by Elle Pierson
Mick considered that. “I don’t have a pet.”
She made a rude noise in her throat and tapped a finger on the dashboard of the Lexus. “I’ve seen the way you treat your car,” she said. “I beg to differ.”
“It’s a hire.”
“Oh, is it? Is that why it’s so clean?”
“No,” said Mick patiently. “It’s clean because I took it through the car wash this morning. I always have my cars cleaned once a week, whether they’re my own or a rental.”
Sophy would probably have looked at him in the same way had he just confessed to a penchant for cross-dressing or a latent toe fetish.
“We may have to re-evaluate this friendship,” she said after an appalled silence. “I’m trying to break my lifelong habit of associating with neat freaks. It isn’t healthy.”
He gave her arm a light pinch and went around to help her out of the car.
“You don’t have to walk me in,” she protested, before wincing. “Sorry, was that rude? I should probably ask you in for coffee.”
“I’ll have to decline the gracious offer,” Mick replied, smiling. “My system was rebelling against caffeine halfway through the tanker of espresso.” His voice was more serious as he added, “I want to make sure there aren’t any more anonymous surprises waiting for you.”
She had told him about the second gift during the trip up the gondola. It might be, and probably was, completely harmless. He couldn’t fault the taste of her would-be admirer. However, somebody had now targeted both her personal workspace and her home. That was reason enough to be wary.
And the biggest tell: Sophy herself was disturbed. Mick would put the power of instinct above rational thought any day. It had saved his own life and that of his compatriots more than once. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the situation.
He bent to greet an exuberant Jeeves as Sophy opened the front door and the black-and-white torpedo rocketed out like a popped cork.
“There’s no need to act like I abandoned you without sustenance in the desert,” Sophy complained to the dog, dodging to avoid a lathering to the face. “Melissa and Dale should be home by now. Their presentation finished at three.”
“This is your friend Dale?” Mick asked, following her into the hallway.
“Melissa’s ex,” she replied. “They work together, and they’re still good friends.” Her voice lowered as she cut a quick look toward an open door. “I’ve been wondering if they’re drifting back together, actually. He seems to have basically moved in.”
“Ah.”
“He’s a pain in the ass. You’ll hate him,” she joked, leading the way into a homey, slightly retro living area.
She had been kidding, but the light joke wasn’t far off the mark.
Mick exchanged a handshake and casual greetings with Dale Gallagher, outwardly polite and friendly.
The air between them all but crackled with instant dislike.
Gallagher’s knuckles briefly crushed around his palm as they stepped back. Apparently he was the type who used physical displays to inflate the size of his balls. Mick couldn’t care less. He was aware of having the odd vulnerability where women were concerned; he had never so much as flinched in response to a challenge from another guy. And there were some batshit crazy bruisers in the armed forces. Gallagher was a fucking kindergarten teacher by comparison.
He liked Sophy’s cousin, Melissa. She was a tall blonde with weird pink patches in her hair, a biting tongue, and shrewd green eyes. He couldn’t imagine what she’d originally seen in Gallagher, but after an acquaintance of five minutes, he could strike the prediction of a pending reconciliation.
The bastard was completely hung up on Sophy.
He was broadcasting it in every look, comment, unnecessary touch, and suspicious glare at Mick. The guy was circling her like a territorial Rottweiler.
Neither woman seemed to have a clue.
Sophy, at least, seemed to regard Gallagher as a cross between an annoying little brother and a faulty alarm clock that wouldn’t stop bleeping no matter how many times it was smacked down. He might look like a bloody menswear ad, but she obviously had no pressing desire to fall at his feet.
And hell, Mick was petty enough to feel smug about it.
As he left to return to work, he stopped beside the car and took a long, thoughtful look back at the house.
Chapter Six
“Two shots of blue cheese and a…rhino.”
It was all she could hear over the pounding bass beat. Sophy shoved her ponytail over her shoulder and took another look at the blonde girl leaning heavily on the bar. She had probably spent hours on her hair and makeup earlier in the night; now, the heat-flattened curls were limp and bedraggled, and she had sweated through her foundation. Her bustier was making a decent attempt to escape a pair of generous breasts, and she was half-draped over a guy with a Yosemite Sam moustache who’d had his hand up another girl’s skirt two songs ago.
Blue cheese? Blue cheese…
Sophy scanned the rows of liquor bottles for anything that sounded vaguely similar to that unlikely order. Coming up short, she sighed resignedly and poured two shots of tequila. The girl was so hammered she probably wouldn’t notice the difference. As both an apology and a futile attempt to sober her up to the point where she would realise that going home with Senor Mustachios would be a monumentally bad idea, she added a pack of mixed nuts on the house.
She gave it forty minutes before they made a violent reappearance in a rubbish bin or all over the sidewalk.
There was barely time for a quick neck stretch before six orders for beer refills were shouted over the counter. This was one of those nights when she was sorry that she was too much of a straight arrow to fake an onset of chicken pox and stay home with a book. The university rugby teams from all over the country were in town for a tournament, which had drastically increased the bar’s aggressive drunk quota. She had received so many x-rated offers that she was starting to feel as if she worked in a very different sort of club.
