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recognized her, thought she looked out of place, or because Rudy looked like a cross between an F.B.I. agent and a goateed body builder. Either way their regard made her uncomfortable. Blushing, she dipped her head in greeting as Rudy whisked her along.
    “So?” he asked as they neared the limo.
    “So what?”
    “Is he cute?”
    Handsome, maybe. Charismatic, absolutely. But cute? She shrugged. “I didn’t notice.”
    Rudy laughed. “That means he’s young and straight.”
    “How do you figure?”
    He unlocked the back door. “You’re only attracted to gay men or men twice your age.”
    Afia settled in and opened her purse in search of an anti-bacterial towelette. Mental note: Dust the office. “That’s ridiculous.”
    “Both of your husbands were old enough to be your father. In fact they were both friends of your father.”
    “You make them sound ancient. Randy was forty-four when we married. Frank, fifty. That’s not old.”
    “Not for a forty-year-old woman, no. You were twenty-two when you married Randy. Twenty-six when you hooked up with Frank.”
    She finished cleaning her hands and tossed the soiled wipe in the litterbag. “So?”
    Rudy closed the door, rounded the limo, and then slid in behind the wheel. He glanced over his shoulder. “When’s the last time you were attracted to a man no more than five years your senior?”
    “Jeff Morton.”
    “Gay.”
    “Rickey Freeman.”
    “Gay.”
    “Carlos—”
    “Been there. Done him.”
    “Your point?”
    He faced front, revved the engine. “Either you connect with men you have no chance of hooking up with, or you hook up with men you have no chance of connecting with.”
    Afia resisted the childish urge to cover her ears. She did not want to hear this. “So now you’re reading psychology books?”
    “You know what your problem is?”
    “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
    “Fear of intimacy.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “I can explain.”
    “Maybe in our next session, Dr. Gallow. I need to change my clothes and get back here before Jake changes his mind.” Good thing Rudy’s apartment was only ten minutes away. Although finding an appropriate outfit would take time since she was living out of boxes. The last few weeks had been an emotional blur, the creditors proving as brutal as Henry Glick. After the IRS had confiscated Frank’s house, she’d had no choice but to move in with Harmon or Rudy. Rudy had been the easier choice even with all of his new age preaching. Harmon, though well-intentioned and loving, represented a lifestyle she was trying to shed like old, ill-fitting skin. She wanted to learn how to make it on her own.
    “So what’s he look like?”
    “Jake? Straw-blond hair. Short. Spiky. Longish sideburns. Remember my emerald ring?”
    “Mmm.”
    “Eyes a shade deeper. Crescent moon scar on his right cheekbone. Square jaw. Full lips.”
    Rudy laughed. “Not that you noticed.”
    Afia blushed. She hadn’t realized she’d been looking that hard.
    “Tall? Lean? A real hard-body?”
    Her head snapped up. “You
do
know him.”
    “
No.
” Rudy pointed up ahead. “Straw-blond hair. Short. Spiky.”
    Afia scooted forward and peered through the windshield. Sexy work boots planted slightly apart, Jake Leeds leaned back against the brick façade of the Bizby and lit a cigarette. Mental note: Remind him smoking is bad for his health. Tapered torso, sculpted biceps, he looked rugged and dangerous, and yet not one of several pedestrians gave him a second look.
Dress to blend
.
    Rudy gave a low whistle.
    Afia’s lip twitched. “Down boy. Not your type.”
    “So he is straight.” Rudy pulled out onto Atlantic Avenue.
    Afia shifted her gaze to the lowered side window. Straight
and
sexy. Good Lord.
    “And definitely under forty, honey. Not your type either.”
    The private investigator’s disturbing green gaze locked with hers. He blew out a stream of smoke, gestured to his watch, and mouthed, “One hour.”
    Sixty-minutes