Crazy in the Blood (Latter-Day Olympians) by Lucienne Diver Page B

came out with a few bills she tucked discreetly into his hand.  
    He straightened and smiled down at her. “Right away.”
    Martin ran off to get take-away boxes, and I couldn’t decide whether to give Christie a glare or a standing ovation for her performance. I’d probably go with the latter. It wasn’t like I had any shame.
    “I can’t take you anywhere,” she said to me.
    “I brought you .”
    “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”
    She came around to my side of the table and pretended to help me out of there like I was some kind of invalid.
    At the Camaro I shook her off and started for the driver’s side, but Christie stopped me with a look. Cursing under my breath, I dropped the keys into her outstretched hand. Probably people with “impulse control problems” shouldn’t operate heavy machinery. I hoped I was doing the right thing. Christie, having learned late how to drive, was hell on wheels. Things like lanes and speed limits were mere suggestions; shoulders were for driving on, and corners were to be cut.
    She was checking her makeup in the rearview mirror while making adjustments when Martin appeared with a large paper sack bearing The Rustic Potato sun logo on the side. I guessed a lump of starchy tuber just wouldn’t have done it. She stepped out of the car to take the bag from him rather than roll down her window for him to pass it through. Given the size of the bag, it might have been tricky.
    “I brought the food,” he said with a smile. “And your change.”
    “Keep it,” she said. Then, with her tinkling laugh, added, “The tip, I mean, not the food. I’m looking forward to that.”
    His smile got even bigger. “Thank you! I’ve included our take-out menu and,” he blushed, “my number, in case you want to talk more about the holistic lifestyle. We have a seminar tomorrow afternoon you might be interested in.”
    With free munchies , I’d bet, the better to brainwash you with, my dear .
    “Oh,” she said brightly. “That sounds great. I’m only here for a few days, but I might just give you a call.”
    She’d made his night. That was clear enough. I gave them a moment, looking away toward the hacienda-style building illuminated on the outside by small white lights that twinkled like stars and—and froze at what I saw. Coming around the building and getting into a white van half-blocking the exit out of the parking lot was my office attacker. Or someone who looked an awful lot like him.
    “Christie,” I called, flinging out a hand to hit my window and making them both jump. “We’ve gotta go.”
    The van started to roll out.
    Christie said a quick good-bye and closed the door between them, hefting the bag into the back seat. Martin continued to stare after her, ignoring his other customers inside.  
    “Where to?” she asked.  
    “Follow that van,” I said.
    “What van?”  
    Darn it, the vehicle had already disappeared down the hilly drive. “Straight ahead. Just drive!”  
    I was ready to reach my foot over the central console and step on the gas for her, but Christie didn’t even pop the parking brake before she was backing out. Still the van had vanished by the time we hit the street.
    “Which way?” she asked.
    But the trouble was headed away from rather than toward me, and my oracular powers were no help at all.
    I sighed deeply. “I have no idea. Might as well head back to the hotel.”
    “Yay!” she said. “So we have the rest of the night to ourselves? Chick flick and ice cream?” Her eyes glowed, but not in the supernatural sense.
    “Like you eat ice cream.”
    “I eat ice cream like you watch chick flicks. We’ll compromise.”
    “Chick flick with action?” I asked.
    “Fat-free frozen yogurt?”
    I stuck my tongue out. “What’s the point?”
    “Sorry about losing the van,” she said.
    “Don’t worry about it. At least I got the partial plate.”
    “So what’s wrong with the food?” she asked. “And what are you going to do