nodded at Montgomery’s rhetorical statement. Book shoved his hands to his waist, his coattails flying like bat wings behind him, instead of grabbing the other man and tossing him out on his ear. “Perry, do you mind giving me a few minutes alone with Della?”
“Sure. Jack and I will wait in the shop.” She headed for the door.
Jack didn’t move. “I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah. I mind. Police business.” Cocky upstart.
“Why don’t we eat and then talk, Book?” Della asked, whisking a bowl of eggs.
Book reached over and turned off the flame beneath the omelet pan. “No, we’ll talk now. And we’ll talk alone.”
He waited for Perry and Jack to leave the room before he looked to Della again. She stood in the corner where two of the aqua-tiled kitchen’s countertops formed a right angle, and her expression told him he wouldn’t like what she was going to say.
“You should have let Jack stay. He might have information you can use.”
She was right. He didn’t like it. “Does he?” he asked, his gut tightening.
“He might.”
“But you don’t know.”
“Contrary to popular belief, Book, I don’t know everything.” She pushed away from the corner and crossed in front of him, making her way to the table.
She smelled like a field of flowers, something warm and purple and soft. He followed her, took the chair beside hers, staying close. “Tell me what you do know.”
She related to him the same things she’d said on the phone earlier. This time, as he took notes, he pressed for specific details. On the ring, especially.
He’d get a sketch done and canvas area pawnshops to start. Nothing that took a lot of time away from his legitimate cases. Nothing that would get him written up for coloring outside the lines. Again.
“What is your department saying this time?”
“Not much.” He didn’t know why she asked when she already knew.
“Book, tell me the truth.”
He closed his notebook, capped his pen and returned both to his coat’s inside pocket. “We’re not officially on this case. There hasn’t been enough evidence to warrant our involvement.”
“You’re here on your own then?”
He was here because of her visions. But he was also here because of her. “It’s no different than any other time.”
She shook her head slowly. Tendrils of hair fell to curl around her face. She hooked her bare feet on the rung beneath his chair and leaned toward him, reaching out with one hand, pulling it back before he could wrap up her fingers with his.
“I never meant to be a burden to you. To cause you trouble at work, or with your peers.” She laced her hands in her lap, looking up at him as if he were the only one with the answer to her prayers. “I hope you know that.”
He shrugged, blowing it off because he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought when it came to his dealings with Della. All that mattered was that she came to no harm. “It’s no big deal. I’m more concerned with you staying safe.”
Her laugh was as light as a breath of fresh air. “I’m not in any danger. I never have been.”
“In the past, no. But this time your name is in the paper.” He was going to skin alive one particular big-mouthed leaker—especially since the leak was nothing but gossip.
He’d never talked about the Eckhardt case or about Della’s newest visions. The leak made operations a laughingstock. “I’m sorry that happened. I can see the scum is already oozing out of the woodwork.”
She laughed again and sat back. “You’re talking about Jack, I presume. Though I’m quite sure he said he came from Texas, not out of the woodwork.”
Book’s mental gears whirred too loudly for him to process more than the facts. “He’s from Texas?” Eckhardt was from Texas.
“I believe Perry said Austin. The man’s family hired him. Apparently, they’re quite unsatisfied with the progress being made through police channels.”
Montgomery showing up here like he had gave further credence to what Della had seen. Yet it still wasn’t enough for Book to open an official case. Unofficial, he could manage. “I suppose I should talk to him.”
Again, Della leaned forward. “You had the chance, you know. Before you ran the poor man out of here.”
“I don’t like the thought of you becoming a victim. Of you being exploited.” He didn’t like the idea of a lot of things when it came to Della Brazille. The biggest one being the way he hadn’t yet harnessed his balls and told her how important she was to him. “Finding Montgomery here on top of finding that headline this morning has not made for the best start to the day.”
“I know what you need.”
Oh, but she had no idea. It always left him stymied, how she could see violent crimes but never the soft spot in his heart.
Still, he shifted in his chair so that no personal space remained between them, so that when he breathed in, it was her scent filling his lungs.
“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked, his heart beating so hard in his throat he couldn’t even swallow.
“You need brunch.” She patted his knee as if he were a child, then got up to finish cooking.
All he could do was sit there and battle the urge to walk out the door.
WHAT PERRY WANTED most of all was for Jack to go away. He disturbed her, and she did not like being disturbed. Especially when, after living a rather disturbing life, she was finally feeling the calm of things going her way.
She stood at the register in Sugar Blues, having just rung up a customer. It seemed a good place to stay, what with the long, glass-topped counter between her and Jack. Because now that the two of them were alone, her senses were ringing high and loud.
He closed the book on Reiki training through which he’d been leafing and made his way to the rear of the shop. Of course, she had to notice his walk, how he moved, all lanky and long and loose. She wasn’t supposed to notice that about him, and she sure wasn’t supposed to like it.
She sighed, obviously having listened too much to Sugar singing the blues, waxing eloquent about the handsome men who’d broken her heart. Jack stopped at the counter and picked up a tiny gold incense burner. Funny how he always had to have his hands on something, stroking, fondling.
Perry groaned, catching the forward progression of her thoughts one stroke too late. “If you break it, you’ve bought it.”
“Yeah,” he said, running his thumb over the Buddha’s belly. “I saw the sign on the door. Do you really sell enough of this crap to stay in business?”
“Do
