Ready Or Not by AB Plum

Ready Or Not by AB Plum

Author:AB Plum [Plum, AB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AB Plum


Chapter 39

Wind whistled down Karen’s back, but she slipped off a glove and hunched over the garage keypad. She'd installed it four years ago while Dad still lived with her. He'd lost his house keys more often than he lost his glasses.

The numbers she punched in flashed green, but the garage door didn't budge. "Dammit."

She refused to check over her shoulder at Hunter. Thank God, he'd stayed in the car. Shaking with cold, she punched ENTER with more force.

This time, the door slid up silently and she stepped into the garage. Recessed halogens illuminated every corner, spotlighting the forest-green '54 Chevy pickup in the far bay. Her throat caught. The restored truck was from RJ. A birthday gift two years ago because Karen had learned to drive the same model at the boarding school in Santa Fe.

Oh, God, RJ. Karen heard a car door slam and dragged a hand across her eyes. The clean symmetry of the furniture-grade storage units, creamy walls, and four Monet prints steadied her.

The snow she'd tracked across the floor didn't fit, but everything else looked normal. Exactly the way she'd left it thirteen hours ago. How was that possible?

"You into antique cars?" Desire to touch the pickup gleamed in Hunter's bleary eyes, giving her a chance to swallow once before she answered, "No."

Snow swirled around his feet as he loped the few steps to the pickup. He stroked the waxed fender with his index finger and then adjusted the driver's side mirror.

"I've always wanted an old truck like this." Hunter must've realized he was babbling because he tried to lock eyes with Karen. She studied the snow dancing like bees around her garage lights.

When she'd beaten down the wild urge to go over and wipe Hunter's fingerprints off the fender's surface, she stated the obvious. "Right now, I want to go to bed."

"I need that phone number in Greece."

"I'll call them."

"After I call them."

His John-Wayne style hit a nerve. "Go to hell."

Despite exhaustion, she regretted the cliché. Tough. No apologies. There were things he didn't understand, could never understand, and she didn't intend to open a vein to satisfy his suspicious ego.

"You're close to crossing a line, Miz Sullivan." He leaned against the pickup and regarded her with a level, knowing gaze.

Heat flooded her face. "Leaning on my pickup crosses a line, Lieutenant Hunter."

He adjusted his elbow on the hood. "Now we're even."

"Like hell. You're still here. Still in my face."

"You know something about Miz Woods' death."

Her throat tightened. "You need sleep."

"I don’t leave here without that phone number."

"All right. All right. All right." She wanted to charge across the garage and into the kitchen, but the cold had seeped up through her soles into her ankles. Her feet felt as clunky as skis. "You can come in while I find it."

"Gracious of you."

In another lifetime, Karen could imagine laughing at his sarcasm. Now she wanted to smack him.

"Stop breathing down my neck!" She closed the garage door and nearly collided with him as he stepped away from the Chevy.



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