a case throughout CSI as she sipped a glass of reasonably decent Merlot she’d brought with her. At about ten, she wandered into the kitchen and took a bag of microwave popcorn from the closet where she’d put it, then, with an evil grin, put it back. Instead she grabbed a bag of sour cream and onion Ruffles and a can of Diet Coke—she couldn’t get too frisky with the calories—and returned to the sofa for an episode of a show a client had recommended called Without a Trace. Not bad, she thought. I could get used to this.
Finally, well after Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien, she climbed the stairs and slept deeply until after ten the following morning. As she pulled up the blinds in her bedroom and opened the window wider, she was almost blinded by the reflection of the sun on the water. Like yesterday, the sea was like glass and the air hazy. The bedroom was beginning to heat up as the sun beat on the wide windows so she reclosed the blinds, hoping she could enjoy fresh air without the room getting like an oven.
She yawned and stretched, wondering what she would do all day. After a long, hot shower she pulled her hair back in a barrette, then put on a lightweight, slightly baggy T-shirt and a pair of lightweight denim slacks, noticing that the zipper slid up easily. Feeling hungry she decided to splurge and find someplace to go for breakfast, or, since it was now after eleven, lunch. Grabbing her car keys and purse, she drove into the town of Atlantic Beach and along the main drag. The town seemed comfortably busy. Several cars were parked in front of Joe Martinelli’s Market and a little silver convertible that might be the one she’d seen in her neighbor Vicki’s driveway sat across the street in front of a storefront with a for lease sign in the front window.
The Wayfarer, a family restaurant, tempted her growling stomach so she pulled into the parking lot and entered. The place was cool and bright, with beige and blue industrial carpeting and light colored tables and chairs. She was shown to a booth and handed an eight-page laminated menu.
“Hello again,” a male voice said. She looked up and saw Brad, standing tall and handsome beside her table. He was gazing down at her with his deep brown eyes and wide smile. He had a small chip out of one of his front teeth and that tiny imperfection made the rest of his face look still more perfect: long slender nose, wide-set eyes, full lips, and a small brushy moustache over a sensual mouth. His hair was neatly trimmed and mahogany brown, with a deep wave that crossed the top of his head from the top of one ear to above the other.
“Hi.” She wasn’t sure she wanted the strain of making conversation with a good-looking hunk, so she kept the expression neutral.
“I’ve been here several times and I haven’t made it through the menu yet. Want some company?” When she hesitated, he continued, “That’s a yes or no question and you’re certainly allowed to want some alone time.” When she kept silent for another moment, he continued, “No sweat. I’ll see you at the cookout tonight.”
What the hell, Leslie thought. He’s just a nice man. A nice man who’s a cop. “Please. Join me. My brain is just a little slow this morning. I’m trying to switch into vacation mode.” He was really gorgeous, in a rugged, uneven sort of way.
“Thanks,” Brad said. “Glad you thought of it.”
Chapter 5
Brad settled onto the bench seat opposite Leslie. She looked wonderful, even without makeup, her dark blond hair caught in a clip at the back of her neck. Before he’d seen her picture in the file he had expected a model-type with a perfect face and figure, maybe a bit too much makeup making her look brassy. Well, she had a perfect shape but her face wasn’t quite beautiful. Her mouth was a little too large, her nose a little too long. Her eyes, on the other hand, were perfect, large, wide set and an odd combination of brown, green, and gold. The photos didn’t begin to capture her vitality, her charm, and that drop-dead sexy voice.
When she said, “Do I pass inspection,” he realized that he’d been staring.
“I’m so sorry. You’re really a lovely looking woman and I guess I was just appreciating that.”
“Okay, you saved yourself,” she said, her smile warm and genuine. She really did have a sexy mouth. “What brings you out this morning? I thought I’d be the only one around at this odd hour.”
“I’m on my way to the gym to work out. I tend to be a night person so, since I’m on vacation I allow myself to sleep in, then come here for breakfast before going to exercise. You?”
“Also a night owl. You’ve found a place to work out?”
“There a really nice place on Route 1 called The Fitness Club, an appropriate name if I ever heard one. I stopped into quite a few the day I got here and discovered that at this one you can get a monthly membership at a reasonable price so I joined. You look like a woman who works out.”
“When I’m not on vacation I usually go to the gym several times a week. I don’t know whether I’m going to continue while I’m here. I want to get as far away from my normal routine as possible.”
“I’m with you, but I just can’t let myself go.”
“I guess since you’re a cop you need to stay in shape.”
He thought about the rehab he was continuing on his own. His leg was getting back to its preinjury condition but he didn’t dare let the thing go. Anyway, had he been just a bit faster he might have avoided everything. “I like to stay in shape. If you want, you can get a day pass so you can come along sometime.” He might as well try to get closer. To learn about her business, of course.
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
It had been sheer chance that Brad had seen Leslie’s rental car in front of the Wayfarer. He had thought he’d have to wait until the evening’s cookout to get to know her better. “Are you having breakfast or lunch? I don’t cook so I come here a lot and can give you an idea about what’s edible on the menu.” When she made a face, he added, “Most of the cooking is actually pretty good, but there are a few stinkers.”
“Oh? What’s terrible?”
“Their pancakes could be used as flagstones and no self-respecting bagel joint in Manhattan would dare serve what they call bagels. The rest of their menu is pretty decent.”
He found Leslie’s laugh warm and sort of comfortable. He wondered whether her charm was natural or practiced. After all, what was a high-class hooker if not a professionally charming woman? “Okay, there are two things I think I’ll avoid.”
A short, chunky woman in a singularly ugly ruffled pink apron approached. “I know, honey, coffee for you, black, hot, and strong,” she said, grinning at Brad. “How about you, love?” she asked Leslie.
“I’ll have decaf.” Leslie looked at Brad. “I’m ready to order if you are.”
“I’m ready.”
“I’ll split the difference between breakfast and lunch.” She looked up at the waitress. “I’ll have an egg salad on white toast and,” she smiled broadly, “a side of very well done french fries. I’ll need milk for my coffee, too.”
“Sure, honey,” the waitress said, her voice thickly sweet, “and you, Brad?”
“I’ll have a western omelette with hash browns, and give me a large orange juice.”
As the waitress walked away, Leslie said, “Brad? She knows your name?”
“She’s the restaurant’s equivalent of Suze. She’ll know everything about you in two days.”
“I’m not sure I want anyone knowing everything about me,” she said, her eyes tightening.
He decided to push just a little. “Oh? Skeletons?”
“No, just private stuff. Don’t you have some things you just don’t want to talk about?”
Brad thought about The Incident, with a capital I, as he had taken to thinking of it. Sure, there were things he didn’t want to talk about,