up the blueprints for the Victorian. I saw them in Charlie’s study one time.”
“Give me that key. Seems it’s slipped your mind that you don’t live here anymore.”
He walked over and placed it in my outstretched palm.
“You smell like a wet hog, by the way.” I waved my hand in front of my face.
“Huh?” He was focused on my T-shirt, which read,
“You stink, Steven. Have you taken to living in a ditch these days?”
“Sorry, the truck needs Freon and it’s about ninety degrees outside.”
“Do you happen to have a flashlight, by the way? Diva is stuck in the attic.”
“How’d she get in there?”
“How would I know? Have you got one?” I said impatiently.
“Got what?” He had renewed his interest in my chest, and not because he was a slow reader.
I crossed my arms and whispered hoarsely, “A flashlight!”
“Sorry. Yeah. In the truck.”
He left.
I grabbed a quick drink of water and was just about to get those blueprints when I heard voices outside. Now what?
I walked to the door, the sound of raised male voices carrying from the back driveway. Though not exactly dressed to meet the neighbors, I went outside, and the night immediately enveloped me in its sticky August embrace.
I jogged in the direction of what was now a considerable commotion, considering the possibility that all the residents in this particular zip code might be congregated in my yard. But I stopped dead when the glow from the small lights that marked the drive revealed only two men—Steven and someone else—locked in a struggle.
The assailant’s back was to me, and, figuring I had the advantage, I ran up behind him. Maybe I could stick my fingers in his eyes or pull his hair, but instead my hands slid down his sweaty cheeks. The guy’s elbows flew out, and one strong arm tossed me off his back like popcorn.
I landed hard on my tailbone, legs flailing. Steven, meanwhile, had freed himself, and his fist was drawn back.
“Don’t hit him!” I hollered, realizing who the assailant was. “He’s a cop.”
For once Steven listened.
“You know this bozo?” said Kline between gasps, brushing his clothes, then dabbing the cut near his eye. Blood wound in a thin trail down his cheek.
“Yes, I know him.” I stood. “Sorry for scratching you, but I
As usual, Sergeant Kline was in no mood for jokes.
Nor was Steven, who took a menacing step forward. “I’m no bozo.”
Even in the dim light, I could tell the tips of Steven’s ears were scarlet, and that meant trouble. Several guys at the Frontier Club, where we used to party before I became acquainted with the term
“Why don’t we go inside before we wake the neighborhood?” I said. “Besides, I’m half-naked.”
Those words got their attention. Despite preoccupation with fistfights or territorial disputes, most men remain on full alert for a less-than-adequately-clothed female.
As I started walking toward the house, I said, “I don’t recall inviting either of you for this two-man square dance.”
Neither of them responded. They followed in silence up the walkway and into the kitchen. I hated to leave the two of them alone, but I couldn’t comfortably converse in my underwear, so I said, “Make coffee, Steven,” hoping that would keep him occupied.
I took the back stairs two at a time, and Webster raced past me in the opposite direction, barking frantically, tail wagging.
“Better late than never, Wonder Dog.” I glanced back as he trotted down to greet the guests. “Better go see if you can lick those intruders to death.”
Sleepy-eyed Kate was coming out of her room when I entered the upstairs hallway. “Did I hear people yelling?”
“We had a little Pecos promenade on the lawn. One of the yellers—Steven—is making coffee, so join us, if you’re so inclined. And by the way, do
“In my nightstand. But who else is downstairs?”
I explained about Steven and Kline as we walked to her room. Kate did have a flashlight—exactly where she knew it would be.
“Would you mind rescuing Diva from the attic while I get dressed?” I asked. “Then I need to play referee downstairs. Those two might not be able to stay in the same room together without doing severe damage to each other’s faces.”
Kate agreed to find the cat, and I went to my bedroom and quickly pulled on shorts and put a bra on under my T-shirt. When I arrived back downstairs, well armed with questions for my policeman friend, I realized I might need a meat cleaver to cut the tension.
I smiled. “So maybe we can have introductions now. Or have you two already done that?” I glanced back and forth between them and was rewarded with a surly grunt from Steven and an “are you nuts?” look from Kline.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, then. Guess you’ve already exchanged names.”
“Not exactly,” said Kline. “He’s not talking. Since you obviously know him, why don’t you enlighten me as to who he is and what he’s doing here?”
“Uh, sure. Sergeant Kline, this is Steven Bradley, my ex-husband.”
“Oh,” said Kline, his tone frosted with sarcasm. “Did I stumble in on one of those kinky ‘ex-spouse’ things?”
Steven was on his feet faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind. He grabbed Kline by the lapels of his sports jacket.
This set Webster to barking and racing around the table.
“Who the hell do you think you are, asshole?” Steven said. He was spraying bits of spit into the cop’s face, but Kline had no trouble turning the tables. Within a millisecond, he had Steven restrained.
I jumped up. “Stop acting as if this is recess at elementary school. He could arrest you, Steven.” I focused on Kline, trying to contain my anger. “What Steven and I do in private is none of your damn business, so I suggest you let him go.”
Kline pushed Steven away and straightened his jacket. Both of them sat back down.
I reclaimed my seat as well, my hands shaking as I raised the coffee mug Steven had set on the table for me.
To his credit, Kline said, “Sorry. I was way out of line.” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the bright slash on his cheek produced earlier by my fingernail.
“Why were you in my driveway in the middle of the night, Sergeant Kline?” I asked. “I thought you said you were finished with the surveillance.”
“Thought I was.” Kline offered his pack of Big Red to Steven and me. It was definitely the worse for wear.
I declined, and Steven ignored the olive branch.
Kline put two sticks in his mouth and chewed for a second before continuing. “As I waded through the paperwork on my desk after you left the station this morning, I came across a fax from Galveston Police Department. Why didn’t you tell me about the break-in on P Street, Ms. Rose?”
“You didn’t ask. You had other priorities, remember?”
Kline flushed.
My turn to gloat. “But I like a man who can admit when he’s wrong.”
Steven perked up at this exchange. “Maybe I ought to leave the two of you alone so you can like each other in private.” But he didn’t budge from his chair.
