still talk.
Easy, needy . . . desperate.
She’d spent the years since focused on her career, striving to remain as sexless as possible. But she was human. She’d had to find men who’d never come in contact with her colleagues and that took time. So she’d spent the better part of her life alone, damning that one regrettable moment when she’d believed the smooth lies of a man she’d thought was her soul mate.
Not all men were pigs, she knew. Her uncle Harry was a sterling example of a kind, good man. Something inside her wanted to believe Vito Ciccotelli was as well. He obviously cared about people, both living and dead. She respected that.
Pocketing her key, she looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead into the night, his mind clearly elsewhere. Alone, she thought. Right now he looked very alone.
Two alone people might find a way not to be. For a while, anyway. It was something to consider. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look . . . grim.”
“I’m sorry. My mind wandered.” He looked around. “Let’s get your bike and put it in the bed of my truck, then I’ll drive you home.”
Sophie lifted her brows. “My bike in your truck? I don’t think so.” She started walking and he followed, his huff of frustration audible.
She stopped next to her bike, and in the light of the streetlamps she saw his face flatten in surprise. “This is yours?”
“It is.” She unhooked her helmet from the seat. “Why?”
Sophie was relieved to see his broodiness had disappeared, replaced by a spark of excitement as he took a slow walk around her motorcycle. “Katherine said you had a bike. I thought she meant a
bicycle.
This . . .” He ran a hand over the engine reverently. “This is a real beauty.”
“You ride?”
“Yeah. Harley Buell.”
Fast and sleek. “Oooh. Racer.”
He looked up from his inspection and grinned. “Scares my mom to death.”
His delight was infectious so she grinned back. “You bad boy, you.”
He took another walk around the bike, stopping at the front tire so that he faced her. “I’ve never seen this BMW model before.”
“It’s a classic—1974. I got it when I was working in Europe. Zero to a hundred in under ten seconds.” She laughed. “God, it’s a rush.”
He suddenly sobered. “I
am
a cop, Sophie. You don’t speed, do you?”
Her grin disappeared. She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but decided to err on the side of caution. “Oh, I meant a hundred
kilometers
an hour. That’s barely sixty.”
He continued to frown for another second, and then his lips began to twitch. “Nice save. I’ll have to remember that one.”
Her chuckle was shaky. “You do that, Vito.” Setting the helmet firmly on her head, she patted her pockets, then frowned. “Oh, shit.” Frantically, she dug in each pocket and came up with everything but what she was looking for. “My keys are gone.”
“You just put it in your pocket.”
“That was the university key. I keep it on a separate ring. I’m only here once a week.” She closed her eyes. “If I lost my keys at the dig, I mean crime scene . . .”
Vito’s hand closed over her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Calm down, Sophie. If you lost them at the crime scene, they’re in the very safest place. We’ll be covering every inch of that ground with a fine-tooth comb. We’ll find them.”
She made herself breathe. “That’s good, but I kind of need them now. My bike keys, my house keys . . . and the Albright. Goddammit, Ted the Third’s gonna shit a ring.”
“The Albright?”
“The museum where I work. Ted the Third’s my boss. We don’t get along very well.”
“Why not?”
“He plays at being
The Historian,
” she said, dropping her voice dramatically. “Makes me do these damn tours.” She scowled. “I have to dress up.”
“And you don’t like to dress up?”
“I
am
a historian, dammit. I don’t just play at it. At least I didn’t.”
“So why did you take the job?”
She
Easy, needy . . . desperate.
She’d spent the years since focused on her career, striving to remain as sexless as possible. But she was human. She’d had to find men who’d never come in contact with her colleagues and that took time. So she’d spent the better part of her life alone, damning that one regrettable moment when she’d believed the smooth lies of a man she’d thought was her soul mate.
Not all men were pigs, she knew. Her uncle Harry was a sterling example of a kind, good man. Something inside her wanted to believe Vito Ciccotelli was as well. He obviously cared about people, both living and dead. She respected that.
Pocketing her key, she looked up at him. He was staring straight ahead into the night, his mind clearly elsewhere. Alone, she thought. Right now he looked very alone.
Two alone people might find a way not to be. For a while, anyway. It was something to consider. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look . . . grim.”
“I’m sorry. My mind wandered.” He looked around. “Let’s get your bike and put it in the bed of my truck, then I’ll drive you home.”
Sophie lifted her brows. “My bike in your truck? I don’t think so.” She started walking and he followed, his huff of frustration audible.
She stopped next to her bike, and in the light of the streetlamps she saw his face flatten in surprise. “This is yours?”
“It is.” She unhooked her helmet from the seat. “Why?”
Sophie was relieved to see his broodiness had disappeared, replaced by a spark of excitement as he took a slow walk around her motorcycle. “Katherine said you had a bike. I thought she meant a
bicycle.
This . . .” He ran a hand over the engine reverently. “This is a real beauty.”
“You ride?”
“Yeah. Harley Buell.”
Fast and sleek. “Oooh. Racer.”
He looked up from his inspection and grinned. “Scares my mom to death.”
His delight was infectious so she grinned back. “You bad boy, you.”
He took another walk around the bike, stopping at the front tire so that he faced her. “I’ve never seen this BMW model before.”
“It’s a classic—1974. I got it when I was working in Europe. Zero to a hundred in under ten seconds.” She laughed. “God, it’s a rush.”
He suddenly sobered. “I
am
a cop, Sophie. You don’t speed, do you?”
Her grin disappeared. She wasn’t sure if he was serious, but decided to err on the side of caution. “Oh, I meant a hundred
kilometers
an hour. That’s barely sixty.”
He continued to frown for another second, and then his lips began to twitch. “Nice save. I’ll have to remember that one.”
Her chuckle was shaky. “You do that, Vito.” Setting the helmet firmly on her head, she patted her pockets, then frowned. “Oh, shit.” Frantically, she dug in each pocket and came up with everything but what she was looking for. “My keys are gone.”
“You just put it in your pocket.”
“That was the university key. I keep it on a separate ring. I’m only here once a week.” She closed her eyes. “If I lost my keys at the dig, I mean crime scene . . .”
Vito’s hand closed over her shoulder and gently squeezed. “Calm down, Sophie. If you lost them at the crime scene, they’re in the very safest place. We’ll be covering every inch of that ground with a fine-tooth comb. We’ll find them.”
She made herself breathe. “That’s good, but I kind of need them now. My bike keys, my house keys . . . and the Albright. Goddammit, Ted the Third’s gonna shit a ring.”
“The Albright?”
“The museum where I work. Ted the Third’s my boss. We don’t get along very well.”
“Why not?”
“He plays at being
The Historian,
” she said, dropping her voice dramatically. “Makes me do these damn tours.” She scowled. “I have to dress up.”
“And you don’t like to dress up?”
“I
am
a historian, dammit. I don’t just play at it. At least I didn’t.”
“So why did you take the job?”
She
Similar Books
