I was afraid of that.
* * * * *
“Wait here a minute,” Hector said, his still-annoyed gaze slicing from me, to Shirleen then he walked to the door that led to the inner rooms of Nightingale Investigations.
I looked at Shirleen who was sitting behind the reception desk. Her gaze was resting on the door closing behind Hector. Then she looked at me and her brows went up.
* * * * *
I’d spent the day keeping busy.
After the fantastic “fuck me” sex, and the heartbreaking incident afterward, getting ready for work at Hector’s house was an eensy bit uncomfortable.
This was because Hector was seriously angry (I didn’t know what he had to be angry about, I wasn’t using him as a difficultly procured notch on my bedpost after which I’d tattoo something on my arm (I didn’t know what I’d tattoo to remind me of Hector but I was thinking a black panther because that’s the only thing that would do him justice)).
I knew he had his anger in check because he wasn’t throwing cell phones into margarita pitchers (or the like). However, I also knew he barely had it in check so I decided to stay well out of his way.
This proved the wrong decision. The more I tried to avoid him, the less he seemed in control of his anger. I didn’t understand this reaction, but (for obvious reasons), I didn’t ask.
He dropped me off at the brownstone and I thought, considering his temper still hadn’t cooled, that would be that. However, that wasn’t that because he kissed me at the door.
Yes!
Kissed me!
This was not like any other kiss he’d given me. His fingers drove into my hair, cupping the back of my head, tilting it up and using it to pull me forward. I fell into him, my hand at his chest, and his mouth came down on mine hard. It was an angry kiss and because of that, so hot and intense, it stole my breath and my ability to stand on my own two feet.
When my hand was clutching his shirt at his chest, my other arm was wrapped around his waist and my torso was plastered to his, his head came up and he scorched me with a Hector Glare.
“Ten to four, I’ll pick you up at the gallery. Don’t make any f**kin’ plans tonight,” he ordered, his voice deep, low and vibrating with unhappy emotion.
Before I could remind him about YoYo’s arrival and my plan to be there when we got the dog, he was gone, leaving me swaying unsteadily in his wake.
“Holy Hot Blooded Latinos, sweets, what on earth was that all about?” Ralphie asked, wide eyes on the door.
My head was beginning to pound. Three nights of interrupted sleep and weeks of intense emotion were getting to me. After all that fantastic sex (four times!), I should have been relaxed and lose enough to do gymnastics. Instead, I was wound up tight.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told Ralphie.
And I really, really didn’t.
“But –” Ralphie started.
I shot him a pleading look. “Please, please, Ralphie. I need quiet. I need peace. And, above all, I need time to get my head together.”
Ralphie snapped his mouth shut, looking at me closely. I knew he was dying to know what was going on. Instead, he nodded and, to my shock, he left me alone all day to get my head together.
And get it together I did.
I formed several plans of action.
Depending on what Hector’s next move was, mine would be a move to do one thing.
Protect myself until I could disappear.
And off to Crete I’d go. I’d tell Bex where to find me, she could tell Detective Marker how to get hold of me if the police needed me, but, other than that, I was gone.
As for finding my Mom, well, Lee Nightingale wasn’t the only private investigator in the world. There were others. I’d hire one of them, find Mom and bring her to me and she and I would eat souvlaki and pita bread (or whatever) and I’d work my way through all the Greek men on Crete who took my fancy but I wouldn’t give a single one of them my heart.