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I glanced at the clock. Five after five.
“It’s five after five! Where are you going?”
He leaned forward and brushed my lips with his.
“Hunting.”
The way he said it made me fear for all the furry little creatures in the woods. Then I realized that Lee didn’t hunt, at least not furry little creatures.
Yikes.
I considered what to say and settled on, “Be careful.”
An arm went around me and he pulled me to him. I was not a big fan of morning kisses before brushing your teeth, especially if tongue was involved.
His kiss was so fine, I made an exception and kissed him back.
He dragged me across his lap and deepened the kiss. If the kiss got any deeper, my lovely sage-green satin undies with smoky-gray lace were going to spontaneously combust.
When he lifted his head, he said, “Call Hank if you go anywhere. I need my men working. Hank’s gonna watch you today.”
Since I didn’t want to get kidnapped again, and yesterday had beaten out the day I called the ticket line and found out Pearl Jam was sold out as the worst day of my life, I replied, “Okay.”
He kissed me quickly, deposited me back in bed and then he was gone.
* * *
I slept more,got up, drank coffee, sucked down some ibuprofen and called Hank to come and get me. I didn’t know what I intended to do that day, but I was too wired by recent events to sit around all day in Lee’s condo.
I surveyed myself in Lee’s bathroom mirror. The semi-shiner was fading, but still there.
I looked down at my body.
I had added bruises on my wrists, biceps and thighs, as well as some small scratches on my arms and legs.
Very attractive.
To make myself feel better about this situation, I turned to my MAC cosmetics. MAC never let me down. I put on some dewy blush, eye shadow that really had no color but was mostly sparkles, that white under-mascara basecoat that makes our eyelashes look a mile long, and a double coat of mascara. I donned my Lynyrd Skynryd T-shirt, jeans, black woven belt with the big, square, silver buckle stamped with tiny roses and black cowboy boots.
I’d just tugged on the second boot when my cell rang.
“We have a problem,” Duke’s gravely, Sam Elliott voice crunched in my ear.
“Duke! God, I’m glad to hear from you.”
“I’m at the store—”
“I closed the store for the weekend,” I informed him belatedly.
“I saw the note. I opened it. We have a near riot on our hands here. People are freakin’ that Rosie’s not here. It started out pretty peaceful, but now the mob wants blood.”
“Are you there alone?” I asked.
I was aghast. Staffing Fortnum’s in the morning alone in the years pre-espresso counter was doable. Post-coffee, impossible.
“Dolores is with me,” Duke answered.
Uh-oh.
