to look at him. Instead of the annoyance she expected to see, his eyes sparked with mischief. “It’s had its moments. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store for me next.”
“Next?” Was he serious?
“But not tonight.” He let go of her chin and took her hand. Together, they left the dim alley and stepped into the streetlamp-flooded street. “We’ve had about as much fun as I can handle in one evening.”
“WHAT’S THE MATTER with you, man?” Cade Hardesty flopped into the bleacher seat next to Gabe and nudged him with his elbow. Beer sloshed from his plastic cup onto Gabe’s Top-Sider shoes. “Not a cloud in the sky, the Yanks are ahead by three and Sabathia just struck out the side. And you’re sitting there looking like you lost your best friend.”
Gabe dabbed at the stain on his left shoe with a napkin. “Maybe I’m rooting for the Sox.”
“Fat chance,” Cade said when the cheering died down from Teixeira’s lead-off single. “Your mind’s been somewhere else the whole game. Bad week at work?”
“You could say that.” The Park Avenue case was turning out to be a huge headache. No physical evidence. No motive. Nothing even missing from the apartment. And the only witness who could put the defendant in the area at the time of the murders was waffling more than Brett Favre in the off-season. It’d be a miracle if Gabe got it past the grand jury.
He wasn’t having any better luck with Victor. Gabe had managed to dig up the name of his old caseworker, but she wasn’t returning his calls. Maybe Monday he’d track her down at her office. Better that than disappoint Devin.
Devin.
Two times he’d been alone with her, and both had ended the same way. With him hot, hard and horny. He had to keep reminding himself that their arrangement was a business deal, nothing more. That they couldn’t keep their hands off each other was just an added complication. And the last thing he needed in his life right now was complications. Not when he was so close to climbing the next rung of his career ladder.
“Wanna talk about it?” Cade drained his beer and waved to the pretty, ponytailed vendor making her way up the aisle.
“What are we, girls?” Gabe sneered. “What’s next? We paint our nails and give each other makeovers?”
“Hardly.” Cade winked at the vendor and gave her a twenty. She blushed and handed back his change and two beers, one of which he passed to Gabe. “Ten bucks says next round I get her number.”
“No bet.” Gabe shook his head. He wasn’t an idiot. Women flocked to Cade. He had an easygoing charm Gabe had never been able to master. Plus, the guy looked like a California surfer: buff, blond and perpetually happy. The polar opposite of Gabe, who had once been called Heathcliff on the moors by a particularly astute lit major he’d dated.
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