At least two people had been caught trying to smoke indoors, which was not only illegal in a public space but potentially lethal for Sophy personally.
She watched a barely-legal guy attempt to skull a magnum bottle of sparkling wine. He clearly thought it was the single sexiest moment of his life.
Alcohol was a cruel beast.
She was only working until midnight, having come in early to cover the dinner rush for a (presumably genuinely) sick waitress. At ten minutes to twelve, she started getting ready for the shift changeover, took some of the cash takings out back to the safe as a security measure, checked the bathrooms for anyone verging on an alcoholic coma. The bar managers had no problem continuing to sell alcohol to those well over the legal limit, but God forbid they should succumb to their excesses while still on the premises. Everyone in the ladies’ room was still vertical, praise be, but at least one person was no longer in possession of their stomach contents.
Sophy shuddered and backed out. If she ever felt like complaining about her job, she only had to look at what the cleaning staff had to handle. The odd boob-stare and butt-pinch seemed pretty tolerable in comparison. She grabbed her bag and light jacket from the staff cloakroom, steeled her ears, and walked back out into the bar. Stacia, the bartender taking over for the night shift, flicked her wrist in wordless greeting, and Sophy waved back.
The flashing of strobe lights from the ceiling fractured her hand and vision into multiple pulsing shards. The points of her high heels stuck to the liquor sheen on the floor as she headed for the door, pushing and dodging her way through a pack of rhythmically bobbing people. It was exactly like trying to get off a crowded bouncy castle, only to be constantly knocked back and flung sideways. She’d hated those as a kid, too.
Outside on the sidewalk, the music retreated to a muted and far more enjoyable level, the air was like a crisp, clean shot of espresso, and she could raise a hand to smooth her hair without accidentally stroking a stranger
.
Sophy stood for a moment, enjoying the relative quiet. There were throngs of people all over the streets, laughing and talking, but mercifully no thumping bass beat. Somehow, at that volume it managed to hit and reverberate directly in the region of the belly, which was both bizarre and unpleasant.
Not for the first time, as she started to walk in the direction of home, she contemplated switching the bartending shifts for a daytime waitressing gig. But the pay was dismal in comparison, she would have way less time for school and her personal art, and she would have to talk to people. Hospitality and retail staff in Queenstown were expected to be even bubblier and more outgoing than was usual for the trade. It was the tourist atmosphere. Holiday-makers wanted to be around people who shared their buoyancy. They didn’t want to be served coffee by a retiring mouse who whispered the daily specials.
She tried to think positively. If her entry managed to place in the sculpture competition, the exposure might lead to enough paper and even stone commissions that she could give up the moonlighting entirely. And she was fairly sure that it was going to be good. She had a feeling about Hades.
Pulling her jacket tighter across her chest, Sophy folded her arms and jogged lightly across the street, skipping out of the way of a passing car. She was turning off the busy intersection that ran by the pedestrian-only outdoor mall, crossing into the quieter part of town that led to her home block, when she became aware of a slowly thrumming motor behind her.
Feeling as if this was her week for a slow descent into paranoia, she peeked over her shoulder, and a spike of nerves prickled her midsection. There were numerous cars on the road, some of them actually keeping down to a decent speed, but one had pulled slightly over to the side of the road and seemed to be hanging back. There was no reason to assume the driver was watching her…but there were free parking spaces if he wanted to stop and there were no other pedestrians in sight at that particular moment.
She was aware that it wasn’t the wisest move to walk home from work alone at this hour, but the house was literally ten minutes away if she strode briskly, and there was always passing traffic. It never seemed worthwhile paying for petrol and vehicle maintenance when most of her life was in walking distance, and there were buses and obliging friends for the odd long-distance trip.
Right now, she was thinking that investing in at least a bicycle might be a good idea.
In a fortnight where she’d encountered mad bombers and seemed to have picked up an ever-so-slightly creepy secret admirer, roadside abduction didn’t seem as outlandish as it might have done.
She came to a complete stop.
So did the car.
That was it. Abruptly wheeling around, Sophy half-ran back toward the mall. The moment she was surrounded by people again, most of whom seemed to be having the time of their lives, she felt both silly and almost light-headed with relief. A fast food chain outlet was open all night, so she went inside, blinking in the sudden bright light. She ordered a Coke out of good manners, and sat down to pull out her phone.
She meant to call Melissa. Her thumb actually scrolled to Melissa’s name and paused before she continued on a little further and selected a different contact.
He picked up on the third ring, sounding brisk, fully alert, and concerned. “Sophy?”
She actually closed her eyes for a moment.
So stupid.
“Mick,” she said, and her mouth was dry. She fiddled with the straw of her drink, took a quick sip, cleared her throat.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. She could hear a faint rustling as if he was sitting up, perhaps pulling on clothing. There was a thought best aborted immediately. “Are you at work? Is everything all right?”
It was after midnight, and she’d only called him on a handful of occasions, all in broad daylight. She supposed she’d better snap out of it and find speech quickly before he started loading a gun and calling for backup.
