Kill the Competition (18 page)

Libby huffed. "I say be careful even after you
marry
the man. How does the saying go—DON'T trust a man farther than you can throw him?"

"Or farther than you can blow him," Carole added with a grin.

"You have spinach in your braces," Rosemary said with a disapproving tone.

"Yes, Mother."

Rosemary scowled. "So what are we going to be subjected to at the spa tomorrow?"

Carole smiled all around. "We're all getting seaweed wraps, then Rosemary and Libby are going for facials, while Belinda and I do something a little more adventurous."

Belinda choked down a chunk of romaine. "Adventurous?"

Carole smiled but thankfully hid it with her hand. "Have you ever had a Brazilian bikini wax?"

"Um, no."

"You're going to love it."

Belinda arched her eyebrow. "Isn't that supposed to be painful?"

"It's over, like, instantly. You won't feel a thing."

"Famous last words," Libby murmured.

"By the time Libby and Carole get through with you, Belinda," Rosemary said with a smirk, "you won't have any hair left at all."

Belinda smiled at the group of diverse women, feeling comfortable for the first time in recent memory. None of the women seemed to have anything in common other than working for Archer, and perhaps battling the traffic. Funny, but she had shied away from female relationships for that very reason—she hadn't seemed to have anything in common with most women she'd met. She'd been a loner her entire life.

And lonely.

But she was starting to realize that she didn't have to have obvious commonalities with friends—simply being female appeared to be a universally confusing condition. She was in good company.

They were pushing croutons around on their plates and coming down from their respective buzzes when Libby pointed to a television showing an aerial view of I-85. She sighed. "Darn, looks like traffic is breaking."

"It still won't be a picnic getting home," Rosemary said. "It'll be dark soon." She flagged the waitress for the check. "Belinda, are you okay to drive?"

Belinda nodded. "I'm a cheap date, but the effects seem to pass rather quickly."

They settled the bill and gingerly climbed down from their chairs, gathering purses and jackets. None of them, she realized, were eager to hit the road, and all of them had different reasons for not wanting to go home. They moved through the noisy crowd toward the door, Belinda bringing up the rear.

But as she walked past the bar, Belinda did a double take—Lieutenant Alexander? In civilian clothes and from the side, she couldn't be sure. Dressed in jeans and a pale blue Atlanta Falcons T-shirt, he stood within arm's reach, talking to a small group of men, two of them in uniform. What was so unfamiliar about him was his smile—no, his
grin
—that transformed him from a solemn-faced cop into the mouthwatering neighbor boy that made a girl want to ride her bike up and down the street just to catch a glimpse. He lifted a bottle of beer to his mouth, but stopped when he caught sight of her. His dark eyebrows rose in recognition, and his friends turned to see what had captured his attention. She flushed, wishing she'd kept moving. But he stepped toward her, and for some foolish reason, her heart started pounding.

Association, she decided, wondering if she'd done anything she could be cited for.

"Hello," he said and offered a diluted version of that stomach-flipping grin.

"Hello," she said. "I'm beginning to think that Atlanta is a small city."

"It can be. Waiting out the traffic?"

She nodded. "You?"

He opened his mouth but was interrupted when a buddy of his, who'd apparently had much more to drink, stepped over and clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Buy this man a drink, pretty lady. We're celebrating Wade's return to single life."

She looked back to Wade, who was fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle. Compared to his friend, he seemed less jolly about the occasion. Her heart moved for the big man. "I was just leaving," she said. "But it was good to see you again, Lieutenant."

"I'll walk you to your car," he said, shoving his beer against his buddy's stomach with a glare.

"That's all right, it's parked at my office building."

"All the more reason."

"I'm with my friends," she said, pointing to the door where the women stood, craning for a look.

He looked at the women, then back to her. "Still."

Well, it was hard to argue with that. She conceded with a nod, then caught up with her friends. "Girls, you remember Lt. Wade Alexander."

"Wade," he said, nodding a greeting.

They chorused hello, but shot her quizzical looks.

"Um, Wade offered to walk us to our car."

More looks, which she ignored. Finally, Rosemary walked out, forcing Libby and Carole to follow and maintain a discreet lead.

He held open the door, and she walked out into the dusk. After the smoky interior of the bar, the fresh air felt good expanding her lungs, and the temperature had dropped with the sun. She lifted her jacket from her arm and responded with surprise when he took it from her and held it while she slid her arms inside. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry about my moron buddy back there. Believe it or not, he thought he was being a friend."

She resumed walking, ultra aware of his proximity. "No need to apologize. Friends don't always know what to do when... things like this happen. I'm sure he meant well."

They walked in silence. She longed for breezy conversation, but every encounter with this man so far had been fraught with awkwardness. "How long were you—"

"Six years," he cut in.

"Ah." So much for breezy conversation.

"The only good thing about my marriage was that we didn't have children."

Justification? She decided not to judge. "Divorce is hard on children."

