Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,17
still wanted to strangle the purple-haired reporter.
"Fine," I ground out. "I'll talk to Ramirez."
CHAPTER FIVE
I dropped Marco off back at the salon, where we agreed he'd tell Fernando not to worry about Tina anymore—we'd taken care of it. Or, we would. Or, I would. At least I hoped.
Then I went through In-N-Out's drive-thru and ordered two Double-Doubles, fries, and chocolate milkshakes. The car smelled wonderful as I drove toward Ramirez's station with the food, and no one could judge me for digging into the fries on the way.
Ramirez looked surprised but pleased to see me as I pushed through the glass doors to his division. "Hey babe." He rose from his desk and deposited a kiss on my cheek. His eyes came to rest on the paper bag and cardboard tray in my hands that held the milkshakes. "That fragrance you're wearing smells terrific."
I laughed. "I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd pick up lunch and we could have a picnic of sorts. Can you get away for a few minutes?"
Ramirez took the milkshake tray from my hands. "Just a few. Crazy day, but I need some air anyway. Let's go."
We walked outside and over to a small courtyard, which held a basketball hoop and a few picnic tables that weren't currently in use. I handed out the food and napkins while Ramirez rolled up his shirt sleeves and took a sip of his shake. The sun ducked behind a couple of billowy clouds, giving us a reprieve from the heat.
Ramirez unwrapped his burger, removed the bun, and added two packets of ketchup to it. "So, why were you in the neighborhood?" he asked.
I sipped my shake, trying to think of a reason that sounded legit. Nothing came to mind. "Well, not really in the neighborhood. I just thought it would be nice to see you and have some alone time."
He reached across the table to squeeze my hand. "Sorry. I know there have been a lot of late nights lately."
I gave him a smile and suddenly felt twice as guilty for my ulterior motives. "It's fine. I totally understand." I cleared my throat, shoving a french fry into my mouth in an attempt to shove that guilt down with it. "So your crazy day…I'm guessing that's due to Doggy Z?"
He nodded. "Yeah. We're having to tread carefully. Press has been relentless."
If he only knew.
"Any idea what he OD'd on yet?" I asked, trying to infuse a little innocence into my voice.
He paused, eyeing me suspiciously over his burger. "Not sure that's really great mealtime conversation."
"Sure," I said, nodding as I popped another fry in. "But it was an overdose, right? I mean, accidental and not intentional?"
"No official ruling yet." He shot me a look that said that was the end of it as he sipped from his milkshake.
I bit into my burger and tried to act as if the subject bored me. "You know, I heard someone mention that maybe Dog hadn't necessarily been on drugs but maybe, probably accidentally, drank something that could be possibly poisonous."
"Drank poison." My husband just stared at me.
I licked my lips. "Well, there are a lot of household items that could be poisonous, right? Like, oh, for example, antifreeze?"
"Antifreeze." He sighed deeply and put his burger down on his tray. "Okay, Springer, what are you up to?"
When he used my maiden name, I knew it was serious. I put on my best attempt at an innocent face. Which was difficult due to the guilt sticking in my throat along with the fries. "Who me?"
"Where, exactly, did you hear about antifreeze?"
I licked my lips. "Around. It comes up sometimes."
"It never comes up. We live in LA. It never freezes here."
Good point. "Okay, fine," I relented. "I was chatting today with a…friend"—boy, was I taking liberal use of that word—"who said they heard Dog might have died from ingesting ethylene glycol."
"This friend happen to be press?"
"Uh…sort of."
Fire flashed behind Ramirez's dark eyes. "Uh-huh. Do they happen to be named Felix Dunn, perhaps?"
"No," I answered very truthfully. "I did not hear that from Felix."
"Uh-huh." He wasn't convinced. Or happy. In his defense, if Ramirez had been spending his day chatting with an ex-girlfriend while I was busy serving and protecting, I'd probably be a little miffed too.
"So is it true?" I asked, steering this conversation back to Dog. "Did Dog die from antifreeze poisoning?"
He worked his jaw back and forth as if debating how much to say.