Look Before You Jump (17 page)

Nausea churned in my gut and I thought I was
going to be sick until I rounded the corner to my bedroom, saw Zeke
standing with the door open to my walk-in closet, and heard the
sweetest sound any mother could hear.

“Meo-o-o-w!”

“My baby!” I squealed and scooped Slinky into
my arms.

When it comes to my cat, I’m a complete
sucker. Or idiot. Really just an emotional basket case. It wasn’t
until both our hearts stopped hammering and my kitty started
purring that the scattered and tattered state of my bedroom came
into focus.

Zeke broke the stunned silence as he flipped
out his phone. “I guess it’s time to retire
this
mattress.”

***

Chaos descended on my apartment building for
the second time in as many weeks. The Dallas PD rifled through
every nook and cranny, every drawer and dish, and left a fine layer
of black fingerprint dust in their wake. By the time they finished,
you may as well have opened every door and window and just taken a
hose to it all. Between the intruder and law enforcement, little
remained salvageable.

Drool towel in tow, Jimmy-the-Super showed up
to inspect the place, spoke briefly with the police, then made
himself scarce without addressing me other than with a squinty-eyed
stare. I was surprised he even showed up around the police at all,
considering his probable gang and drug background. As soon as I
cleaned up this disaster, I planned to send a scathing letter to
the landlord to find out how pond scum qualified for a job that
allowed access to honest citizens’ homes.

When everything quieted down again, I took in
the mess that was once my life. Nothing discernable remained of my
furniture. The TV and related electronics looked like victims of a
drive-by shooting. My cast iron metal bedframe was intact, but
without a mattress it was worthless for sleeping anytime in the
near future. The wanton destruction left me in a quandary as
midnight approached.

Going to Mom and Dad’s was off the list. No
way would I skulk to that place with my tail between my legs and
witness firsthand the smug grin on the sperm donor’s face. Janine
would let me hang out with her, but she still lived under the
De’Laruse roof. News would travel from Mrs. De’Laruse’s mouth to my
parents’ ears faster than the wind blows through West Texas. Nick
was out of town on some modeling gig last I knew. Grady would
probably let me stay with him, but that was just a bad idea all the
way around.

A girl could handle only so much temptation –
especially when vacillating between the aching need for comfort and
the overwhelming desire to shoot someone’s eyes out.

Or balls off.

If it weren’t for the heat and the
possibility of the cat having an accident, Slinky and I could spend
the night in the garage curled up in my Vette – curled up being the
optimum word. God love our military personnel, but I ain’t one to
fall asleep in a combat zone. Even though I was tired enough to
fall out of my boots at that moment, I’m still too much of a
pampered princess to sleep in those environs.

Zeke must’ve caught the sigh as I stared at
the remains of my apartment. “If you can find anything in this
mess, pack a bag. You’ll sleep at my place tonight.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is that all you think
about? We’re standing among the wreckage of my life, and you’re
still trying to hook up with me?”

Zeke held up his hands in surrender. “Just
sleep. Trust me, the urge has passed.”

Should I be relieved or insulted?
“Really?”

“Getting involved with you again was a
momentary lapse of my better judgment.”

Definite insult. But seeing how no other
offers were present, I suppose I should be grateful for a place to
rest my head for the night. Sorta. Maybe.

I shoved the kitty carrier at Zeke and
slogged through the bedroom debris to locate any clean clothes for
the morrow. Then after picking my way across the glass-covered
kitchen floor, I grabbed the litterbox and a couple tins of cat
food and headed for our cars.

On the drive across town, a litany of
questions tore through my beleaguered mind. Why me? Was this a
random break-in? If so, it didn’t appear they’d taken anything, not
that I had much of value. Simply vandals searching for a good time?
Were the perps looking for something in particular? If so, what?
Money? Car keys? The thought of someone destroying my Vette made me
see blood. What if they’d hurt Slinky? That thought sent a shiver
down my spine, and I patted the carrier for reassurance. What if
I’d been home? Yeah, that’s where years of target practice would
come in handy. My gun called to me.