"Do you—"

"No." She smiled. "I have a cat, and she's enough of a handful."

"I have a cat, too."

She laughed. "No offense, but you don't seem like a cat person."

"I'm not. The cat was... hers. But when she left, she didn't want it, and I didn't have the heart to take the poor thing to a shelter."

"Same for me," Belinda said with a sad smile. "Does your cat miss her—I mean, is it sulking?"

"He's shredding my furniture, if that's what you mean."

She winced. "At least Downey's not destructive. She just snubs me."

His laugh was a pleasing rumble. "They'll get over it."

"Think so?"

He looked at her directly for the first time, and she was struck by the full impact of his expressive gray eyes. "I'm counting on it."

She looked away first, and, alarmed by how far they'd fallen behind the women, increased her stride. When pedestrians approached, they were forced to walk closer together, and a couple of times, his hand hovered above her waist. An impulse of Southern manners, she was sure, like the ma'aming and the door-holding.

"Do you live around here?" she asked.

"Not too far from here. I have a small house in Ansley Park."

"I hear that's a nice area."

"It is. My place is a fixer-upper, but in the final stages, thank goodness."

"So you can do more with your hands than change a tire?" She wanted the words back as soon as they left her mouth.

He grinned. "Try me."

Belinda suddenly found it imperative to count the number of cracks in the sidewalk, and she hoped to find one large enough to fall into and disappear.

"So how do you like working at Archer?" he asked, probably to fill in the space.

"I'm getting acclimated."

"Did you make that important meeting Monday morning?"

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

He shrugged. "I remember your friend saying something about it at the time."

"No, unfortunately, I didn't make the meeting, and my boss was rather perturbed."

"One of those, huh?"

She smiled. "Well, I try not to complain about her, but she can be a tyrant."

"So why stick around?"

"Greed. She brought me on to help take the company public."

"Works for me."

"At least you made
your
meeting. Not too late, I hope."

"Actually, it was a court date."

"Someone you ticketed?"

"Uh, no. Divorce settlement."

She winced. "And I almost made you miss it."

"I shouldn't have cut it so close."

"You looked as if you were just going off duty."

"A case I was working on ran late."

"All night?"

He nodded. "In hindsight, I don't think I was very nice to you."

"Under the circumstances, I thought you were incredibly nice. And now that I know everything, I can't imagine why you didn't shoot me."

He grinned, and she forgot to breathe.

"Listen," he said, his voice and expression changing. "How would you like to go to a Braves game sometime with me?"

Thank goodness they were at the entrance to the parking garage, because she suddenly wanted to be away from him. Something about this man spooked her, reminded her of places she didn't want to go. Not yet, not so soon after her heart had been amputated, and his trampled as well. For now, she needed Julian's carefree smile and feel-good touches.

"Thank you for walking us back. This is far enough." She hadn't meant for the words to come out sounding so defensive, but there it was. Belinda stopped and signaled the girls, who were still ahead of them, to wait. "And I think I'll pass on the game."

He hesitated, then pursed his mouth. "Okay. You have my cell phone number in case anything... comes up."

"Yes." Her smile felt stiff. "Good luck with your cat."

"And you."

As Belinda turned to go, a sense of déjà vu settled over her. She was always hurrying away from this man.
 

Later she realized she'd been so distracted by Wade Alexander's presence that she hadn't thought to tell him about the flying plant incident.

Chapter 13

Belinda opened her front door and contemplated her Saturday newspaper lying in the middle of her yard patch. She shot a glance toward Perry's driveway. The man himself wasn't in sight, but the lid to the coffin-sized stainless steel toolbox in the bed of his truck was ajar, so he was somewhere in the vicinity.

She slipped out the door as silently as possible and picked her way across the grass. Dew seeped through her thin house shoes, and the morning chill reminded her she wasn't wearing a bra. She leaned over to get the plastic-covered paper—almost there.

"Hey, Belinda!"

She winced, crossed her arms over her chest, and straightened. Perry walked toward her wearing a cutoff T-shirt and torn jeans that rode morbidly low. In one hand he held a coil of thick wire, in the other a wrench big enough to make her think about that road-safe weapon the girls had been hounding her to buy. "Hi, Perry."

He eyed the thin denim shirt she'd donned to do housework. "I saw you drive in last night—still don't have your car fixed?"

"Um, no. I'm supposed to get the estimate Monday."

"Want to go get a waffle?"

"Sorry—a friend is coming over."

"Boyfriend?"

She frowned. "No."

"Just askin'. Hey, I'll be down in your neck of the woods next week."

"Oh?"

"I got a work order for an elevator that's out of commission in your building."

That had taken long enough—Jeanie Lawford had been dead for six months. Of course, an investigation by the insurance company would have stalled the repairs.

He assumed as casual a pose as possible while holding a giant wrench. "So... what floor do you work on? Maybe I'll stop by."

"I don't think that's a good idea."