Free Look Before You Jump by D. A. Bale

always sounded so
sultry. Like foreplay – which would never happen between us again.
I swear. All I had to do was retrieve a certain image of the other
woman to stem any naughty thoughts – no matter how the familiar
whiff of his musky aftershave tried to trigger those other memories.
    “How’d you know it was me when you were
facing the other way?” I asked. “There aren’t any reflective
surfaces.”
    Zeke thumbed the phone like a hitchhiker.
“They called from downstairs. Wanted to make sure you weren’t on
the ‘no-fly’ list. I told ‘em to pat you down for weapons
first.”
    “Funny. What about the hip thing?”
    “Law enforcement. Unlike you, I’m paid to
observe and remember things.”
    I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “It’s
been two years, Sherlock. Maybe I’ve changed.”
    The eyes gave me another once over. When he
finished this time, instead of a frown I got a smile. “Not a
bit.”
    I could take that one of two ways – and I’m
not sure either left me in a positive light. “Don’t even go
there.”
    Zeke unfolded himself from the chair and
rolled it my way while he leaned against the cubby counter. “Since
you’re not here to kiss and make up, what’cha want?”
    I intended to sit in the chair as gracefully
as I could, let the power of my feminine presence work its magic,
but the clearance to the floor left me dangling from the edge after
my unceremonious ascent. Didn’t set the seductive tone I’d had in
mind when I chose the dress this morning. Instead of the gentle
hiss of lowering the ergonomic chair, it sounded more like an
intermittent cow fart. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Zeke
set it up on purpose.
    “If we’re gonna stick with brass tacks,” I
said, “I’m trying to help a friend.”
    “This friend wouldn’t happen to be named
Bobby Vernet, would it?”
    I bit my lip before answering. “It
might.”
    “Not happening. Good to see you and all, but
I’ve gotta prepare for the governor’s visit.”
    “Now hold on a minute,” I said as he almost
dumped me in the floor to reacquire the chair. “You two were buds
at one time. Played basketball together in high school.”
    “Being on the same team made us teammates,
not buds.” Zeke plopped into his chair, zipped it to its former
heights, and started tapping away again on his keyboard. “This is a
PD matter, not a Ranger one.”
    So that’s how he wanted to play it. “Don’t
tell me you can’t get a copy of the report.”
    The typing stopped. Here’s a lesson for you,
ladies. The best way to get a guy’s goat and get him to do what you
want is to suggest he can’t do something. Wreaks havoc on a
man’s ego. Remember that. Use it. Works every time.
    The chair whipped around so fast I almost
ended up in Zeke’s lap. Not a totally unpleasant prospect, but
considering surrounding company, not the right place or the right
time. Anyway, no matter how good the sex had been – hectic and hard
or long and languid – the boy was still a low-down, cheating
son-of-a-bitch in my book. Always would be.
    “Access isn’t the problem,” Zeke said. “You
are.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” My toe
starting tapping faster than a woodpecker on a tree.
    “You gotta stick your nose where it don’t
belong and come up with your own scenario to fit the scene. No
matter how ridiculous.”
    “Well I’m not talking about Lorraine Padget
here. I’m talking about Amy Vernet.”
    “Who committed suicide by jumping off a
freakin’ building. Case closed,” Zeke said. “And stop tapping that
damned foot.”
    By that point, the command practically
bounced off the walls of the next high-rise. My foot sped up to
keep time with the boiling of my brain. No man was ever gonna tell
me what to do again – especially Zeke Taylor. I’d pound a hole
through the overpriced cheap carpet if I had to.
    “First of all,” I said as I shoved a finger
into Zeke’s face. “Why would a happily married pregnant