My gun!

Most people raised in Texas learned how to
shoot by the age of three and acquired their first weapon in their
own name just as soon as they turned eighteen. My Sig P938 was good
for smaller hands. Plus it was a great way to pick up guys at the
shooting range.

But I digress.

The moment I pulled into Zeke’s apartment
complex and parked beside his truck, I leapt out. “My gun.”

Zeke locked his truck and turned around to
the passenger door of my car. “Relax. The police found it. It’s in
my waistband.”

“Why’d they give it to you?”

“Good question. Why do you think?”

“It’s registered. I’ve a carry permit.”

Gathering up everything from the car and
handing me Slinky’s carrier, Zeke responded. “You were in no state
to handle a weapon earlier.”

“I want my gun,” I demanded, following him
into the building.

“You’re in no state to handle a weapon now
either.”

“Give me my gun.”

“You might accidentally shoot that fur ball
you’re carrying.” The elevator opened. “Do you really want that on
your conscience right now?”

“Damnit, Zeke.” I followed him in, the memory
of the earlier elevator ride springing to mind. “Just give me back
my gun.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Now.”

The sudden movement startled me as Zeke
pressed in close, his breath warm and inviting. “Make me.”

I set the carrier on the floor, pressed my
body to his, then laid one on him that would scare a nun. He jolted
in surprise, dropped my bags and fisted my hair. As his tongue
danced with mine, I wrapped my arms around him and trailed along
his spine until I found what I wanted.

With a jerk and a shove, Zeke stumbled
backward as I raised my arm in triumph, the Sig gleaming in my
hand.

“Goes to show ya,” I drawled. “Never come
between a woman and her weapon.”

The kitchen clatter woke me first. The moment
Slinky noticed daylight hitting my retinas he let out a yowl to
wake the dead.

Pretty much how I felt too.

Before falling asleep Slinky had spooned me.
This morning he perched high atop my hip like he was king of Mount
Everest. Thank God he hadn’t settled on my chest or he’d have
thought he was king of the Himalayas.

You know, twin peaks? Aw forget it.

“Do you have to make so much noise?” I
called.

Zeke strolled over, wearing nothing but his
royal blue boxers, and settled a mug on the coffee table. “Rise and
shine, princess.”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “Need sleep.
Not coffee.”

“I offered my bed,” Zeke said.

“With you in it.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying after that
stunt you pulled last night.”

My hand snaked out from the blanket and made
contact with the mug. Coffee spread warmth through my innards as I
gulped some down before opening my eyes a little wider this
time.

“Don’t you have a robe or something you can
wear?” I asked.

Zeke shook his head. “Not like you haven’t
seen boxers before. Matter-of-fact, I think you bought these for
me.”

I squinted to focus. “Oh yeah.” The wall
clock grabbed my attention. If it wasn’t for the fact I needed the
cup of life-giving nectar, I’d have thrown the lot at him. “It’s
not even nine yet. Why’d you wake me so early on a Saturday?”

“I’m gonna run over to the office and get a
little paperwork done.”

“You country boys need to learn to sleep like
us city girls once in awhile,” I moaned, tugging the blanket over
my face.

“Come on. I made a breakfast that might cheer
you up.”

Ham and eggs with hash browns sizzled as Zeke
plopped the skillet on the table, the scent sending waves of
encouragement that drove me from the sofa. Ah, the typical cowboy’s
campfire breakfast, all stirred together as if we were on a cattle
drive. Sometimes with crumbling bacon. Other times with sausage.
The familiar food was what he’d made for me countless times while
we’d dated. Little ever changed where Zeke Taylor was concerned –
and there was comfort in that.

“Thanks again for letting me stay last
night,” I said around the mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“Welcome.”

A man of action but few words –
sometimes.

He got up to refill his coffee. “Have you
considered the nature of the break-in?”

“I’m trying not to,” I mumbled between
bites.

“Was there anything valuable someone might
want?”

“What could they want? They trashed the
electronics. Most of the furniture was acquired from thrift stores.
The only nice thing I had was the dining set. Mom bought it for
me.”

