Overkill(49)

She thought on it, then said, “You put up a good argument yourself. Mr. Pratt and I met while preparing for Clarke’s release hearing. If he still considers me an advocate, that could be beneficial. Yes, I’ll go.”

“Can you clear it with the AG?”

“I’ll send him an email tonight so he’ll see it first thing in the morning. I’ll phrase it to sound like a breakthrough I need to seize on. Which it is.”

Zach stood up, reached for his jacket, and folded it over his arm. “I reserved a room for myself at one of the airport hotels. But that was before I knew you’d had an uninvited visitor tonight. So, here are your choices.”

“Who are you to give me choices?”

Ignoring that, he said, “I wait while you pack and you come with me to the hotel.”

“Or?”

“I sleep here.”

She looked aside, considering the options. “What time is the flight?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Early, then.”

“Earlyish, but we’d already be at the airport.”

Again, she thought on it, then said, “I’m truly exhausted. To pack, drive out there tonight sounds awful. Let’s sleep here.” Then meeting his gaze, she added, “The guest room is ready for occupancy.”

“Damn!” He said it under his breath and with emphasis, but also humor.

She snuffled a laugh.

He went to stand near her but didn’t touch her. If he put his hands on her, he knew it would lead to kissing her, and if he kissed her, he’d start pawing her and tearing at her clothes. So he kept his hands and his longing in check. “Go send your email. I’ll get my bag out of my truck and lock up.”

“All right. If you get up before I do, you know where the coffee makings are. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Good night.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway.

He went to the front door, undid all the locks she’d secured, then went to his pickup and got his duffel bag out of the front seat. After checking all the door locks one last time, he retreated to the guest room. Like the rest of her house, it was unfussy, unfrilly and, thank God, had a king bed.

He set an alarm on his watch and undressed. As he pulled back the covers and stretched out, he realized that parts of him were sore from his skirmish with Morris. He’d probably feel it more tomorrow.

Through the wall, he could hear a shower running. “Don’t think about it.”

But of course he thought about it. Kate naked. He’d already spent hours contemplating that. Envisioning Kate wet and sudsy and naked made him tent her floral-scented sheets.

For several minutes after the shower went off he heard her moving around, then on the other side of the wall things went still and silent. With spite, he hoped that for all the misery this sleeping arrangement was inflicting on him, she was suffering at least a little restlessness.

Swearing, he reached up and clicked off the lamp.





Kathryn Lennon’s house went dark. Down the street, Eban sat hunched in the driver’s seat of Frida’s car. “Off to beddy-bye,” he groused.

He stayed for another minute or so, then started the car and pulled away from the curb. As he drove past Bridger’s monstrous pickup, he gave it the finger.

He hadn’t believed his eyes when Bridger showed up at her house. What the fuck!? He’d actually shouted the words and struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand when the tall, strapping, familiar form climbed out of the pickup and strode up to her door.

Although, he told himself now as he navigated his way back home, if the prosecutor and Rebecca’s ex were planning a sneak attack on him, he was better off knowing than not. Right? Right. Looked at that way, it seemed that fortune was still favoring him.

Earlier, he had made it out of Lennon’s house and back to his car on foot just before seeing the patrol car turn onto her street. Note to self: She did have a silent alarm.

He’d driven past her house while two cops were still prowling around it, shining their flashlights at doors and windows. He’d been smart enough to relock the lock he’d picked earlier.

After the policemen left, he’d continued his surveillance. By then, it was approaching ten o’clock, but he’d wanted to stick around for a while longer on the outside chance that he’d get a Kathryn Lennon sighting. In the flesh. In the delectable flesh revealed by her scanty bikini.

He’d called Frida and told her he’d gotten stuck with some old friends who were insisting on treating him to another round. “No problem, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ll use Uber. In the morning, too. Have fun with your friends.”

He’d wondered if his watchdog would follow the Uber car when it left with Frida, but he hadn’t worried about it overmuch. If confronted, Frida would cover for him.

Why couldn’t everyone be as adoring and accommodating as Frida? Like Upton, for instance. That grumpy old fart. And his dad, who had spoiled him rotten, was now all of a sudden cracking down.

He’d been about to give up on Kathryn Lennon when a car had approached from the opposite direction and pulled into her driveway, then into her garage, the door of which had lowered immediately. He hadn’t gotten a look at her. Lights had come on inside the house.

Not long after, the has-been quarterback had made his appearance and ruined Eban’s lurid fantasy of catching the prosecutor unawares, unprotected, and unclothed except for a thong like the one in his pocket.