Free Catch Her If You Can by Merline Lovelace Page B

sparks reigniting, either. That’s the great thing about falling for a guy with smarts and maturity. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff. Although . . .
    I might not have bridled at a teeny show of jealousy before he murmured his standard good-bye.
    “So I’ll see you when I see you.”
    “See you when I see you,” I echoed.
    I disconnected, missing Mitch and wondering what the heck I would do with Charlie for the next few days. He could only float and drink for so long, and I really did need to get caught up on some things
    Luckily, inspiration came some hours later via another phone call, this one from Pen. “I know you said you weren’t interested in attending the quarterly meeting of Scientists Against Biospheric Exploitation with me, Samantha, but our guest speaker had to cancel and I’m on the agenda instead. I’m going to talk about the silicon-wrapped carbon sensor we evaluated. The science wasn’t quite there yet, but the theory behind it holds great promise.”
    I remembered that gizmo. All too well. Damned thing was supposed to measure carbon dioxide levels in a variety of extreme environments and transmit a warning signal when they reached danger levels. Need I say that it failed to perform as promised? Or that the test gave me the headache from hell?
    “Sorry, Pen. I’ve got too much to do tomorrow.”
    “Are you sure? The Smokehouse is catering supper after the lecture,” she added slyly.
    Damn! The woman knows me too well. Carbon dioxide levels left me cold. Ribs dripping with the Smokehouse’s secret sauce had me salivating on the spot.
    I itched to ask how Scientists Against Biospheric Exploitation could square their rigid anti-emission standards with meat charred over nasty, smoke-spewing charcoal but knew better than to open that door. Pen’s explanation would leave me numb. So would tomorrow afternoon’s lecture. I can take her learned discourse in small doses. Two hours’ worth would roll my eyes back in my head.
    A devious thought snuck in. I love a messy, dripping rack of ribs. And unless Charlie’s changed dramatically since our divorce, he inhales them whole.
    My glance shot to the sliding glass doors again. Charlie was downing his third—fourth?—beer. A Doritos bag lay crumpled beside the empty pizza carton. At this rate, he’d clean me out of both food and funds before he hit the road again.
    “I have a guest visiting who might be interested in attending the meeting with you, Pen.”
    Especially if I told him there were ribs involved.
    “Can I call you back in a few minutes?”
    “By all means.”
     
    SO call me evil. Immoral. Depraved.
    I’m not ashamed to admit I felt nothing but glee when Pen drove up the following afternoon and I escorted Charlie out to her car to make the introductions. He did a double take when he took in her sturdy sandals and multilayers of shapeless linen. A third take when he spotted the long back feather spearing through her bun.
    “I . . . Er . . .”
    He threw me a helpless look. I ignored it.
    “Have fun, you two.”
    I slammed the car door before he could escape and watched them drive off.
     
    CHARLIE got even with me the next day. Big time. Although it wasn’t totally his fault he set fire to the building that houses FST-3’s home offices.
    I should have known better than to take him to work with me. But it was either that or give him a key to my apartment. I didn’t mind him loafing around the place but wasn’t all that anxious to have him poking through my stuff. I also nursed this secret hope he might buddy up with Sergeant Cassidy and spend the rest of his enforced stay in El Paso with his new pal.
    Thus I poked him in the shoulder at oh-dark-thirty Monday morning.
    “Up and at ’em, Charlie.”
    “Huh?”
    “I have to go to work. I thought you might want to come along and see what I do.”
    Bleary eyed, he blinked several times. “What time is it?”
    “Almost six thirty.”
    “In the morning ?”
    “Com’on, you hit the