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He reached behind the seat, grabbed a parcel he'd picked up at the courier depot, and tossed it onto my lap.
"Are those the expedited goodies from Felix?" I asked.
"Yeah."
I peeked in and pulled out one package.
"Bugs?"
"Yeah. Ever place one?"
"No."
"Want a lesson?"
I smiled. "Please."
We left without seeing any definitive signs of a baby in residence. With only fifteen minutes to stake out the house, we would have been extremely lucky if we had. The cool, dreary, and overcast day wasn't "push the pram around the block" weather. Probably not even "take the baby shopping" weather if you were a new and nervous mom.
Jack took over the driving and went in search of a shopping mall for our bug practice. The Web site for Troy, Michigan, had bragged that it was in the second most prosperous county in the U.S. and, while it was only the twelfth biggest city in the state, it was the second "biggest" for property values. So it was no surprise that when we located a mall, it was high-end. The valet parking gave it away.
We drove right past it before I saw the signs for Saks Fifth Avenue. By then we had to make a left to get back, which sounds a whole lot easier than it was, because we were on a divided highway, which meant the notorious "Michigan left" - to go past the light, make a U-turn in a designated lane, double back, and quickly cross traffic to make a right to where you originally wanted to go.
On a Tuesday afternoon, the mall patrons were mostly Martha Stewart devotees checking out bronze Buddha knickknacks that would look so nice next to their five-thousand-dollar leather sofas. It was a world removed from my reality and, from the way Jack looked at the thousand-dollar Mont Blanc pens - as if searching for the button that would release a cache of uncut diamonds - it was a universe away from his. It was, however, the perfect place to play "hide the covert listening device."
While neither of us looked like anyone who'd pocket a thousand-dollar pen, we didn't look likely to buy one, either, so while salespeople weren't watching our every move, we did stand out. Therein lay the challenge.
Still, that wasn't enough for Jack. He had to up the ante by turning it into a real game with dares and rules, the basic premise being that one of us would pick an increasingly difficult location, then the other would lay the bug, retreat, listen, then recover it.
We went about ten rounds. After I managed to retrieve it from the men's washroom, Jack declared my training was complete... the declaration roughly coinciding with the moment that I started eyeing the Victoria's Secret changing rooms for his turn.
At three, I was in our hotel room, taking a much-needed bath. When I got out, I realized I'd forgotten to bring my clothes into the bathroom. I was going to have to get used to these coed living arrangements again. Fortunately, I was alone, Jack having left on a supply run.
So, towel haphazardly wrapped
around me, I stepped from the bathroom and caught a glimpse of a tall man in a ball cap. I backpedaled into the bathroom, looking for a weapon, gaze settling on a can of hair spray.
"Dee," Quinn called.
"Jesus Christ," I said, peeking out. "How the hell did you -?"
He brandished a key card. "I passed Jack as he was leaving. He gave me this, muttered 212, and drove off."
I put the hair spray back on the counter. He stayed there, a foot from the bathroom door, his gaze traveling down me as I realized how small the towel was. It covered everything it needed to cover, but not by much. From his expression, though, he didn't mind. I could have closed the door. Or asked him to step outside while I got my clothes. But I didn't.
After this morning, I understood what was keeping me from taking what Quinn was offering. I'd been holding out hope that somehow I'd missed the signs and Jack felt the same way I did, and if I opened the door to Quinn, I'd be slamming it on Jack.
Well, that door had been slammed. And not by me.
With that possibility gone, I felt once again a shuddering sense of relief. Now I could take what both men were offering, and be happy with it.
Quinn stepped toward me, then leaned against the bathroom doorway, as if waiting permission to cross the threshold. Waiting for me to make the first move. And I wanted to make that move. Yet I stood there, clutching my towel, looking as sexy as a headlight-stunned deer.
I'd read about things like this - meeting your lover in a towel, doing a little tease - and it always sounded sexy and fun. I could certainly see how a guy might appreciate it. But it was like reading about the customs of another culture - I had no idea how to proceed.
Fortunately, the fact that I hadn't run away yet was encouragement enough for Quinn. He covered those last few steps slowly, giving me every opportunity to say no. Then he stopped in front of me, fingers running down the edge of the towel.
"Are you done with your shower?" he asked. "If you aren't, I've had a very long drive. I'm sure I could use one."
