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No Rosie.
“Fuck!” Lee clipped from somewhere else in the condo.
I ran to him.
The second bedroom door was closed. The bathroom door was open with the bathroom empty. I walked into Lee’s room and he stalked out of his bathroom.
“That fucking twat,” Lee muttered.
“Mouth!” Superpower-mom-eared Kitty Sue called from the kitchen.
Lee could always swear really, really well. He’d been doing it since I could remember.
Lee walked to the dresser and slid a drawer open. He pulled on a navy, long-sleeved T-shirt that fit super snug to his chest and arms and grabbed a pair of socks. I watched as he sat on the bed to pull on the socks and a pair of black motorcycle boots with square toes and silver hoops at the sides.
Seriously kickass boots.
I shook my head to clear thoughts of Lee’s boots and started to worry about Rosie and why he would leave, what he was doing, where he was going and what was in that pot-addled brain of his.
Then something occurred to me as Lee got off the bed.
And for the first time that morning, I smiled.
If I found Rosie first, and got the diamonds back to their owner, then I wouldn’t owe Lee a thing.
Hee hee.
I was so happy with my thought, I had to share it.
“I guess this puts a crimp in your sex extortion plans.”
I’d timed my “nanny nanny foo foo” very poorly. Lee was close enough to hook me around the back of the neck with enough force to send me slamming into him. He gave my hair an erotically rough yank, tilting my head back.
Then he kissed me.
It was a hard, deep and serious kiss with a liberal dose of tongue.
My toes curled into the thick carpet.
When he lifted his head, he announced, “I have plans for you. Don’t leave this apartment.”
I nodded.
I had every intention of leaving his apartment.
He watched me.
“Indy, you leave this apartment, I’ll come lookin’ for you.”
“Jeez, we haven’t even slept together and already you don’t trust me.”
“I’ve known you all your life, not to mention the fact that my idiot sister is in the next room and when you two get together it’s like Laurel and Hardy do Denver.”
“It is not!” I cried.
“What about that time you bought scalped tickets to a Garth Brooks concert from Carmine Alfonzo?”
Carmine Alfonzo, better known as Uncle Carmine. We’d known him since we were seven. He used to ride the squad car with Dad.
