Valentine's Day Is Killing Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

happened? Did you kill—uh—” She looked at Scott.
    “Charley Ferrin.”
    “Yeah, him. Did you do it?”
    “We won’t tell anyone,” Scott assured him.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, please leave.”
    “Like hell!” she shouted.
    “Okay,” Scott said, and grabbed her by the elbow.
    “Wha—? Scott! This guy’s dirty! He knows something! He—mmph!”
    This time he had kissed her . And, interestingly, was dragging her out of the restaurant at the same time. When he pulled his mouth away, he said cheerfully over her shoulder, “Young love and all that. Sorry to waste your time.”
    “Scott!” She was nearly apoplectic with rage. “What are you doing?”
    “Getting you out of there,” he muttered. They were on the sidewalk now, and he was looking around for a cop. “If he is dirty, I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
    “But…we could get you off the suspect list.”
    “Yeah, but if he’s rotten enough to stab somebody with a fork, he’s rotten enough to tie up loose ends. Like some weird woman yelling at him about how she thinks he did the deed.”
    “But—”
    “Forget it, Julie Kay. It’s too risky. We’ll figure something else out.”
    She hardly knew what to say. Her anger had melted and been replaced by…what? Gratitude? Sexual longing? Admiration? Annoyance? He was risking his own freedom to keep her safe, and that was just…well, so romantic. And dumb. But mostly romantic. No, mostly dumb.
    “They must be done with the interviews,” he observed.
    “What?”
    “Look around. There’s, like, nobody on the street.”
    “Ugh. That means they’ve decided you did it. I bet that rotten, lying managerial son of a bitch was sooo helpful, too.”
    “Unfortunately, I didn’t see any blood on him.”
    “Dark suit, though.”
    “Yeah, but still…” He trailed off doubtfully.
    “Well, let’s definitely not go to the police station now.”
    “But—”
    Her phone beeped, and she remembered she’d shut the ringer off when they got to the restaurant. She flipped it open and hit the Missed Calls button.
    “Oh,” she said.
    “What?”
    She showed him. Bright blue letters flashed across the small white screen: Hobbes, Catherine A., Detective, Minneapolis Homicide, 612-592-3921.
    “Shit.”
    “Think she wants me to come back?”
    “I’m sure of it.”
    “Well,” he pointed out, “there’s not much we can do about that. You can’t just not take me back.”
    “The hell.”
    “What?” She was already at the car, and he jogged after her. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”
    “Back to my place until this dies down.”
    “But you have to take me back. Or at least return her phone call.”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “Julie Kay, be reasonable.”
    “Never!”
    “Come on, you can’t not produce me.”
    “Watch me.”
    “Julie Kay!” he said sternly.
    “Get your ass in this car,” she told him.
    “But you’re planning on kidnapping me,” he said, although he did, she was glad to see, climb into the passenger side.
    “Yeah, but it’s for your own good.”
    “The latest bad idea,” he said, hiding his face in his hands, “in an evening full of them.”
    “Oh, shut up.”

Chapter Twelve
     
     
    She came out of the bathroom in time to hear him say, yet again, “You can’t keep me.”
    “Ha!”
    “Julie Kay, come on. Call her back. Find out what she wants.”
    “No. We’re not talking to her, nobody talks to her. Not yet. Do you want some coffee or something?”
    “No. I want you to see reason. This irrational, nutty side of you, while sexy, is unnerving as hell.”
    “I am seeing reason.”
    “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”
    “You have to stay away from the cops until we clear your name. Or they figure out that you couldn’t have done it.”
    “But, honey, you’re not sharing information with them. They’re not telepaths, you know.”
    “Your lawyer will call them tomorrow. If he ever checks his fucking voice mail.