Read Online Walking After Midnight by Karen Robards - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Robards
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cop, I’m going to file a complaint. You held a scalpel to my throat. You punched me in the face. You grabbed my breast. You scared the daylights out of me. You’ll be in so much trouble you’ll never get out of it.“
„Ooo, I’m quaking in my flip-flops.“
„You should be. My father-in-law’s the police chief here in town.“
„What?“ He appeared to think that over, then shook his head. „Yeah, sure. God, you do think fast, don’t you? What are you, a pathological liar?“
„I’m telling the truth, damn it. Again.“
„Right. I bet you don’t even know the police chief’s name.“
„Rosencrans. Samuel T. Rosencrans.“ Her answer was triumphant.
A pause. „You could’ve read that anywhere.“
„I could’ve. But I didn’t. He’s got a disgusting-looking mole under his left ear, and he smokes cigars. And the T. stands for Tyneman“
Another pause. „Old Rosey’s only got one son. Last I heard he was married to a twenty-five-old, drop-dead-gorgeous underwear model from New York.“
„Lingerie model. Your information’s out-of-date. But that’s me.“
Frankenstein eyed her up and down. „Yeah, and I’m Marky Mark.“
Summer felt her temper heat. „So a few years have passed, and I’ve gained some weight. So what? It’s still me.“
„I thought you said you were a janitor.“ 1 am.
„A janitor who models lawn-jer-ee?“ A jeer underlay the deliberately drawn-out mispronunciation.
„I used to model lingerie. Now I own a janitorial service.“ Summer spoke through her teeth.
„Yeah. Sure. I can see why you made the switch. Anyone would rather scrub toilets for a living than prance around in front of a camera in a bra and panties. I know I would.“
Summer gave him a killing look. „Oh, shut up. And let go of my leg.“
„Rosencrans or not, you’re still under arrest.“
„Fine. I’m under arrest. Now would you let go of my leg?“
„Getting to you, am I?“ he said with smirk in his voice, rubbing his index finger suggestively along her shin. „I have that effect on babes.“
„You’re making me sick.“
„I have that effect on babes, too.“ This time there was no mistaking the distorted grin, brief though it was. His finger stilled.
„I bet.“ She said it with relish.
„I warn you: Run, and I’ll tackle you. I used to be a linebacker in high school, and rough is the only way I know how to play.“ He released her ankle and got to his feet. He wasn’t all that tall, as she’d noted before, but he was definitely built like a football player. Or maybe the too-tight T-shirt just made his shoulders and arms and chest look formidable. Whatever. She had no doubts at all that he would tackle her if she ran, and it would hurt, so she stayed put.
„What high school?“ Her question was truculent.
„Trinity.“ He named a Catholic high school in nearby Nashville that was famous for its football team.
„Oh, yeah? What’s your name?“ She’d known a number of kids who’d gone to Trinity. Guys, mostly. Nashville had been the place to hang out when she’d been a teen. Bright lights, big city, and only forty or so miles down the road.
„Steve.“
„Steve what?“
„Calhoun.“ He sounded wary, and it was that very wariness that tipped her off. Steve Calhoun. He was more famous in the Tennessee mountains than Davy Crockett. Or maybe the correct word was infamous.
She must have been looking at him kind of funny, because he said flatly, „I see you’ve heard of me.“
7
„Who hasn’t?“ Summer saw no reason to spare his feelings. Steve Calhoun was indeed a cop. A detective, to be precise, with the Tennessee State Police. Or at least he had been. She wasn’t sure of his current status, because the newspapers had long since abandoned him as old news.
In any event, about three years before, he had been one point of the most notorious love triangle ever to explode over central Tennessee. His romance-gone-wrong had burst into public view
„Ooo, I’m quaking in my flip-flops.“
„You should be. My father-in-law’s the police chief here in town.“
„What?“ He appeared to think that over, then shook his head. „Yeah, sure. God, you do think fast, don’t you? What are you, a pathological liar?“
„I’m telling the truth, damn it. Again.“
„Right. I bet you don’t even know the police chief’s name.“
„Rosencrans. Samuel T. Rosencrans.“ Her answer was triumphant.
A pause. „You could’ve read that anywhere.“
„I could’ve. But I didn’t. He’s got a disgusting-looking mole under his left ear, and he smokes cigars. And the T. stands for Tyneman“
Another pause. „Old Rosey’s only got one son. Last I heard he was married to a twenty-five-old, drop-dead-gorgeous underwear model from New York.“
„Lingerie model. Your information’s out-of-date. But that’s me.“
Frankenstein eyed her up and down. „Yeah, and I’m Marky Mark.“
Summer felt her temper heat. „So a few years have passed, and I’ve gained some weight. So what? It’s still me.“
„I thought you said you were a janitor.“ 1 am.
„A janitor who models lawn-jer-ee?“ A jeer underlay the deliberately drawn-out mispronunciation.
„I used to model lingerie. Now I own a janitorial service.“ Summer spoke through her teeth.
„Yeah. Sure. I can see why you made the switch. Anyone would rather scrub toilets for a living than prance around in front of a camera in a bra and panties. I know I would.“
Summer gave him a killing look. „Oh, shut up. And let go of my leg.“
„Rosencrans or not, you’re still under arrest.“
„Fine. I’m under arrest. Now would you let go of my leg?“
„Getting to you, am I?“ he said with smirk in his voice, rubbing his index finger suggestively along her shin. „I have that effect on babes.“
„You’re making me sick.“
„I have that effect on babes, too.“ This time there was no mistaking the distorted grin, brief though it was. His finger stilled.
„I bet.“ She said it with relish.
„I warn you: Run, and I’ll tackle you. I used to be a linebacker in high school, and rough is the only way I know how to play.“ He released her ankle and got to his feet. He wasn’t all that tall, as she’d noted before, but he was definitely built like a football player. Or maybe the too-tight T-shirt just made his shoulders and arms and chest look formidable. Whatever. She had no doubts at all that he would tackle her if she ran, and it would hurt, so she stayed put.
„What high school?“ Her question was truculent.
„Trinity.“ He named a Catholic high school in nearby Nashville that was famous for its football team.
„Oh, yeah? What’s your name?“ She’d known a number of kids who’d gone to Trinity. Guys, mostly. Nashville had been the place to hang out when she’d been a teen. Bright lights, big city, and only forty or so miles down the road.
„Steve.“
„Steve what?“
„Calhoun.“ He sounded wary, and it was that very wariness that tipped her off. Steve Calhoun. He was more famous in the Tennessee mountains than Davy Crockett. Or maybe the correct word was infamous.
She must have been looking at him kind of funny, because he said flatly, „I see you’ve heard of me.“
7
„Who hasn’t?“ Summer saw no reason to spare his feelings. Steve Calhoun was indeed a cop. A detective, to be precise, with the Tennessee State Police. Or at least he had been. She wasn’t sure of his current status, because the newspapers had long since abandoned him as old news.
In any event, about three years before, he had been one point of the most notorious love triangle ever to explode over central Tennessee. His romance-gone-wrong had burst into public view
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