“I remember.” Eyes sharpened. Lips thinned.
Face blanked with no expression. Human Zeke disappeared into Ranger
mode. “No other valuables then?”

“Besides my wardrobe and shoe
collection?”

“There’s the gun,” Zeke muttered.

“Which they didn’t take,” I reminded him.

His upper lip twitched ever so slight as if
remembering my antics from last night. “The timing is interesting,
you being out of town with me all day.”

“Yeah. Normally I’d have been sleeping off
the night before then cleaning around the apartment.”

“Cleaning?”

I flashed him a dirty look as he took off for
his bedroom, but he had me pegged. Saturdays it was more like
nursing a hangover. Maybe watching a little TV before trying to
plan my outfit for the night. Hey, I’m a girl. It takes a bit of
time to look this good – well, ‘cept for today. Felt like I’d been
dragged behind a monster truck all the way from Austin.

“Anyway,” I started, “as much as I want to
categorize this as a random event, something about it feels
off.”

Zeke called out from his room. “The wanton
destruction makes it personal.”

That sent a chill down my spine. “I was
afraid of that.”

“So someone breaks into your apartment on a
day you just so happen to alter your routine and leave town. They
don’t take anything but toss your apartment.”

“Thanks for the recap to my pain.”

Zeke strolled in all gussied up in dark jeans
and buttoning a maroon shirt with his shoulder holster swinging
from his arm and his Stetson firmly in place. He walked over the
chair back and returned to sit at the table. I used to think it was
so hot when he did that – until it got old. I think he did it just
to show off his manly stature and long legs. You know, because he
could.

“Who all knew you were going to Austin with
me?” Zeke asked.

While feeding a crumb of ham to Slinky, I
contemplated the possibilities. “Well there’s Grady, of course. Oh
and Radioman.”

“Radioman?”

“The guy sitting at the bar the other night
when you came in.”

“The one in the middle of asking you for a
date?”

“Which you so rudely interrupted.” Slinky
accepted a nibble of hash browns then licked the butter from my
fingers.

“You might thank me for that one day,” Zeke
said.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Anyone else?”

I thought for a second. “Well maybe whoever
Grady called in to work my shift, which now that I have to replace
most of my furniture I really could’ve used.”

“That’s what insurance is for. No rush.”

“Says the man in the black hat.”

“What about the super?” he asked while
adjusting the holster straps.

“Jimmy?”

The interaction we’d shared a few days ago
reasserted in my addled brain. The winking skull tattoo. Jimmy
staring down his nose when I’d questioned him about the unlocked
rooftop access door. Yelling at me for his burnt steak. Telling me
all about my comings and goings – and with who.

Can you say suspect
numero uno
?

***

After the fuss I’d created the other morning,
this visit was risky. Dumber than my dad on a Saturday night.
Denser than Janine when it came down to what to do with a guy
trapped between the sheets. Ditzier than – well, me when I’d had
one too many. But if I was going to get Bobby’s carcass out of jail
and do everything to prove his innocence, it was time to wave the
white flag.

“Don’t handle break-ins.”

Detective Duncan’s voice carried across the
precinct when I walked into the room and made a beeline for his
desk. Chatter and chuckles followed me, along with a few wolf
whistles, which, given the state of my get-up and the bags under my
eyes hanging down to my chin, made me wonder just how hard up some
of the local yokels were – particularly the ones with glinting
wedding bands.

So you’ve heard the one about how marriage
kills the sex drive? I’m pretty sure my parents fit that particular
state as well, though in their case it may have more to do with my
dad’s roaming sex drive than lack thereof. Given his penchant for
panty piñata, is it any wonder why I’m a bit jaded about the idea
of marital bliss?

I plunked down on the corner of Duncan’s
desk.

He didn’t even lift his waxy cue ball from
the computer screen. “Here to turn yourself in this time?”

“For what?”

“How about detonating a nuclear bomb within
the Dallas city limits?”

“You’ve heard about my apartment, huh?” I
asked.