“I got off at twelve,” she explained in a rush. “Um – I was just walking home, and there was a car. It was sort of – creeping behind me. It was probably nothing, but I kind of freaked…”
“Where are you now?” He didn’t hesitate. A door on his end opened and shut. Keys jangled. “Are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.” Sophy couldn’t hide her relief as she gave him the directions. Her attempt to dissuade him was half-hearted at best.
She wanted to see him.
Despite the traffic congestion between the restaurant and the hotel where the Ryland Curry staff were living, the black Lexus slid to a stop in less than five minutes. She trashed her empty plastic cup, grabbed her things, and ran out to slide into the passenger seat beside him. The interior of the car was dim, lit only by the streetlights. One arm resting on the steering wheel, Mick pulled out into the flow of cars without a word, his free hand coming out to close warmly over hers.
Sophy leaned her head back against the headrest and let out a deep sigh. “Thanks,” she said simply.
His fingers squeezed hers before he let go.
“I probably over-reacted.”
“You reacted like an intelligent person with good survival instincts,” Mick responded calmly. His dark eyes flickered over to her, scanning her body in one quick, comprehensive look. The harsh features of his face were hidden in shadows. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
After a moment of oddly comfortable silence, he said, “I’m glad you called me.”
She hesitated, and then lightly touched her fingertips to his thigh in a wordless gesture.
The house was completely dark when they arrived, which was unusual. Melissa always left the porch light on for her when she had a late shift, and Jeeves was usually standing sentry at the window.
“That’s weird,” Sophy said, frowning as she released her seatbelt. “I wonder why Mel didn’t… Oh – God, I’ve completely lost track of time this week. Never mind.”
“Is she not home?” Mick asked, his own brow troubled as he looked from her to the house.
“No, I completely forgot. She’s staying at her mum and dad’s house tonight because Aunt Ella had surgery today. Nothing serious, but Uncle Peter has a system malfunction and starts whirring and emitting clouds of smoke if he has to deal with more than one household problem at once. Melissa went along to help out, and prevent her mother being arrested for homicide when she should be resting. She told me yesterday that she’d take Jeeves with her, because we thought I wouldn’t be home until four-ish, and he usually takes that level of abandonment out on my shoes.”
She didn’t know where this recent tendency toward nervous babbling had come from, but it could stop at any time.
“I see,” said Mick. He was smiling slightly, but didn’t look happy.
Sophy didn’t feel overly happy herself as she looked again at the dark house. The independent streak she prized so highly seemed to have packed its bags and headed for cooler climes.
“Um,” she said. She bit her lip. “Did you want to come in for a little while? Have a cup of tea or something?”
Guys drank tea, right? Men other than Earl Grey and Prince Charles?
Mick had been embarrassingly quiet for several long seconds.
Awkward.
“Or beer,” she added hastily, and his lips twitched.
“Tea would be great,” he said at last. “Black.”
“Black,” she repeated, relieved. “Right.”
He followed her up the path, almost colliding with her back when she stopped several feet short of the front door. Large hands came out to steady her as she spun on the balls of her feet and faced him.
“’Tea’ is not a euphemism for sex,” she blurted out, about four times too loudly.
Mick made a small choking sound, and released her like she’d turned on an electrical current.
“In case you were thinking that,” she went on, feeling the heat flame in her cheeks. She was fairly sure he hadn’t been thinking that, judging by the whacked-by-l
arge-mallet expression. Although he probably was now. “Because I’ve seen movies. And when people invite other people in for coffee, they’re usually referring to something else. Which I am not. All I’m offering is tea.”
I think he gets it, Sophy. I think every neighbour in a five kilometre radius is now fully informed on that point.
Mick, to his credit, was doing a reasonable job of swallowing back the laughter.
“Duly noted,” he said with heavy solemnity, and she glared at him and managed a reluctant smile.
“I just like to make these things clear from the outset. There’s no point raising false expectations.”
“I appreciate that.” He waited patiently while she unlocked the front door, surveying the perimeter of the yard in a thorough but almost absent manner that was probably instinctual to him. “Just tea?” he double-checked thoughtfully as she turned on the lights.
“Well, I may be able to run to a chocolate biscuit. I found them at the supermarket. Wheat-free, fat-free, and taste-free.”
“All I wanted to know.”
As she busied herself in the kitchen, he pushed his hands into his pockets and wandered over to the coffee table, casually eyeing her course materials strewn over the surface. When she emerged from behind the counter with a cup in each hand – hearts and floral patterns for her; Snoopy for him – and a plate of pseudo-biscuits balancing precariously on her wrist, he was reading the second page of her current essay.
“Hey,” she protested, and made a grab for the papers.
Mick easily fended her off, lifting his cup of tea from her grasp with his free hand. “Thanks,” he said. “And shh. I’m reading.”
“Well, stop reading,” she responded snappily, sitting down beside him. “That’s off-limits to anyone but my lecturer.”
“It’s interesting.” He relented and returned the pages to her. “I’ve heard of Keith Heatherly, obviously,” he said, naming the famous New Zealand modernist painter, “but I wasn’t aware his wife was an artist as well.”