Seeing Red(8)

“My, my. For somebody who’s never laid eyes on me until a few hours ago, you sure know a lot. Or think you do, anyway.”

“I know that you couldn’t help but be intrigued by the challenge I left you with today. I also know that what you discovered was much more significant than what you bargained for. Wasn’t it? Trapper? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

He didn’t say anything, just took a drink from his beer and held on to it when the busboy arrived to clear away their plates. Kerra used her credit card to settle the tab as soon as the waitress brought it.

Through all that activity, a hostile silence teemed between them. When they were left alone again, Kerra shook the ice cubes in her glass. She used the wedge of lime to draw circles around the rim of it. When she next looked across at Trapper, his eyes were tracking the motion, and it made her feel … funny. She placed her hands in her lap under the table and took a moment to get grounded. “What were you angry about?”

“When?”

“When you got fired.”

“I quit.”

“Before they could fire you. What was it over?”

“Didn’t you research that part?”

“I didn’t get to the specifics.”

“Nobody else did, either.” He mumbled that as though to himself. Then he shifted his legs beneath the table and leaned forward again. “I got really specific the day I walked out. I told my boss where he could shove his job.”

She could believe it. He looked coiled and ready to strike now. Speaking softly, she said, “I think you still have anger issues.”

“I do. Big time. And what pisses me off quicker than anything is being played by somebody who thinks she’s real cute and clever. Why didn’t you just come out and tell me?”

“Did you actually use a magnifying glass?”

He scowled at the taunt and tipped his head toward her drink. “You gonna finish that?”

“No.”

He picked up the glass, tossed back what remained of the margarita, then pointed her out of the booth. His wide hand stayed at the small of her back as they wove their way through the crowded restaurant. Kerra felt as though she was being herded but didn’t make an issue of it, not wanting him to know she was even aware of his hand.

As they walked past the hostess stand, the young woman gazed at Trapper dreamily and wished them a good night. Outside Kerra inhaled a deep breath to counteract the effects of the tequila.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Where’s your car?”

“We haven’t settled anything.”

“Hell we haven’t. Where’s your car?”

“I Ubered here.”

He took his phone from the pocket of his jacket and pulled up the app.

“I can order my own car.”

Ignoring her protest, he asked for her address. She gave it to him. He ordered the car.

“He’ll be here in two minutes. Ralph in a silver Toyota. Let’s wait over there out of the wind.”

Taking her elbow, he guided her around the corner of the building. “This is better,” she said, shivering inside her poncho. “The temperature has dropped—”

She broke off when he placed his hands on her shoulders and backed her against the exterior brick wall. Before she recovered from the shock of that, he leaned in, and she forgot all about being cold. But she struggled less against his hold on her than she did against her reaction to it. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from me.”

He lowered his face close to hers. “You listen and learn,” he said in a low thrum. “I’m not him. I’m not noble, not a gentleman, not a hero, understand?”

“That wasn’t so hard to deduce.”

She thought the putdown would anger him, but he retaliated by gently placing his palm against her cold cheek. He brushed his thumb across her beauty mark.

“I noticed this right off, and the whole time you were sitting there in my shabby office, wearing your city get-up, acting all sassy and know-it-all, you want to know what was going on in my mind?” He ceased the stroking motion of his thumb, stopping it right on the small mole. His mouth lowered to within a hair’s-breadth of hers and he whispered, “Figure it out.”

Then he released her and said over his shoulder as he sauntered away, “Ralph’s here.”



The minute he got to his apartment, he went into the bedroom, tugged off his boots, stripped down to his jeans and, sitting on the edge of the bed, called his friend Carson Rime.

The defense lawyer had a ground floor office in the same building as Trapper’s. His practice was on the wrong side of the freeway to attract criminals who bathed regularly and stood accused only of white-collar malfeasance. But being close to the courthouse, county jail, and bail bondsmen, the location was convenient for Carson’s clients who were unwashed and felonious.

Trapper had to call him three times before he answered. “What the hell, Trapper? Stop calling me. I’m on my honeymoon, for crissake. Or have you forgotten I got married last Saturday?”

“Like that’s a big deal. Isn’t this your fourth?”

“Fifth. Have fun at the wedding?”

“Not the wedding. The reception.”