Command Indecision (Lexi Graves Mysteries) (3 page)

I had the sudden urge to vomit.

With a shaking hand, I hit “redial” and watched as Maddox disentangled himself and... hung up on me again.

The bastard!

I could not believe he was doing this to me. Our relationship might not have been long, but as far as I knew, it was a good one. We spent several nights a week together, and we went on dates where we held hands and snuggled. On one particularly memorable occasion, we even did something a serving officer of the law should not do with his date, especially in the open air. And now he was pretending to be on some undercover job when he was actually snuggled up to an annoyingly pretty woman. I'd have rather he just dumped me than cheated. I hated cheaters.

With one last glance through Alessandro's plate glass window
,
I took a couple of
begrudging
shots of
Hassell
and his two male dinner companions before turning back to Maddox.

So, he wouldn’t answer my calls? Fine. Maybe he'd like a photo message instead. I called
up
the
gut-wrenching
photo and embedded it into a message
. Then I added Maddox's number, and typed
GFY. We're over
in the message box. My thumb hovered over the “send” button. I looked up to see them laughing with the other couple, and, with my lips set in a thin, angry line, I hit “send.”

As I fired up the car engine, I saw Maddox pull his phone out with a shake of his head.
He said something to his dining companions,
then blanched.

So he got the picture.

He wasn't the only one.

I watched a moment longer, just long enough for him to say something to his date, stand up, and make for the exit. No doubt, he was probably wondering where the hell I was.

Well, I'd seen enough.

I pulled out into the traffic, tears prickling my eyes. In my rearview mirror, I saw him step onto the sidewalk as he looked around
. W
ithout a backwards glance, I h
ightailed it
home.

By the time I pulled
in
to
my parking space outside the building Lily and I rented from her parents, my eyes were blurring, my breathing rapid, and I couldn't see straight. A burning urge to flee filled me. I couldn't stand the thought of being in the same town as Maddox. I didn't want to see him ever again. In a burst of clarity, I knew what I was going to do. I grabbed my phone and dialed.

Solomon picked up on the second ring. He didn't seem surprised to hear from me, though, come to think of it, he never did. "Hello?"

"Got some photos of your guy," I said. "No dice, unless he's into dudes."

"Send the photos when you get a chance."

"Solomon?" I paused, my heart doing that pounding thing again. "I changed my mind about the Fort Charles' job."

"I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow," he replied, without asking why.

"In the morning?" I squeaked, pausing to pull the phone from my ear as the “call waiting” noise sounded. I checked the screen
.
Maddox. The cheating son of a gun! Like I
was going to answer!
He could shove his explanation where his badge didn't shine. I stuck the phone back to my ear. "What do I need to bring?"

"A week's worth of clothes. Bring some sportswear and some smart stuff for the evening."

"Like ball smart or restaurant smart or bar smart?" What was it with men? Tell a man smart, he wears a suit, a tie and fits in just about anywhere. Tell a woman smart, and she doesn't know what the heck to wear.

"Socializing," he said. "Find something that will cover any casual evening activities."

Clear as mud.

"Gotcha," I said, holding down the lump in my throat.
With a curt,
"See you tomorrow,"
I hung up and stomped my way into the building. I knocked on Lily's door.

"Hello!" She beamed as she answered
, her blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders
. My face crumbled. "Did you lose the mark? Did a bird doo-doo on your car? Did someone get murdered?"

Lily had a strange collection of ideas of what might make my fac
e slump faster than a bulldog that
had his kibble taken away.

"Maddox," I sniveled
as my eyes began to stream
, "is a scumbag."

"Yes, he is, sweetie," Lily automatically agreed, pulling me inside. She immediately produced our two favorite men, Ben & Jerry, and two spoons.

I spilled my story right from the beginning, then cried on Lily's shoulder while she tried really hard to disagree that Maddox was a bastard and all men were scum. Then we cursed him for ringing three times and not leaving a message.
After three tequila shots, w
e pro-actively changed Maddox's name to “Jerkoff” in my cell phone contacts. Then we ate too much ice cream, added
a few more
shots
,
and somewhere around midnight, I bear-crawled upstairs to my apartment after calling this a
crappy
night.

Chapter Two

I awoke to the enthusiastic singing of “It's a Beautiful Day” from someone under my bed. After a brief moment of panic, I scrabbled for my gun so I could shoot the bastard through my mattress
. Fortunately,
my gun was locked away in a drawer, saving me the embarrassment of exp
laining a shoot-out
with my floor
to the cops. The flash of panic
neatly coin
cided with my remembering that Lily
thought it would be a good idea to change my ring tone to something more cheerful.

The singing stopped and my pounding head dropped to the
white pillow in relief, only for the incessant ringing
to start up again ten seconds later.

I scrabbled for it, squinting at the
out of focus
screen, and
hit “
answer.” "What?" I moaned.

"Where are you?" Solomon's cool voice filled my ear and I winced
as it rattled through my brain
.

"In bed," I mumbled.

