steely glint in her eyes, I wasn’t entirely certain she was joking.
18
L illee got out of the car and gestured for me to follow. I still wasn’t convinced I should trust her, let alone follow her into a darkened apartment building while she was carrying a firearm.
“Are you coming, Zack? Where’s your Kimber?”
“My what?” I asked.
“Your gun, you idiot.”
“What part of ‘nothing but the clothes on my back’ did you miss, lady?”
“So there’s no chance you’ve got keys to this place.”
“Nope,” I responded, holding out open and very empty hands.
She muttered a curse, then thumbed a button on her key fob to pop the trunk. Tucking the Derringer at the small of her back and adjusting her blazer over it, she went and rummaged around. She pulled out a device the approximate shape and size of an electric drill, then she grabbed a camel-brown overcoat and draped it across one arm, tucking the hand tool under it.
“What else you got back there?” I asked, craning my neck to see over the lid of the trunk. “A James Bond Do-It-Yourself Spy Kit?”
She chuckled despite herself, using her free hand to shut the trunk as quietly as possible. “The trunk of a lady’s car is a lot like the contents of her purse. Mysterious to menfolk like yourself, and intended to remain that way.”
She began striding smartly toward the other side of the street. She’d parked so close to the car in front that there was barely enough room for me to fit through. By the time I jigged past, Lil was already halfway across, but I easily caught up to her.
“Seriously, Lil. What if you get caught with that thing stowed in your trunk? Isn’t it illegal or something?”
She laughed openly at this. It was a warm throaty sound and she only remembered we were trying to be quiet about halfway through. Stopping with one foot on the curb in front of my apartment, she turned to me.
“On the rare occasions that I have been pulled over, I have never,
ever
gotten a ticket. No one has asked to look inside my…
trunk
.”
As if to elaborate, she pitched her shoulders forward ever so slightly, tilting her cleavage into full view. Then she lifted her storm-gray eyes to mine, regarding me from under her thick nest of lashes. With a coy tilt of her head, she gave me her best come-hither. That warm spice and vanilla scent rolled off of her, and her very female-ness seemed like a palpable force clawing at me.
“I bet that works on all the lady cops,” I choked.
Lil batted her lashes and it felt like the temperature of the chilly fall night rose to something measurable in Kelvin. I took a judicious step back, even though my body was screaming that closer would be better—and much more fun. Lil eyed me for a few moments, the curl to her lips unmistakable.
On the other hand, maybe it does
, I thought.
“Uh, ladies first,” I said with an awkward and exaggerated bow.
“Always,” she replied primly, and continued toward the apartment building. I made sure she got a head start, then followed cautiously behind. It was a good bet Lil put the fatal back in
femme fatale
.
As it turned out, we didn’t need the lock-pick gun. The door sagged partly open. I nudged it the rest of the way with one elbow, moved into the living room, then automatically reached for the light switch on the inside. A brass pole lamp leaning across a pile of books flickered once then burned out with a sizzling pop. All the other lamps in the room were similarly toppled.
“Perfect,” I grumbled.
Lil was still in the outside hallway, checking to see if we were alone. I took several more steps into the mostly darkened room, trying to assess the chaos. It was a nice apartment, as such things go—or at least, it looked like it might have been nice before the hurricane blew through.
The living room had a central tiled area in front of an inviting stone fireplace. An overstuffed couch and matching loveseat had been arranged in front of the hearth. The couch was
18
L illee got out of the car and gestured for me to follow. I still wasn’t convinced I should trust her, let alone follow her into a darkened apartment building while she was carrying a firearm.
“Are you coming, Zack? Where’s your Kimber?”
“My what?” I asked.
“Your gun, you idiot.”
“What part of ‘nothing but the clothes on my back’ did you miss, lady?”
“So there’s no chance you’ve got keys to this place.”
“Nope,” I responded, holding out open and very empty hands.
She muttered a curse, then thumbed a button on her key fob to pop the trunk. Tucking the Derringer at the small of her back and adjusting her blazer over it, she went and rummaged around. She pulled out a device the approximate shape and size of an electric drill, then she grabbed a camel-brown overcoat and draped it across one arm, tucking the hand tool under it.
“What else you got back there?” I asked, craning my neck to see over the lid of the trunk. “A James Bond Do-It-Yourself Spy Kit?”
She chuckled despite herself, using her free hand to shut the trunk as quietly as possible. “The trunk of a lady’s car is a lot like the contents of her purse. Mysterious to menfolk like yourself, and intended to remain that way.”
She began striding smartly toward the other side of the street. She’d parked so close to the car in front that there was barely enough room for me to fit through. By the time I jigged past, Lil was already halfway across, but I easily caught up to her.
“Seriously, Lil. What if you get caught with that thing stowed in your trunk? Isn’t it illegal or something?”
She laughed openly at this. It was a warm throaty sound and she only remembered we were trying to be quiet about halfway through. Stopping with one foot on the curb in front of my apartment, she turned to me.
“On the rare occasions that I have been pulled over, I have never,
ever
gotten a ticket. No one has asked to look inside my…
trunk
.”
As if to elaborate, she pitched her shoulders forward ever so slightly, tilting her cleavage into full view. Then she lifted her storm-gray eyes to mine, regarding me from under her thick nest of lashes. With a coy tilt of her head, she gave me her best come-hither. That warm spice and vanilla scent rolled off of her, and her very female-ness seemed like a palpable force clawing at me.
“I bet that works on all the lady cops,” I choked.
Lil batted her lashes and it felt like the temperature of the chilly fall night rose to something measurable in Kelvin. I took a judicious step back, even though my body was screaming that closer would be better—and much more fun. Lil eyed me for a few moments, the curl to her lips unmistakable.
On the other hand, maybe it does
, I thought.
“Uh, ladies first,” I said with an awkward and exaggerated bow.
“Always,” she replied primly, and continued toward the apartment building. I made sure she got a head start, then followed cautiously behind. It was a good bet Lil put the fatal back in
femme fatale
.
As it turned out, we didn’t need the lock-pick gun. The door sagged partly open. I nudged it the rest of the way with one elbow, moved into the living room, then automatically reached for the light switch on the inside. A brass pole lamp leaning across a pile of books flickered once then burned out with a sizzling pop. All the other lamps in the room were similarly toppled.
“Perfect,” I grumbled.
Lil was still in the outside hallway, checking to see if we were alone. I took several more steps into the mostly darkened room, trying to assess the chaos. It was a nice apartment, as such things go—or at least, it looked like it might have been nice before the hurricane blew through.
The living room had a central tiled area in front of an inviting stone fireplace. An overstuffed couch and matching loveseat had been arranged in front of the hearth. The couch was
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