Drop Dead Gorgeous (30 page)

I circled around him, giving him a wide berth, and headed to pour myself a cup of coffee while he continued pondering my notes. He chose another one, held it at arm's length, and cocked his head as if he'd never seen a note before. '"I need a shotgun.' Now, there's a thought that probably has all my men on high alert."

I thought it was a good idea. I needed one right now. Peppering his ass with buckshot would make me feel ever so much better. Turning my back on him, I reveled in the fantasy as I took my first sip of coffee, which was a lot more work than I'd expected. My throat didn't want to cooperate, didn't want to do the swallowing thing. The coffee felt good going down, bathing my sore throat in heat. Drinking hot stuff usually helps a sore throat, and I wanted my voice back. I had a
lot
I wanted to say.

I needed to make a list of everything I wanted to say, so I wouldn't forget any of it. I also needed to get started on Wyatt's list of transgressions, because this was going to be a good one.

His arms came around me from behind and he eased me back against him, resting his chin on top of my towel-wrapped head. "You were talking to me on the cell phone, and now all of a sudden you can't make a sound. Is something really wrong with your throat, or are you just not talking to me?"

Carefully I sipped more coffee. What was I supposed to do, answer him?

I thought about slinging an elbow into his ribs, but all that cop training he had made getting physical with him sort of dangerous, plus he never let me win, which is just so snotty of him I can't believe it because letting me win every now and then would be the gentlemanly thing to do. Besides, all I had on was his shirt and his robe, both of which were way too big for me. If we started tussling, the robe would come off in a heartbeat, and the shirt would be pushed up to my neck, and, well, that's just what happened when we started tussling.

Instead, because I knew this would worry and annoy him more, I set down the cup and calmly removed his arms from around me. After topping the cup with more coffee, I took it with me to the table where I sat down, and then was momentarily distracted by my tote bag sitting in the middle of the table. I hadn't noticed it before, because I'd been so intent on battling with him, which tells you what a horrible effect he had on me. I hadn't forgotten the tote—or my shoes—while fighting for my life, but throw Wyatt into the equation and I lost all sense of concentration.
Scary.

Briefly I wondered if he'd left my knife in there, or disarmed me. I'd check later. Right now I had some communicating to do. I pulled the notebook toward me and began writing. After I finished the note, I twirled the notebook around and pushed it to the other side of the table.

He poured himself more coffee and came to the table,
frowning
a little as he read.
Both.
I coughed a lot from smoke inhalation,
then
strained my throat even more screaming to get SOMEONE'S attention when I saw her in the crowd. Plus I'm not speaking to you, and the wedding is OFF
!!

"Yeah," he said wryly. "I saw the note about the wedding." He glanced up, his green eyes narrow and glittering, intently focused on me. "Let's get something plain between us. Whatever I have to do to protect you, to keep you safe, I'll do it, no matter how pissed off you get. Putting you in a patrol car
and keeping you there
was the best way to keep you out of trouble and out of danger. I won't apologize for doing that.
Ever.
Got it?"

He had a real knack for turning the tables, I'll give him that. He could make a point and turn a phrase so only someone small and petty could disagree with him. That's okay; I don't mind being small and petty. I reached out and pulled the notebook to me again.

I'm not your problem anymore. As soon as

someone
gets here with some clothes for me, I'm so out of here.

"That's what you think," he said calmly, after reading the note. "Your little ass is staying right here so I can keep an eye on you. You can't stay with any of your
family,
you'd be endangering them if you did. Someone's trying to kill you, and she doesn't care if other people get hurt so long as she gets to you."

Damn, damn,
damn
! He was right about that.

I wrote: So
I'll stay in a hotel
.

"No, you damn well will not. You're staying here."

There was an obvious point to be made here, so I made it.
And if she somehow follows me here?
You'd be in just as much danger as anyone else I stayed with. And you're called out a lot at night
.

"I'll handle that aspect," he said, after pausing only enough to read what I'd written, certainly not long enough to have given it any thought. "You have to trust me on this. An arsonist leaves clues behind, plus it's standard procedure to videotape the bystanders at any murder or arson scene, and I clued everyone in while I was on the way that this was likely arson. A patrolman had the crowd on tape way before you spotted her. All you have to do is point her out to us, and we'll take it from there."

That was a relief. He had no idea how big a relief, because he hadn't been in that condo with me. I would have been much more relieved if she were already in custody, though, which she would have been if he hadn't had me locked in that stinky squad car.

I wrote
, I know her face, I've seen her somewhere, but I can't place her. She's out of context
.

"Then someone else in your family, or even one of your employees, might recognize her. Of course, you saw her when she was following you, so that may be what you're thinking about."

That was logical, but… wrong. I shook my head. I hadn't been able to tell that much about her when she'd been following me, only that the driver was a woman.

The sound of a car in the driveway caught our attention and Wyatt got to his
feet.The
sound continued around to the back, which meant it was either family or a friend; everyone else went to the front door. He opened the door into the garage and said, "It's
Jenni
."

Wyatt had called Mom less than an hour ago, so I was surprised anyone had gotten here with clothes so soon.
Jenni
bounced into the kitchen with two Wal-Mart bags in her hands. "You have the most interesting life," she commented, shaking her head a little as she placed the bags on the table.