"Interesting," he replied smoothly, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Why are you still there when you're expecting me?"

I wasn't expecting him, was I? Oh shit, I was! The brief conversation in which I agreed to work his undercover case flooded back to me.  Along with it came the gut-wrenching pain of seeing Maddox with another woman. Thankfully, the stabbing pain of a tequila hangover beat the shit out of my sadness. "Uhhh," I groaned, sinking my face down into the pillow.

"I'll be right up."

"No. I'll be right down," I protested weakly.

Solomon laughed
devilishly
and hung up. I had barely enough time to drag myself into the bathroom and splash water on my face. I was combing my hair when I heard
a knock at the door. Walking
gingerly towards it, every fo
otfall making my head throb, I
opened it, not even bothering to check the peephole.

Solomon ran his eyes over me.

"I see you're running late," he quipped. His eyes traveled down, landin
g somewhere around my middle—I
couldn't move my head without wanting to ke
el over, so frankly, who knew?—and
back up again.
A barely audible sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes.
Risking my discomfort, I looked down. Yeah, not so impressive, and,
oh sweet mortification
!
I managed to answer the door wearing nothing but yesterday's tee and a lacy thong. Note to self: in future, look in mirror properly before opening the door to a man who looks like he just stepped off a GQ cover. He didn't have any comment on my attire. His
heated
eyes and the rise and fall of his chest, however, said plenty.

"Hah. You think?" I replied, backing away so he didn't get even more of an eyeful as I reversed. If my mind weren't so sluggishly ticking over, it probably would have occurred to me to slam the door, put on some jeans or a robe, re-open the door, and start all over again. Instead, I just let him in and backed away, my hand flapping about for the door jamb. "Make yourself at home. I'm just going to die and get reanimated, 'kay?"

I continued back
ing up until I swayed to a stop inside my bedroom. I reached for the
door, finally grasping it on the third attempt and swung it shut. I kept blinking and trying not to see everything in triplicate.

"Okay, Buffy
,
" Solomon
called
. After a few seconds, I heard his footsteps as he headed towards the kitchen. With any luck, he would make coffee. And if the luck fairy was totally on my side, I would get through the morning without having to make a toll call on the porcelain telephone.

Despite agreeing to the op in a moment of sober madness last night, I hadn't actually thought to prepare for it. I, unfortunately, preferred the tequila and badmouthing option
to the more pressing issue of being replaced by the perky ponytail
. Lily was probably still sleeping it off. I had no clot
hes packed, nothing that said
“ready for business private investigator.” And
,
well
,
hell, I had the hangover of doom and a heart that felt like it had been ripped from my body, stamped on repeatedly, run through a meat grinder and sewn back in. How could Maddox cheat on me with someone else? Was the whole undercover op a lie? Was it just an excuse to let me down gently while he got it on with another woman? Absent a guilt trip from me to dampen the mood?

A tear streaked over my cheek as
I walked into the atta
ched bathroom, my mind whirling. I
turned the shower on and stood under the water, forgetting that it took a minute for the water to heat up. The icy stream made me squeal. A minute later, after the snuffling began in earnest, I remembered to take off my clothes.

It took a good thirty minutes of standing under the running water, right up until it ran icy-cold again, before I felt vaguely human. Somehow during that time, I'd totally forgotten Solomon was in my apartment. Just as I finished blow-drying my hair, carefully so as not to actually
touch
anything that wasn't necessary
in case I passed out
, he popped back into my head.
I imagined him holed up in my living room, checking his watch and tapping his foot.
Oops.
He was going to be pissed about waiting. Given my mood, I wasn't exactly into pissed bosses, so I took my time finishing my makeup and dressing. I kept one eye firmly on the clock, wincing at every minute that passed. I consoled myself by rationalizing he could be mad at a grubby
, stinky Lexi, or a fresh-
as
-
a
-
daisy me. Of the two, I preferred the second. From my closet, I grabbed my small, wheeled suitcase and a sports bag, tossing them on my bed as I went in search of Solomon.

I found him on my couch, the newspaper stretched across his knees. He was
focused
on the sports section, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup, and looking remarkably relaxed. "Welcome back to the land of the living," he said, glancing upwards
and taking in my jeans and tee
.
“Not sure which outfit I prefer.”

"Where did these come from?"
I asked, taking the cup Solomon plucked from the coffee table and passed to me.
I took another step into the main room that functions as my living space, dining room and home office
.
Prying the lid open, I took a sniff. The coffee
smelled of vanilla, sugary and sweet. It was quite a stark contrast to the coolly masculine fragrance wafting from Solomon when he brushed past me on the way in.

"Sounded like you were going to be a while so I went out and came back."

I wondered where he got a key from. "I have a hangover," I blurted, in case he hadn't deduced from my bloodshot eyes.

"There's a dozen donuts in the kitchen. Soak it up."

"You're like the hangover fairy."

Solomon raised his eyebrows
as he leaned back against the sofa
. "Never been called that before."

