washed my hands, and planned my evening as I wandered into the foyer to arm the security system. I’d eat, slurp down some Nyquil, and drift away into a blissful, drug-induced haze.
    But the doorbell rang just as I was about to touch the keypad, and I jumped despite my placid nerves and shrink training.
    Harlequin barked and circled ecstatically. He had adored Rivera ever since the dark lieutenant had insisted I take him in.
    “Steady,” I said. Maybe I was talking to the dog.
    Taking a few deep breaths, I checked my watch. He was forty-two minutes late when I opened the door.
    “Congratulations, Lieutenant. You’re only—” I began, but my words withered as I recognized my visitor. The windshield man stood on my crumbling steps, hands shoved into his back pockets, eyes sincere behind his wire-rim glasses.
    “Will Swanson,” he said, and gave me an embarrassed grin. “From the gas station?”
    “Oh. Yes,” I said, witty under pressure.
    Strong as a bulldozer, Harlequin squeezed past my leg to slam his nose into Windshield Guy’s groin.
    “Holy crap!” he said, backed against the stucco. “What is that?”
    “Sorry. Harlequin, come!” I ordered. I might just as well have told him to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. He paid me no attention whatsoever. But after a couple more snuffles, he sneezed twice, then galloped loose-limbed down the steps and made a mad circle around my abbreviated yard, past my lone cactus and the two rocks that keep it company.
    Windshield Guy watched, eyes wide behind the wire-rims. “Is it…a dog?”
    Harley’s ears were flapping like wind socks and his tongue stretched nearly to his piebald shoulder. “Maybe,” I said. “Can I help you?”
    “Oh.” He looked surprised. “I’m sorry. Weren’t you expecting me?”
    I may have blinked. Sometimes it’s the most intelligent expression I can muster on short notice.
    “I called your office,” he added.
    I waited.
    “Asked if it would be okay to stop by. Your secretary gave me your address,” he added quickly.
    I wished like hell I could believe he was lying, but I’d known Mandy for a couple of weeks now. The girl made Gatorade look like Einstein.
    “Oh, shit,” he said, and blushed a little, backing away. “She didn’t tell you I called. You probably have company. I can…” He glanced uncomfortably down the street. “I’ll come back later.”
    “No, it’s all right.” No company. No Asian ambrosia. Harlequin galumphed back up the steps, nearly falling on his face before plopping his bony rump atop my foot and gazing adoringly into my eyes. If a guy looked at me like that even once I’d have five fat babies and a gas-guzzling minivan by Thursday. Reaching down, I fondled one droopy ear and reminded myself I knew very little about this guy except for the nice forearms. “How’d you get my phone number?”
    “Yellow pages. L.A. Counseling. Christina McMullen, Ph.D.” He was blushing again. Kind of sweet, but when I glanced toward the street, my suspicions fired up. Maybe they’re innate. Or maybe the attempts on my life have had an adverse effect on my naturally trusting nature. “Where’s your car?”
    He laughed, sounding nervous as he backed down my walkway. “Hank needed the truck. I took a cab over. Cost me an arm and an ear.”
    Suspicions. Maybe that was why I was sans five fat babies and the ubiquitous minivan. “Did you want to take a look at the garage?” I led him down the steps. Harlequin followed me, over the ragged walkway and through my front gate.
    “I’m sorry if I’ve made you nervous. I was sure your secretary would have told you to expect me,” he said.
    “Not your fault,” I said. “The Magnificent Mandy doesn’t like to be conventional.” I was starting to feel a little guilty. I mean, yeah, I did need a garage update, but I was far more interested in how his forearms