achieved. He turned and gave her a smile. “Next week,” he supplied. “The Cougars are just starting to condition in gear this afternoon.”
Upon entering her living room, he’d immediately surveyed most of her uninspired kitchen, her equally sterile bathroom and a portion of her bedroom with only a rumpled double bed visible. He didn’t have to look again to recall that the tangled sheets of the bed had been the only sign that a living, breathing person resided in the downstairs apartment. From what he’d seen already, not so much as a decorative throw rug covered the hardwood floors. Serviceable off-white miniblinds, rather than frilly, feminine lace curtains covered the windows; the blinds blocked out the hazy morning sun. There weren’t any boxes stacked along the walls to indicate she was moving.
She’d lived here a long time. Where were all the normal trappings a person carried with them from place to place, the ridiculous souvenirs people collected and displayed? There wasn’t so much as a cheap framed print from the local five-and-dime hanging over the institutional-looking sofa. The walls were as bare and vacant as the unit next door.
The reports indicated Destiny Romine had resided in Cole Harbor a little over two years after finishing her residency in L.A. She’d played it smart and had taken the government up on their offer to forgive a large portion of her student loans in exchange for practicing medicine in the small seaside town for two and a half years. According to the bank statements he’d reviewed, she also worked two weekend shifts a month at the Berkeley County Hospital for extra cash. He also knew that at the age of fifteen she’d been left virtually penniless when her parents died and that her then eighteen-year-old brother, Jared, had raised her. It was that bond, the one forged between Dee and her brother when they’d had no one but each other to depend on following the unexpected death of their parents, that practically guaranteed Chase would be the agent to stamp a big red Closed on the Bureau’s most frustrating, not to mention embarrassing, case.
One thing he could say for Destiny Romine: she was a survivor. He admired survivors as much as he admired intelligence, even in the criminals he busted. She was a smooth one though, and she’d talk. They always talked when Bend-the-Rules Bracken finished with them.
“There’s a wall phone in the kitchen,” she said. “By the window.”
“Thanks.” He headed into the kitchen, his sneakers silent on the bare wood floor. A faded half-moon rug with colorful berries lay in front of the sink, the only personal touch in the place.
He waited for her to follow him, but instead he heard the distinct click of a door. Unable to believe his luck, he peered around the corner. The bathroom door was shut, probably to afford him the illusion of privacy.
He dialed the 800 number to the Bureau, waited for the automated response, then quickly punched in his voice mail number. Water ran in the background as he waited to hear his own voice instruct him to leave a message. He didn’t have much time. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a pocketknife, then used it to pry the face off of the telephone receiver.
The water stopped.
Chase muttered a curse, then started talking to his voice mail, asking the make-believe telephone company to please do whatever necessary to initiate service today. Yes, he could be reached at the high school after one o’clock.
He paused, and counted to ten.
Silence.
He felt like an idiot, but continued the one-sided dialogue anyway.
In the watch pocket of his blue jeans, he eased out two credit-card-thin silver discs, and wedged them inside the guts of the receiver. He slid the white plastic, protective covering back on the phone, then snapped it in place.
“Thank you,” he said into the mouthpiece, as the door to the bathroom swung open. “I’d really appreciate it.”
He turned, pressed the button to disconnect the call and mentally counted to ten before sliding his thumb over the six button, followed by two hits to the number one to erase the Bureau number from the redial memory. It wouldn’t do for Dr. Romine to become suspicious. The last thing he needed was for her to end up with the Bureau’s automated recording instead of the phone company he’d been pretending to call.
“Should be taken care of now,” he said, hanging up the telephone just as Dee walked into the kitchen.
“They’re usually pretty good about service,” she said, giving him the hint that occasionally the small regional phone company wasn’t as prompt as she’d sometimes like. “Someone probably just forgot to flip a switch somewhere.”
She’d brushed her hair, he noticed, and pulled the long silky strands into a ponytail, which swung over her shoulder when she bent to pull a teakettle from a low cabinet. Chase couldn’t help himself. He was a man. A man alone with a beautiful woman. When she bent over to look under the cabinet for the teakettle, his gaze landed right on her backside. A very curvy backside, too, he thought.
She moved to the sink to fill the kettle with water, then set it to boil on the stove. He reluctantly dragged his attention away from the curves beneath her robe and flashed her a grin when she looked his way.
“Sorry I can’t be more neighborly and offer you a cup of tea.” She lowered the flame under the kettle. “I really have to get to the clinic soon.”
“No problem.” He’d gotten luckier than he’d hoped by being able to place the dual transmitters in her telephone. He still couldn’t quite believe a woman who’d learned to be suspicious of just about everyone she came in contact with would leave him alone for any length of time in her apartment. “I better get going. More unpacking to do.”
The space between the stove and the sink was incredibly narrow. Whether she just didn’t think about the cramped space or she was playing some game of territorial one-upmanship he wasn’t privy to, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that she didn’t move and he’d have to touch her in order to pass. With no other choice but to squeeze between her and the speckled counter, his hand automatically landed on her hip as he attempted to ease his way around her.
Nothing could have prepared him for the electrical charge of sexual awareness that shot from the tips of his fingers straight to his groin. His fingers weren’t the only body parts that flexed, either. Telling himself she was the final piece of the puzzle to the whereabouts of her brother didn’t help. Pulling his hand back and putting some much needed physical distance between them was equally useless.
His body acknowledged hers with a fierce surge of good old-fashioned lust. He hoped like hell it’d just been a long time since he’d been with a woman. The instantaneous desire collided with his staunch denial there was nothing else to his physical reaction to Dee. She was a means to an end. The very nature of his job, his reason for even being in her apartment at ten in the morning on a late-summer day, forbade any emotional involvement with her whatsoever.
That didn’t stop the blood from pumping hard and fast through his veins.
“You work at the clinic?” he asked, putting more distance between them while attempting to redirect his thoughts.
She frowned. Had she felt it, too? he wondered.
“Yes,” she said, the note of awareness in her voice striking him right in the midsection with a ball of heat that burned, then shot lower and simmered.
Damn.
He edged out of the small kitchen into the living-room area. “So are you the