And he would probably have decked anyone that called him that too. I backtracked. "I meant, like a fairy godmother or..."
So
not better. Not fairies. Solomon was most definitely not a fairy. "A guardian angel." He raised an eyebrow.
God.
Not improving any. "Whatever. Thank you."

A faint smile lifted the edges of his lips. "You nearly ready to go?"

"Yes," I lied. "Got to throw a couple
of
things in my bag and I'm done. Two weeks you say?"

"Tops, hopefully." His eyes ran over my lightweight, v-neck sweater and skinny jeans. He didn't look overly hopeful.
Or, was he reminding me to pack tops? Or hoping that the stay would be short? My head pounded with the effort of basic thought.

"No problem." I took my cof
fee, detoured for a donut, and poked
around until I found an apple cinnamon. I took it with me to my bedroom. Into the suitcase went two weeks’ worth of tees, jeans, a few smart separates that fashion magazines would
call items that
“mix and match,” a couple of dresses, spare shoes, and, of course, 
pajamas.
Packing those made me pause and wonder where we might be staying, except I was too hung over to care. Leave the details to Solomon; I was just coming along for the snooping. After throwing in my makeup bag and hair stuff, I zipped the case, hoping that would do it.

"Leave your gun,"
Solomon ordered, his voice slicing clean through the receding thumping of my head
. "You can't take it on base."

"No problem." It hadn't actually occurred to me to pack it. My gun mostly stayed in a locked drawer. It wasn't that I was afraid of using it, I was a pretty good shot, but I didn't usually need it. Instead, I got my rocks off shooting losers with my long-range camera, something I'd purloined from the office for a case, and never gotten around to returning. I packed a few other thin
gs—my
notepad, my
compact camera, my cell phone—two
calls from someone called Jerkoff dur
ing the night, but no messages—and
hoped Solomon had whatever else we'd need. "I'm ready," I told him as I dumped my things in the hall.

"I'll explain our cover in the car," he told me, bending to grab my bags before I could.

The anticipation was killing me. Checking my reflection for the last time in the mirror, I brushed the cinnamon sugar from my mouth, smoothed my hair and went outside t
o play the grown-up version of L
et's
P
retend. On the way down, I ripped a piece of paper from my notepad to write Lily a short note. I told her I was out of town, working with Solomon
, in case I’d forgotten to mention it between shots one and ten,
and
that
I would call her soon. I signed my name with a big kiss. Then I locked up and eased myself into Solomon's
Lexus
. I rolled down the window and leaned my head out like a dog so the cool air could wash over my face.

"You okay?" he asked, his hand lingering on the key in the ignition.

"Peachy."

"Sure about that?"

"Absolutely," I lied, because I absolutely wouldn't talk about Maddox with Solomon. Besides, I figured Solomon's idea of comfort talk wouldn't include cursing every man under the sun and singing, "I Will Survive."
Instead
, he would either offer to have him taken out, or, do the more predictable man response
—change
the subject quickly while pretending not to notice my cheeks growing hot as I tried to hold back the tears. And I would absolutely not be caught crying in Solomon’s presence. I pictured Delgado having a rough day. He wouldn't cry in front of the boss. He'd focus on the job. He'd nail his suspect, probably take him down a back alley and give him a knuckle sandwich if he felt a little worked up. Seeing as I was having trouble focusing on the clock in the dashboard, I figured I'd focus on silence.

Solomon let a half hour slide by, coincidentally, the time it took us to edge out of Montgomery, before talking again. "What's up?"

"Rough night," I said, deciding the easiest way to skirt around the truth was to keep within the realms of it. "I'm never touching tequila again."

"I've said that a few times."

I rolled my head against the headrest and studied him. "I can't imagine you drunk."

"It has been known to happen. Though not for a few years."
He darted a glance at me and smiled. I smiled back.

"What happened? You answered the door to your boss, wearing a thong, and decided to change your ways?"

"No."

I shrugged. "Me neither."

Solomon smiled again, this time flashing his pearly whites.

"You said we're staying on base?" I pressed, changing the subject, wanting,
needing
something to focus on so I wouldn't have to think about the ache in the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah. Made sense. They have apartments for visiting personnel and families, and my friend swung it so that we can stay in one. It'll be easier for us to move around and get to know people on base if we're always there."

I focused on the important element of that. "We're staying in the same apartment?"

"Yes." Solomon replied as he slid a sideways glance at me. "Got a problem with that?"

I gulped. "No." Big problems!
For one, I h
adn't had a chance to cry my heart out—well
, except for some
snuffling sobs in the shower—and
if that
suddenly erupted
, it could get embarrassing. On the other hand, it wouldn't be like we were joined at the hip. And maybe I wouldn't even need to cry. Maybe I would just wear myself out every day until I keeled over and fell asleep. And it probably made sense. We'd be able to talk about the case no matter the hour. I already knew Solomon could cook,
which would be nice if I dared to ever face food again
. "What's our cover?"
I
asked.