Unmanned Read Online Free PDF Page B

for a moment, then shrugged and left.
    I closed my eyes, resting my head against the wall behind me and reveling in my victory. Sometimes you have to take what you can get.
    “Yes, is Connie McMullen there?”
    I heard the words plain as day. My eyes popped open. I staggered to my feet and hurtled into the kitchen. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    Rivera glanced up casually, covered the mouthpiece with one hand, and stared at me. “You going to come and eat?”
    “Don’t you dare call my mother,” I hissed.
    “Already did.”
    “You’re lying.”
    He uncovered the receiver.
    “All right,” I snarled, and lumbered into the kitchen.
    He hung up the phone and folded his arms across his chest. It was still bare…and dark…and sexy as hell. Damn him. He’d already pulled on his jeans and they looked ridiculously pristine. My own ensemble was crinkled up like an accordion. Double damn him. I plopped into a chair and glared. “There. You happy?” I asked.
    “Ecstatic,” he replied, and taking the lid from the frying pan, flipped a pair of fat, golden pancakes onto my stoneware dinner plate. He placed three strawberries beside them, topped them with something that looked like honest-to-goodness real whipped cream, and sprinkled cinnamon over the top.
    I glanced at it. Smelled it. Wondered why Harlequin hadn’t eaten it yet.
    “I’m trying to convince you there’s reason to live,” Rivera said.
    He set a steaming measuring cup of syrup in the center of the table where a half-dozen magazines and two romance novels had reclined the night before. They were nowhere to be seen. I wondered vaguely if Rivera was a neat freak or if he just had some weird-ass aversion to eating on top of reading material. But even that thought sent a little tendril of guilt spiraling through me. A man was dead, what did I care what kind of freak Rivera was?
    He pushed the butter toward me. “Everything’ll be okay.”
    I glanced up at him. “Easy for you to say, nobody’s trying to kill you.”
    He didn’t respond, but took the chair next to me and poured syrup on my pancakes. I scowled. “Are they?”
    “Not today. Do you want some cheese?”
    I gave him the tilted-head look I’d learned from Harlequin.
    He shrugged. “I like cheese,” he said, and settled back in his chair, watching me. “I went to a lot of trouble on those cakes.”
    I scowled again, cut out a fluffy, golden triangle, and shoved it into my mouth. I realize that witnessing a murder should have made my taste buds go numb, but I won’t lie to you: The pancakes tasted like heaven. If heaven is buttery and a little crispy around the edges.
    “How have things been going at work?” he asked.
    I took another bite. He poured me a glass of milk. “All right,” I said, mouth full. Turns out I was hungry. But that doesn’t make him smart or anything. I’ll probably be hungry postmortem.
    “Any interesting cases?”
    I took a slurp of milk, stared at him over the rim. “Lepinski decided on smoked turkey on rye.” Mr. Lepinski has been my client for over a year. His wife had recently cheated on him with the deli guy, and he was currently ignoring the situation by discussing luncheon options. It was a time-honored tradition with him.
    Rivera nodded, not knowing what I was talking about and apparently not caring. “Anything else?”
    I plucked a strawberry and twirled it in the white ambrosia. I’d been right, it was real whipped cream. Yummy. Sometimes reality actually
was
better than my dreams.
    “What have the police found out?” I asked.
    His brows lowered a fraction of an inch. “Anyone threatening you?” he returned.
    And suddenly the fluffy ambrosia didn’t look so appetizing. I glanced at my lap and cleared my throat. “So someone
is
trying to kill me.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    I pushed my plate aside. The cakes were nearly gone anyway. “Yes you did.”
    “Answer the question, Chrissy,” he said. “Has anything unusual