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“Me either,” I chimed in.
“Fuck.” The detective glanced at me. “Got any matches inside?”
“We’re not a strip club.” In the movies that seemed to be where most of those matchbooks originated. I wouldn’t know. I’d never been adventurous enough to visit a titty bar.
“What about a lighter for the fondue shit?” Cain asked.
“Backorder,” I offered with an unhelpful shrug.
“Can’t you magic up a flame or something?” Cain waved at me.
“Sure,” I drawled. “Let me snap my fingers.” Click. “Maybe wiggle my nose a la Samantha and conjure that right up for you.” I scrunched it, and Cain sighed.
“Are we sure she has magic?” Williams murmured in an aside to Cain.
“Excuse me, standing right here.” I planted my hands on my hips. “And I am getting sick and tired of being talked about and over as if I don’t count. This is not the Middle Ages where women are supposed to sit down and shut up. I am a person who can make her own decisions and answer for herself.”
“You keep making that obvious.” Cain rolled his eyes.
I slugged him, and when the detective chuckled, I punched him too. Then I stalked back into the store, shadowed by annoying and annoying-er.
“What are you doing?” Cain asked as I found a mostly intact griddle box and pulled out the contents.
Rather than reply, I plugged the small appliance into a socket and put it on high. Then I drenched some cardboard in some of the spilled liquid alcohol and set it on the element. It immediately smoldered.
Cain whistled. “Smart.”
“I know.” I stalked back out into the alley with my shadows and turned to wait. It didn’t take long for a wisp of smoke to appear.
“Shit, we need something for Wendell’s car.” Cain darted in and emerged with another bottle and a burning piece of cardboard. “I’ll be right back.” He stalked to the end of the alley.
Williams tucked his hands into his pockets. “If it’s any consolation, I wouldn’t have let them arrest you.”
“Again, would have been helpful if you’d said something earlier.”
He shrugged. “I’m discreet. Forgive me?” The man had the nerve to offer a charming smile with a dimple.
A stronger woman might have resisted.
I was not that woman.
Cain came striding back and stated, “The car is on fire.”
With that business taken care of, I announced, “I am going to pack a suitcase. Who’s coming along?”
“Me,” Cain growled.
“Me, too,” Williams added.
“Lucky me,” I murmured. And I wasn’t being entirely sarcastic. Escorted by two hot men, both capable of protecting me. The only thing that would make this better? If they got naked and chose to worship me, because I could have used the stress relief.
15
We drove to my apartment in Williams’s SUV, a large affair with blacked-out windows that sure beat the bus or subway. To be honest, I would probably never travel underground again. Too risky by far.
A shiver hit me as we turned onto my street, and I hugged myself. The sun shone bright in the sky, and yet a pall appeared to have settled over the block. The sidewalks lacked the usual foot traffic. Even the road didn’t have any cars other than those parked. Could it be people avoided the area because of Mrs. Fitzgerald’s murder? I would have expected the opposite, to be honest. As proven after the bus attack, people had a macabre curiosity about death.
Williams parked in front of my building in a no-parking zone, but I guess, as a cop, he didn’t worry about getting towed. Must be nice. I’d had a car for a few years, but the cost to keep it went beyond gas and insurance to include parking tickets in a city that hated four wheels. I’d ditched it for the cheaper public transit option.
