Chapter 172

word count 1099

Hank had no sooner got the words out questioning him on why he didn't acknowledge knowing the victim than Gil exploded.

“WHY DIDN'T I? Who the hell are you to question my motives?”

“You said that guy gave you a lift to the precinct after they dumped you on the highway. Why would you not acknowledge you knew him today?” Hank tried to sound calm, but Gil's incendiary response was a tough thing to stay cool about. He'd seen the Latino angry before, but this was over the top.

Gil ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deep. “Look, I don't know what I was thinking. It was just a split second decision, one that I could regret, I know. But what's done is done. Now quit bugging me about it. Okay?”

“Gil, if anything goes awry, you could end up looking guilty of this murder, just by virtue of the fact you withheld information.”

“Don't you think I know that? Look, I made a mistake! Alright?” Gil's head was spinning. What was wrong with him? Ever since he'd been doped into unconsciousness in that van, his thinking was murky at best. He had a huge empty spot in his head where he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Truth be told, he wasn't certain at the time that he didn't kill that nurse, just because he'd had amnesia. It was a tremendous relief to find his gun hadn't shot the fatal bullet. Even so, he was a blubbering idiot who couldn't make sound decisions and doubted himself at every turn. For an inkling of a second, he realized how right Hank had been to doubt him. But he quickly cast the thought aside. Instead, he got furious with his partner again, his blood rushing in a crescendo of fury.

“Yeah, well, you know what? I'm not guilty. And I'm sick of you accusing me of every crime under the sun. You know what, Bower? I don't want to work with a man I can't trust and who doesn't trust me. I'm putting in for a new partner as soon as we get back to the station.”

Hank bit his lip and pounded his fingers on the steering wheel. “Gil, you don't trust me. I don't trust you, at least not at the moment. You do what you want. But you might find out at some point I'm the best friend you could have.”

* * *

Tiffany Yoo was back at the tea room, cool, undisturbed by the fact she'd just gunned down her secret lover in cold blood. It wasn't the first time she'd killed a man. It wouldn't be the last. Her most recent victim before Steve had been a patron at the tea room. He'd gotten too seductive, cupping her buns when she leaned over the table to serve him tea, his eyes riveted on her breasts as she worked laying out a cup and saucer. She was offended by his predatory nature, his demeaning treatment of her. When he'd paid his bill and left the establishment, she followed him to the parking lot, pulled out her tiny pistol and went up behind him, issuing the fatal bullet at point blank range. When the police came, she acted the hysterical woman, feigning shock and horror at what happened. No one ever suspected her.

Tonight she regretted losing Steve, but he simply got in the way of her plan to steal the gem from Father's safe and strike out on her own. She'd have done that already, but Mr. Yoo was lingering in his office tonight. She'd miss the rolls in the hay with Steve, wished she could have included him in her plans. But he'd been an idiot. Licking her lips remembering, she next shrugged her shoulders to forget him and move on.

To take her mind off the lost lover, she directed her attention to a new customer coming through the door, a big fellow, dressed sort of all business. His look was sour, but she spied a sensuous mouth that could just as easily emit a resounding, hearty laugh. This was a man of healthy appetites, a man with hungers, a man with needs. She turned her head slightly to study deeper. Yes, she could see it. He could also be a man of danger.

Immediately she wanted him. Her blood pounded with that addictive mix between fearing the unknown and wanting, dying--to rush forward and leap free fall into dangerous fires, to burn, to fight for survival wrapped in flames...the ultimate kick in the ass. Yes, she wanted him. She wanted that ride, that raucous journey...

“Would you like a pot of tea?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Buzz Miller. He studied her without holding back, eyes traveling from her perky bust down to a well-rounded butt. His lower regions tingled, but he fought it. Keep your eye on the job, he thought. Mr. Yoo was the most prominent fence on the east coast. He just had to keep his cover and try to do a little business.

* * *

“I don't think I'll ever get used to driving on this side of the road,” mused Algernon as he pulled in front of Trudy's house to be faced with a single empty spot in a row of already parked cars. “Oh dear, parallel parking now.”

“Let me in the driver's seat. I can do it,” Trudy said. She made the offer in a weary tone, as though he were the biggest imbecile on earth.

Such a disagreeable creature, he thought, opening up and getting out of the car while Trudy scooted over to take the wheel. But he wanted to have a talk with her, and the only way to accomplish that was to park and go inside. He stood watching, impressed at her obvious skill behind the wheel.

Once secure in the tight spot, she jumped from car, slamming the door on your way out. “I don't know where ya got that jalopy, but ya oughta get a new car.” She paused to eye him up critically. “Ya look like a well-to-do SOB. I think ya could afford it!”

He cringed at her offensive language. “Perhaps inside you could make a spot of tea so we can settle and have a little chat.”

She stood hands on hips, staring at him. “I don't understand what the hell ya could want to talk to me about. What's this all about, Algernon?”

“It's about your bloody behavior, my dear.”