around, searching for a hiding place that Oz wouldn’t immediately locate. She slipped the pen into the middle of the container of coffee filters and placed it back in the pantry. She perched on a barstool to enjoy her coffee and await the impending storm.
Oz came into the kitchen buttoning his shirt.
A flurry of nerves swirled through her gut. She focused on keeping her hand steady as she poured coffee into a cup and offered it to him.
He grinned down at her. “Thanks, Micki.” Turning, he grazed the countertop with his gaze. He sipped the hot coffee and moved a notebook and a canister. Oz frowned, fixing her with a glare. “Micki, where is that flash drive thing of yours with the pictures you shot in the park?”
She forced a smile. “Not going to tell you. You can torture me but my lips are sealed.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Micki, this isn’t a joke.”
“I’m not joking,” she said. “If your brilliant lab rats can’t restore my hard drive then you’ll have to get a warrant for the flash drive.”
“Fine.” He set the cup in the sink. “I’ll be back at noon. You stay here.”
She smiled as he shook his head and shot her one last dark glare before departing.
She released an unsteady breath. “Note to self. Must stop tormenting Oz.”
She arranged for a rental car by telephone and called her insurance agent to report her trashed apartment.
Arnold Meyers was appalled that she’d sustained more losses and that she was filing yet another claim. He informed her that the rental camera was covered since all her equipment was insured. He agreed to meet her at her apartment later that afternoon.
Micki called Oz, but his phone went straight to message. Just as well . “Oz, I’m going out. Call me.” She was relieved that she could leave a message and not have another angry confrontation. She hoped it would be enough to keep him from worrying. While she didn’t appreciate his smothering, she knew it was coming from his heart.
An hour later the rental car was delivered. Micki signed for it, holding the keys to a dark blue Avalon. Nice .
Removing the flash drive from the coffee filters, she held it for a moment, and then frowned, recalling the pony-tail man. A roiling in her gut accompanied that memory. What if Oz was right and she was still in danger? Or was it just Oz bullying her again? Was he using the incident in the park to keep her off balance, playing on her fears? She tucked the pen inside her bra and cautiously opened the door.
No pony-tailed man waited to waylay her and she made it to the elevator without incident.
On the street, she sprinted into the Avalon, locking the doors before starting it. Cranking up the air conditioner, she aimed the vents toward her face, letting the cool blast of air lift her hair. It was turning into a hot and humid spring day. She drove to an office supply store she’d noticed a few blocks away.
“I need you to burn the photos on this flash drive onto a couple of CDs,” she told the young clerk, who was, he assured her, the resident guru of all things electronic. She also purchased a black permanent marker and a padded mailer. She wrote “Michael Bolton” on the CDs and, returning to the vehicle, she slid one into the underside of the visor which was equipped to hold about a dozen CDs. The other copy she left in the bag from the office supply store.
She glanced at her face in the mirror. The bruise under her eye was fading in color but spreading in area. However, the magenta bruise on her cheek was definitely receding to the point it appeared that she’d gone a little overboard with the blush on one side.
Micki drove to Gus’ Professional Camera Sales and Repair. Gus leaned on the scarred glass counter with his mouth hung open as she explained that the camera she’d rented from him had been stolen.
“Let me get this straight, Micki. You’re telling me that someone slugged you and stole a used camera. And now you want me to rent you
Oz came into the kitchen buttoning his shirt.
A flurry of nerves swirled through her gut. She focused on keeping her hand steady as she poured coffee into a cup and offered it to him.
He grinned down at her. “Thanks, Micki.” Turning, he grazed the countertop with his gaze. He sipped the hot coffee and moved a notebook and a canister. Oz frowned, fixing her with a glare. “Micki, where is that flash drive thing of yours with the pictures you shot in the park?”
She forced a smile. “Not going to tell you. You can torture me but my lips are sealed.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Micki, this isn’t a joke.”
“I’m not joking,” she said. “If your brilliant lab rats can’t restore my hard drive then you’ll have to get a warrant for the flash drive.”
“Fine.” He set the cup in the sink. “I’ll be back at noon. You stay here.”
She smiled as he shook his head and shot her one last dark glare before departing.
She released an unsteady breath. “Note to self. Must stop tormenting Oz.”
She arranged for a rental car by telephone and called her insurance agent to report her trashed apartment.
Arnold Meyers was appalled that she’d sustained more losses and that she was filing yet another claim. He informed her that the rental camera was covered since all her equipment was insured. He agreed to meet her at her apartment later that afternoon.
Micki called Oz, but his phone went straight to message. Just as well . “Oz, I’m going out. Call me.” She was relieved that she could leave a message and not have another angry confrontation. She hoped it would be enough to keep him from worrying. While she didn’t appreciate his smothering, she knew it was coming from his heart.
An hour later the rental car was delivered. Micki signed for it, holding the keys to a dark blue Avalon. Nice .
Removing the flash drive from the coffee filters, she held it for a moment, and then frowned, recalling the pony-tail man. A roiling in her gut accompanied that memory. What if Oz was right and she was still in danger? Or was it just Oz bullying her again? Was he using the incident in the park to keep her off balance, playing on her fears? She tucked the pen inside her bra and cautiously opened the door.
No pony-tailed man waited to waylay her and she made it to the elevator without incident.
On the street, she sprinted into the Avalon, locking the doors before starting it. Cranking up the air conditioner, she aimed the vents toward her face, letting the cool blast of air lift her hair. It was turning into a hot and humid spring day. She drove to an office supply store she’d noticed a few blocks away.
“I need you to burn the photos on this flash drive onto a couple of CDs,” she told the young clerk, who was, he assured her, the resident guru of all things electronic. She also purchased a black permanent marker and a padded mailer. She wrote “Michael Bolton” on the CDs and, returning to the vehicle, she slid one into the underside of the visor which was equipped to hold about a dozen CDs. The other copy she left in the bag from the office supply store.
She glanced at her face in the mirror. The bruise under her eye was fading in color but spreading in area. However, the magenta bruise on her cheek was definitely receding to the point it appeared that she’d gone a little overboard with the blush on one side.
Micki drove to Gus’ Professional Camera Sales and Repair. Gus leaned on the scarred glass counter with his mouth hung open as she explained that the camera she’d rented from him had been stolen.
“Let me get this straight, Micki. You’re telling me that someone slugged you and stole a used camera. And now you want me to rent you
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