Free Ransom Beach (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 2) by Lawrence Kelter

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She tapped me on the head. "You got a loose wire or something? Would you stick to one topic?"
    I giggled.
    Ma wrinkled her nose. "You date that old codger." She kissed me on the cheek. "Bitch," she said as she chuckled. "Tell me about that poor little blonde girl and don't change the subject."
    I was still smiling as I began telling her about Manny's abduction, in hypothetical terms of course. More importantly, Ma had confirmed what my instincts had told me from the get go-Manny's abduction would be solved with details and good solid case investigation. The answers were in the here and now and not in the what was or might someday be. Mothers know and Ma knows best of all. Case closed on the Nostradamus angle.

Twelve—GUNS
     
    The good Dr. Twain had come via subway and was happy to go home the same way, but I had my unmarked, so I offered him a ride. It occurred to me during dinner that Dr. Twain possessed a comprehensive knowledge of the Renaissance. The drive gave me an opportunity to pick his brain and see if he could offer any info on the works of Nostradamus. Experience had taught me that Nigel Twain was wise in areas most were not.
    Ma's dinner was delicious and we drank lots of jug wine—it was inexpensive, but it was damn good. I was feeling a bit flushed as I got into the car. I ripped off my coat and threw it on the back seat. I fastened my seatbelt and got comfortable behind the wheel. I caught a glimpse of Twain ogling me discretely. It was then that I realized what I looked like—the seatbelt was running diagonally down the center of my chest. I was wearing a shoulder rig. My boobs looked huge. I closed my eyes momentarily. Just peachy. I looked like some kind of neo-Nazi techno-dominatrix, replete with a large caliber sidearm. I wondered if that turned him on.
    I flashed him a quaint smile. He returned one of his own. We were both clearly uncomfortable. Twain had made it clear early in our relationship that his interests in me ran way beyond professional. I had never shared my feelings with him—all the same, I think he had more than an inkling about what went on in my head.
    The wine was still in my system—not enough to impair my judgment—I am not a DWI girl. All the same, I could feel waves of heat flowing over me. God, I hope I wasn't all red. I was too embarrassed to check myself in the rearview mirror. I looked forward and cranked the engine, threw the unmarked into drive, and pulled away from the curb. His eyes were on me all the way to the first red light. I'll be damned...he was looking directly at my chest. Now I was getting turned on. Isn't it great having a light buzz?
    I was beginning to overheat while waiting for the light to change. "You have to admit, we Italians can cook." Look, I was desperate. I didn't know what to say. I was on the verge of a meltdown and didn't want it to show, so I said the first thing that came to mind—believe me, I was considering several more forward remarks, Want to get a room? My place or yours? Or the ever popular, Strip and let's have at it.
    "Luscious."
    I can't believe that he was still staring—was he talking about dinner or...
    "I must have the recipe." Aw, how disappointing, he was talking about food, but he was still staring.
    I was ready to pull over and go for him when an image flashed in my mind. I was in a boxing ring, seated in the corner—sweaty, panting. Lido was fanning me with a towel and flicking water in my face. By the way, Twain was still staring.
    "I say, Stephanie, that is a rather large gun you've got there." Hey, that's supposed to be my line.
    Oh my God, what a letdown. He was looking at my gun all the while. "My gun?"
    "Yes. Lately they fascinate me. May I see it?" That's supposed to be my line too. Men, can I see it? Can I touch it? All the wrong priorities.
    Suddenly, I felt cold and clammy. "Now?"
    "Yes, please." You've got to be kidding.
    I was now cold sober and unhappy as can be. We hadn't