“You’re leaving? Aww.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice. The thought of him walking out the door was disheartening. I wanted more. More kisses, more dry humping, more time with him.
He let out a sigh. “I don’t want to, but I have to get a summary to my publisher by tomorrow morning. I didn’t intend to stay long when I came here. I only meant to say hi.”
He kissed me again, leaving a lingering sweetness in the air.
“Hi,” I whispered, a hint of longing in my voice.
He groaned softly, torn between desire and obligation. “I’ve gotta go. But we’ll resume this another time.”
“Soon, I hope,” I shamelessly admitted, my desires laid bare.
“Very soon,” he assured me, sealing his words with one final kiss before reluctantly making his way to the exit, leaving me with Catsy as my sole companion.
As I watched him leave, a sense of anticipation settled within me. It seemed that even with Catsy’s unexpected interference, there was promise of something more between me and Jack. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, since I didn’t want a relationship. But I was certain that at the very least, we had a future between the sheets.
Catsy and I stared at each other, until I finally burst out laughing.
Chapter Twenty
Just as I expected, my errands lasted six long, boring hours. I had to open a new bank account, stop at the cell phone store to upgrade my phone, then wait a seemingly interminable time at the motor vehicle department. Once I’d changed my vehicle tags and gotten my new license, I was exhausted.
Thinking about Gene’s murder made me even more tired, but curiosity won out. Plus Jack was doing all this work to help me and Vera, so I texted him when I arrived home.
Minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. I opened it to see Jack, who was in his usual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt.
My heart jumped into my throat. I’d been thinking about him nonstop since our interrupted hookup last night. Now that he was here in the flesh, a weird mix of lust and embarrassment hit me.
“Oh, hey,” I said brightly, hoping he recalled the more sensual moments of last night, and not when I’d fallen onto the floor.
With a flourish, he handed me two printed papers. On one was an address, on the other a photo of a man who was fortyish and with a comb-over.
“David H. Smith. The ghost candidate. I found him.”
I took the papers and studied them.
“Wow. Impressive. You’re sure this is him?” The man in the black-and-white photo looked so generic that it could be anyone. A stock photo, even.
“Yep. Even a sham candidate had to file a few things with the Federal Election Commission.”
I grabbed my bag and we were off. Dave the fake candidate lived at an apartment building on the edge of town, a new and sprawling complex with a bucolic view of the Interstate 75. It had a giant sign that saidIf you lived here, you’d be home by now, and all of the three-story buildings were painted the same wan yellow and clustered around a giant pool.
Fortunately, it wasn’t gated, and Jack and I cruised on in. We drove in circles for a while, trying to make sense of the building numbers.
“This is Building H. No, wait,” I said, leaning toward the windshield to squint. “Building Four. Unit H.”
We were looking for Building Seven. We finally found it at the back of the complex and parked in one of the many empty spaces, one in the shade across the lot. A canal and a thicket of jungle-like scrub bordered this part of the complex.
“Are we podcasters today?” I asked.
“Seems to work well, don’t you think?”
I nodded and we got out. I wished I’d chosen a sundress instead of a light cotton long-sleeve and khaki capris. “Good lord, it’s warm.”
We walked slowly, the humidity surrounding us like invisible pea soup. David H. Smith’s apartment was on the second floor, and it seemed as though it took a Herculean effort to drag ourselves up the stairs.
Jack knocked. And knocked again. There was no answer. We looked at each other and sighed.
“It’s only four in the afternoon. Maybe he’s working?” I said.
