Free Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) by Joanne Pence Page A

great marinara sauce with Italian sausage for the spaghetti. With it, they had a green salad and Richie opened a bottle of red homemade wine from an uncle. She didn’t know much about wine, but she found it quite good.
    Thoughts flickered through her mind about the ABC visitors to Richie’s club, but she quickly decided she was letting her suspicions run wild. What would they care about his uncle’s wine?
    After dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen, then went into the living room.
    The first time she had come to his home, it had been ransacked by some bad guys looking for evidence they thought he had. Now, it was her home that had been attacked.
    “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday,” she said, “how nice your living r oom looks.” It had a light gray sectional, two sky blue chairs, and tables in a pale ash. Plus, he had a brand new 60-inch plasma TV.
    “I guess it is a better than the last time you saw it.” His mouth wrinkled with the memory of the destruction they had found.
    She ran her hand along the chenille fabric of his sofa. “Is there something about you and me that causes people to want to trash our homes? What’s that all about?” She gave him a wry smile.
    He looked at her a long moment. “Since whatever it is brought you here, how bad can it be?”
    She didn’t know how to reply to that, and steered away from what he was clearly suggesting. “Hopefully, they’ve only tossed my apartment, and didn’t do any real damage. Not that the furniture was anything special, but it was mine, and if I ever find out who put their grubby hands on it, I’ll get even.”
    “And I’ll help you. As for my place, it needed updating anyway. Sometimes housecleaning is good, in many senses of the word.”
    When Richie stayed at her apartment, she had learned how easy he was to talk to. That evening, their conversation soon turned away from murder and violent gangs to movies, music, politics, and the life of a single person in a big city. Richie had a way of telling stories that made her laugh, and they had lots of laughter, only interrupted at times by Spike’s loud snoring.
    At some point, Rebecca glanced at a clock and thought there was something wrong with it. “That can’t be,” she said.
    “What?” Richie turned around, looked at the clock, and then his watch. “It’s right. Nearly two a.m.”
    Over the course of the evening, they had finished two bottles of wine, and Rebecca felt more than a little tipsy. “I had no idea it was so late. I’m supposed to go to work tomorrow. Or, considering the time, today.”
    “Sleep in, and call in sick so you can spend more time with Spike.”
    “I like the way you think. But I’ll go,” she said, much as she disliked the idea of facing Sutter and her boss.
    They went out to the yard to give Spike one last potty break. The night was calm, the moon nearly full, and the sky surprisingly clear. She glanced at Richie. When he was relaxed, as now, his lips were always a little upturned as if with a secret smile, and his heavy eyelids were a bit closed, giving him a dreamy demeanor. He definitely looked good by moonlight, but then, he did by daylight as well. Or soft light, listening to music and talking deep into the night. She remembered how she used to liken him to a young, handsome—and tall—Al Pacino. She was wrong; he was better looking.
    Okay, Mayfield, you are officially sloshed.
    She scooped up Spike, quickly said good-night, and then hurried off to the guest room.
    To her dismay, once in bed, she suddenly felt very much awake as her thoughts turned to Richie just down the hall. She couldn’t help but think that she only had to walk a few steps, and open his door. He’d be surprised, but he wouldn’t turn her away. Nothing had been said, or done, but at times she could all but taste the look he gave her. That was when she would step back. But now, she wanted to step towards him, as close as she could get.
    She looked over her shoulder at