To Die For

“You’re going home with me. In case you’ve forgotten, honey, someone is trying to kill you. Your folks’ house is the first place anyone would look. Not only is it not safe for you, are you willing to endanger them, too?”

“What do you mean, someone’s trying to kill her?” Mom demanded fiercely. “I thought it was a random-”

“I guess there’s a slight chance the shooting could have been random. But she witnessed a murder last Thursday, and her name was in the paper. If you were a murderer, what would you want to do about a witness? She’ll be safe at my house.”

“The killer saw you, too,” I said, thinking fast. Saw you kissing me. “What makes you think he wouldn’t track me to your place, too?”

“He wouldn’t know who I am, so how could he find out where I live? The only way he’d even know I’m a cop was if he hung around afterward, and trust me, no one was there.”

Darn it, he made sense. I didn’t want to endanger any of my family-or Wyatt either, come to that-so the last thing I should do was go home with them.

“She can’t go home with you,” Mom said. “She needs someone to take care of her until she can use her arm.”

“Ma’am,” said Wyatt, steadily meeting her gaze, “I’ll take care of her.”

Okay, so he’d just told my family we were sleeping together, because we all knew that “taking care of” meant bathing, dressing, and so on. Maybe I had shouted in front of all his men that I wouldn’t sleep with him again, but that was different. For me, anyway. This was my parents, and this was the south, where of course such things went on, but you generally didn’t announce it to the world or your family. I expected Dad to take him by the arm and lead him out again, for another little talk, but instead Dad nodded.

“Tina, who better to take care of her than a cop?” he asked.

“He has a list of transgressions two pages long,” she replied, indicating her doubt that he was capable of taking care of me.

“He also has a gun.”

“There is that,” Mom said, and turned to me. “You’re going with him.”

Chapter Twelve

“You know,” I said as Wyatt drove me to his place after stopping to get my prescriptions filled, “this guy saw your car, and it has ‘cop’ written all over it. Who else drives a Crown Vic-I mean, who under the age of sixty drives a Crown Vic except for cops?”

“So?”

“You kissed me there in the parking lot, remember? So he might very well figure we have a thing, you’re a cop, and work it from there. How hard can it be?”

“We have over two hundred people in the department; narrowing down which one I am could take time. Then he’d have to find me. My home phone number isn’t listed, and sure as hell no one in the department would give out information on me or any other member. If anyone wants to contact me about work, they call this,” he said, tapping his cell phone. “And it’s registered with the city.”

“All right,” I conceded. “I’m safer at your place. Not totally safe, but safer.” Someone was trying to kill me. Despite my best efforts not to think about it just yet, the hard truth of that was pushing in on me. I knew I’d have to come to grips with it pretty soon-say, sometime tomorrow. I’d been sort of expecting it… not really, but the possibility had been in the back of my mind… but I hadn’t factored in the shock of actually being shot. That was totally unexpected.

Just like that-boom!-my life had gone out of control. I couldn’t go home, I didn’t have my clothes with me, I was in pain, I felt weak and shaky, and God only knew what would happen to my business. I needed to get that control back.

I looked over at Wyatt. He was driving out of the city proper; we had left all the streetlights behind, so his face was lit only by the dash lights, and I shivered a little at how tough he looked. This whole situation with him was out of control, too. I’d tried my best to put on the brakes, and instead here I was, going home with him. He’d seen an opportunity and grabbed it, though I was really surprised, considering how pissed he’d been about my list.

Who would have thought a little thing like that would annoy him so much? Touchy, touchy. And here I was, totally at his mercy. There wouldn’t be anyone else around-

I had a horrible thought. “How are you at doing hair?”

“What?” he asked, as if I’d said something in a foreign language.

“Hair. You’ll have to do my hair.”

He gave a quick glance at my hair. “You were wearing it in a ponytail Thursday night. I can do that.”

Okay, that was acceptable, and was probably best until I was more functional. “That’ll do. I don’t even have my hair dryer with me, anyway. It’s still in my car.”

“I got your bag. It’s in back with mine.”

I could have kissed him, I was so relieved. Most of the clothes in the bag needed washing, of course, but to be on the safe side I’d taken an extra outfit to the beach. I had underwear, something to sleep in, and even makeup if I felt like putting some on. I had my birth control pills, thank God, though I figured I was safe from him tonight, at least. All in all, things were looking up. Until Siana could pack more clothes for me tomorrow and meet Wyatt with them, I had enough to get by.

We’d been driving for miles, and now there was nothing around except for the occasional house, but they were spaced far apart. I was getting impatient to get there and see how this was going to work out. “Where on earth do you live?”

“We’re almost there. I was making certain no one followed us, so I’ve been taking some extra turns. I live just inside the city limits.”

I was dying to see his house. I had no idea what to expect, and part of me was braced for the typical bachelor den. He had made some money playing pro ball; he could have built anything from a log-cabin-style lodge to a fake chateau.

“I’m surprised you don’t live with your mother,” I said, and I was. Mrs. Bloodsworth was a nice old lady with a wicked sense of humor, and Lord knows she had enough room to house half the block in that big old Victorian she loved.

“Why? You don’t live with your mother,” he pointed out.

“It’s different for women.”

“How so?”

“We don’t need anyone to cook for us or pick up after us or do the laundry for us.”

“News flash, honey: I don’t either.”

“You do your own laundry?”

“It’s not exactly rocket science, is it? I can read labels and set the controls on a washer.”

“And cook? You can actually cook?” I was getting excited.

“Nothing fancy, but yeah, I can get by.” He glanced at me. “What about it?”

“Think, Lieutenant. Do you remember eating at any time during the past”-I checked the time on the dashboard clock-“five hours? I’m starving.”

“I heard you had a cookie.”

“Fig Newton. I had four of them, and it was an emergency. That doesn’t qualify as eating.”