"Never a dull moment," Wyatt agreed
drily
. "She also has complete laryngitis, from smoke inhalation, so she's writing notes."

"So I see," said
Jenni
, picking up the one that said ASSHOLE MEN. She studied it for a moment. "And very upset, too. It isn't like her to be redundant." Her back was to Wyatt, so he couldn't see the mischievous wink she gave me.

His only response was a snort.

"Moving right along,"
Jenni
said breezily, opening the bags. "I was already awake and dressed, so when Mom told me I went straight to Wal-Mart. This is basics only, but that's all you need today, right? Jeans, two cute tops, two sets of underwear, blow dryer and round hairbrush, mascara, gloss, and a toothbrush and toothpaste.
And moisturizer.
Oh, and a pair of loafers. I can't vouch for their comfort, but they're cute."

I dug out the sales receipt, nodding my liking for each item, and got out my checkbook to reimburse her. Because she was standing, she caught a glimpse of my wedding shoes in the tote, and gasped.

"Oh. My.
God."
Reverently she took one shoe out and balanced it on her hand. "Where did you get these?"

I paused in writing the check, and on the notebook, I obediently scribbled the name of the department store. She didn't ask how much they'd cost, and I didn't volunteer the information. Some things are irrelevant. Those were my wedding shoes; cost wasn't a factor in the decision to get them.

"You are so lucky they were in your tote," she breathed.

I finished the check and tore it out, then shook my head and scribbled,
They
weren't. I had to go back and get them
.

Of course, Wyatt saw me shake my head, and he strode over to see what I'd written. He stared at me in disbelief for a moment,
then
his brows snapped together. "You risked your life for a pair of
shoes
?" he thundered.

I gave him an exasperated look and wrote,
Those
were my WEDDING SHOES. At the time, I still thought I'd marry you. Now I know better
.

"
Ooookay
,"
Jenni
said, grabbing the check and turning on her heel. "I'm
outta
here."

Neither of us paid any attention as she went out the door. Wyatt said furiously, "You went back into a fucking burning building to get a pair of shoes? I don't care if they're gold plated—"

I grabbed the notebook and wrote,
Technically
, no. I was still IN my bedroom when I remembered the shoes, and I went to the closet to get them
. Then I slammed the pen down, gathered up my new clothing and paraphernalia, and took everything upstairs. And not to the master bedroom, either.

Safely locked in the bathroom I'd used before, I mentally blessed
Jenni
for remembering the smaller items. I brushed my teeth, moisturized— my skin badly needed it, after being exposed to all that heat and soot, then being scrubbed with dish detergent—and dried my hair. By the time I was dressed, I felt human again.
Very tired, but human.

Wyatt was still waiting for me when I returned downstairs, not that I had truly expected him to leave without me. His expression lingered on the grim side, but he gave me a searching look and abruptly said, "You need to eat something."

My stomach agreed. My throat said no way. I shook my head, pointing to my throat.

"Milk, then. You can drink some milk." He always had milk on hand, for cereal. "Or oatmeal. Sit down and I'll nuke us some oatmeal."

He was determined, and he was probably right; we both needed to eat, after the night we'd put in. It seemed
days
ago that he'd taken my answering machine to the police department for analyzing, when it was really fewer than twelve hours. Time flies when you're jumping from the second story of a burning building, climbing fences, look-
ing
for psycho bitches to gut, and getting locked in a stinky squad car for hours while she made faces at you.

He took off his suit jacket and efficiently nuked two bowls of instant oatmeal, adding enough sugar and milk to mine to make it a little soupy. Cautiously I took a bite; it was nice and hot, and soft enough that I managed to swallow it even though it made me cough. Coughing wasn't fun. I kept at it until I'd managed to eat half of the oatmeal, but the coughing that followed each bite was too rough on my throat, which already felt sand-blasted, so I gave it up after that. Maybe I should live on milkshakes, yogurt, and Jell-O for a few days.

We cleared the table together, not that there was a lot of work to it: two bowls, two spoons, two coffee cups. When everything was stowed in the dishwasher, I got my tote—
yes,
he'd removed my knife—then looked at him and pantomimed turning a key in the ignition.

"They're still in the car," he said, meaning my Mercedes. He'd be driving his city-issued cop car, the Crown Vic. I hated what had happened to his

Avalanche.
I'd seen one of the front tires flame up, so even though the fire department had immediately sprayed it with water I knew the damage was beyond repair.
That close, the heat scorched the paint off, melted the headlights and top of the engine, did all sorts of nasty things.
He was calm about losing the truck, but I guess he'd known from the beginning, having been to a lot of fire scenes, that it couldn't be salvaged.

Forget about the truck
, he'd said.
Are you sure you're all right
?

Damn it. It wasn't easy, staying angry at a man who loved you as much as you loved him.

And then the sneak further undermined me by pulling me close for a long, hungry kiss. When he lifted his head he looked at my face, sort of half-smiled, and kissed me again. "Oh, yeah," he said. "The wedding's still on."

Chapter Twenty-two