Mostly.
CHASE WAS NO CLOSER TO DEE Romine the following Saturday than he’d been the day he’d arrived in Cole Harbor. He wouldn’t exactly say she went out of her way to avoid him, but he couldn’t help wondering if the sparks of sexual attraction between them had only been a conscious awareness of nothing more intriguing than the firing between synapse and neurotransmitter inside his own gray matter.
The accompanying state of semiarousal that occurred whenever he thought of her denied that hopeful musing.
With a grunt of disgust, he closed the file he’d been staring at for over an hour with a snap and tossed it carelessly on top of the open box containing more of the Romine case. He’d checked and rechecked the detailed schematic of her whereabouts and habits over the last twelve months until he knew them by heart. Since she’d worked the previous weekend at Berkeley County Hospital, she should’ve had the weekend off, but as Chase had learned from the bug he’d planted in her telephone, Friday morning she’d received a call from the hospital asking if she could work a couple of additional shifts over the weekend. She hadn’t hesitated and Chase wished she’d been asked to work the graveyard shift. That was something he could’ve used to his advantage. There was no way he could risk sneaking into her apartment during the light of day. The chances of someone spotting him were too great.
Twenty minutes later he knew if he didn’t get out and do something he’d go stir-crazy. He thought about heading off toward town, but this late on a Saturday afternoon, the few businesses that were open on the weekend had either already shut down or were preparing to close up shop. His options ranged from the D.Q. and the high-school crowd, the Surf & Turf Diner and the geriatric generation, or one of three local taverns. The latter appealed to him even less than his first two options. During his college days when drinking and carousing were practically a part of the curriculum, more often than not he’d assumed the role of designated driver. He had a hang-up about drugs and alcohol, but kept his opinions to himself lest he be forced into an explanation. Certain information was better kept buried in the past where it belonged, especially when he had no desire to admit to anyone his less than stellar beginnings.
He was bored, restless and blamed both emotions on the brunette downstairs who’d cost him six whole days of prime surveillance time by doing nothing more exciting than traveling to the clinic each morning and returning before sundown each evening. Her lights were consistently out before midnight and he hadn’t heard so much as a television in the background during the four unremarkable telephone calls she’d received since he’d set the tap.
The restlessness sprang from other, more personal emotions and the fact he could not stop thinking about Dee in a way that bothered him. As in hot and bothered. He let out a stream of breath. Had he really been too long without a woman? Must be, he thought, otherwise he’d be able to ignore the fantasies occupying his mind. A little physical exertion would be just the ticket to clear his head so he could start focusing on the job, and not the way her skin would feel when flushed with desire.
He found a few tools for the yard in a small shed at the rear of the triplex, along with an old push mower in serious need of oiling and blade sharpening.
Despite the heavy humidity pushing the heat index higher than normal for the area, for the next four hours Chase trimmed and box-shaped the hedge, then cleared the weeds from the fountain. Armed with a half-empty spray can of lubricant and a sharpening stone he’d found after searching a battered red toolbox in the corner of the shed, he sat on the wooden steps outside Dee’s unit beneath the shade provided by the overhang on her side of the wide front porch and started tearing down the mower.
“Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”
Chase looked up, surprised to find Dee looking at him, curiosity banked in her eyes. In accordance with the climbing heat index and stifling humidity, she wore a pair of khaki walking shorts with a plain white top tucked into the narrow waistband. With one white sneaker propped on the bottom step and her hand wrapped around the wooden railing, she looked as if she’d been ready to bound up the stairs until she saw him.
Using the shirt he’d pulled off over an hour ago, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I thought the place could use a little work.”
“Mrs. England has a gardener, you know.”
“Then she should fire him because he does a lousy job.”
She shrugged, then hesitated long enough to have him wondering if she was debating whether or not she could trust him not to touch her if she passed by him.
As if every nerve in his body wasn’t poised for action, he gave the mower blade his attention once again. The sun had begun its descent over the western horizon, yet the air was still heavy with humidity, causing moisture to cling to just about every surface of his body. The moist heat would have been completely unbearable if not for the light sea breeze that occasionally teased his skin and gently stirred the fronds of the palmetto trees overhead.
She must’ve decided it was safe, because after a few ticks of the second hand on his wristwatch, she climbed the stairs to her apartment. The jangle of keys was followed by the click of the door and the faint whoosh of cool air from the central air conditioning that brushed against his skin.
The screened door snapped shut about the same time her front door closed. Well, now what? he wondered. He had been waiting for her to return, so now what did he do? The equipment was set to record if she received or made a telephone call. Maybe he could even come up with a plausible excuse to gain entrance into her apartment again. The “my phone is out” trick wouldn’t fly a second time, but he could always pull the lame borrow an egg or cup of sugar routine if he got desperate enough. There was the Senior Health class, but it wouldn’t make sense for him to contact her so soon about speaking to the class when school wouldn’t be in session for another two weeks.
Before he could conceive a viable plan, her door opened. “Are you drinking enough water to replenish what you’re losing?” she asked abruptly, keeping the screened door between them.
He detected a note of irritation in her voice, but finished his stroke along the mower blade before looking over his shoulder at her. Definitely irritation. Her sable eyebrows slanted into a frown. He couldn’t see her eyes clearly, but he easily imagined the gold highlights sparkling due to her annoyance. Annoyance he’d bet his badge was unwanted.
The question as to the cause of her aggravation held all sorts of interesting possibilities, and had him curious as hell. Because she didn’t want to care if he was running the risk of dehydration? Or did her attitude stem from some other, more base instinct? The same base instincts he’d been unable to stop thinking about since they’d touched that morning in her compact kitchen.
“I’m fine, Doc,” he said, forcing himself to return to sharpening the mower blade and not try to see for himself if those gold highlights were indeed sparkling. He flicked his finger over the sharpened blade. Not bad. Satisfied, he started working the opposite side.
“By the way you’re sweating, I’d say you’re dangerously close to dehydration, unless you’re taking in plenty of water.”
A smile kicked into a grin when he glanced over his shoulder at her again. She’d been watching him. And paying attention. “Is that strictly your professional opinion?”
He couldn’t be sure, but he could’ve sworn her eyes narrowed slightly.
“It’s an observation,” she said, the husky nuances of her voice conjuring plenty of images, but not a single one of them professional.
“So you’ve been observing, huh?”
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. Damn, but he wished he could see her eyes clearly.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, it’s… Just drink plenty of water. And that is my professional opinion.” The sound of her door closing was followed by the slide of the safety chain.
He shrugged