Free Not One Clue by Lois Greiman Page A

discouraged.” At least where Laney was involved.
    “I think his other wives will console him.”
    “You wouldn’t be his numero uno?”
    “Not even his numero dos.”
    “So you’d be like … dessert?”
    “Baklava.”
    Rivera muttered a curse. I almost laughed.
    “I’ve got to go,” I said.
    “Mac?”
    “Yeah?”
    “If you’re dead for my wedding I’ll never forgive you, and I’m a very forgiving person.”
    “You are.”
    “Don’t be dead.”
    I smiled. “This is the first time in my life I’ve got a bridesmaid dress that doesn’t make me want to poke myself in the eye with a fork.”
    “We did well on that, didn’t we?”
    “It was a steal.”
    “And perfect for you.”
    “I do look kind of great in it.”
    “Like a mermaid princess.”
    “I was thinking of getting those sandals with the amber stones on the instep. What do you—”
    “Remember anything about an abused Yemeni girl?” Rivera asked, and I felt a little guilty.
    “Hey, Laney, when you spoke to Ghazi, did you mention my name?”
    “No names. I just said Aalia was a friend of a friend.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    “Hey,” she said before I could hang up. “Arrive home alive tonight and I’ll treat you to ice cream.”
    “Mocha Moose?”
    “Your choice.”
    “Can I get extra caramel?”
    “We’ll buy an economy-sized jar.”
    “And we won’t have to drink a green hair-slop chaser?”
    “I don’t drink green hair slop.”
    “Well, whatever that stuff is that’s supposed to make hair all glorious.”
    “I don’t care if all your hair falls out.”
    “I love you,” I said, and hung up.
    Rivera was staring at me as we walked.
    “What?” I said, but he just shook his head.
    “Where are we going?”
    “To pick up a friend of a friend,” I said.
    “The wife of an abusive Yemeni oilman with ties to our government?”
    “Yeah.”
    “All right,” he said, then gripped my arm, forcing me to a halt. “But you’re staying here.”
    “Really?” I loved the idea. It may have been the best idea I’d ever heard in my entire life. But the fact that it was a direct order from Rivera made my back go up like a pit bull’s hairy spine. “You bring your cuffs again, Rivera?”
    A man glanced our way, but kept walking. I resisted flipping him off. The entire male population was not responsible for the fact that Rivera had once handcuffed me to his father’s kitchen cupboard. Probably.
    “Maybe Elaine’s wrong,” he said. “Maybe she let your name slip. Maybe this bastard knows more about you than I do.”
    I glanced at the hand that gripped my arm with mind-imploding arrogance. “That wouldn’t take much.”
    “Yeah? I know you’re wearing leopard print underwear.”
    “I …” I screwed up my face at him, but truth to tell, I was kind of impressed. My skirt was high-waisted. “How did you know that?”
    “I’m a cop,” he said. “And you’re staying here.”
    “The hell I am.”
    He drew a careful breath as if that would keep planet Earth from tumbling into chaos. “I’m asking you to stay here.”
    “And I’m telling you no.”
    He ground his teeth. Pretty soon he was going to be edentate. Which would make him decidedly less sexy. Damnit! Why do I find irritating men sexy? “Maybe you don’t realize how dangerous these domestic cases are, McMullen.”
    “I’m a licensed psychologist.”
    He canted his head. “Was that a psychologist or a psychotic ?”
    “Huh!” I chortled, then yanked my arm out of his grasp, turned away, and marched through the airport like a storm trooper.
    I heard Rivera swear again, then, “Damnit, McMullen, why can’t you be just a little bit—”
    “If domestic cases are as dangerous as you say—you being the lauded police lieutenant—then we don’t have much time to waste.”
    “You don’t even know if she’s really here.”
    “Good thing I have eyes.”
    “You going to wave a sign? ‘Abused Wife of Asshole Oilman, Over Here’?”
    “I think the burka