the finished product.”
Tina offered him a heavenly smile of her own. “I’ll do even better than that.”
“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Hmm...” She mirrored his action. “How would you like to come for dinner?” she asked, then rushed on. “That is, if you like roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and cranberry-orange relish?”
“Oh, be still my heart,” Eric groaned, dramatically clutching his flat stomach. “What time?”
Tina glanced at the wall clock. “Well, it’s almost two now, and I still have to bake the pie...say, six-thirty?”
“Six-thirty’s fine.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Forget the refill,” he said, starting toward the archway into the dining room. “I’ll get out of here now and let you get to work.”
“All right.” Tina laughed at his show of eagerness. “Don’t forget your cup.”
“I’ll get it later. Don’t bother to come to the door with me,” he said as she moved to follow. He was midway through the dining room when he stopped to call back, “Can I bring anything to add to the meal?”
“Just an appetite.”
“Count on it,” Eric drawled in response. A moment later, the door shut with a gentle click.
Tina stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, staring in bemusement through the archway into the empty dining room. Nervous excitement shimmered inside her.
Eric was coming to dinner.
The thought jolted her from her trancelike state. She had to get moving. She had a million things to do. She had to prepare the pie and bake it. She had to tidy the house, pick up the Sunday papers, which were scattered on the sofa and the living room carpet. She had to set the dining room table. By then she’d need another shower, fresh makeup and clean clothes—something comfortable but feminine and attractive.
Tina whipped around to get to work on the pie. A sudden realization had her spinning around again and heading for the living room.
The very first thing she had to do was lock the door, because the very last thing she wanted was a repeat visit from her former pain in the neck.
* * *
The Lincoln was still there, looking half a block long next to the curb in front of Tina’s house.
Eric ran an admiring glance over the gleaming black car as he loped along the walkway to the sidewalk.
The rewards of dishonesty, he thought disdainfully. Rewards not worth the high price tag they carried.
Dismissing the vehicle, he sprinted through the rain to his apartment. Both the rain and the wind driving it had turned cold. A chill shivered to the surface of Eric’s body as he let himself into the flat.
A quick hot shower and a change of jeans and sweatshirt and he was back at work, ensconced in the chair at the window. Not a damn thing appeared to be happening in or around the house across the street.
The hours of the afternoon dragged by; Eric staved off boredom with thoughts of Tina, and the excruciatingly slow approach of the evening ahead.
Dinner à deux. Anticipation rippled through Eric, causing a shiver more intense than that brought on by his run through the cold rain. Unlike Friday or last night, there would be no cadre of friends, no other patrons chattering around them, no waiters or waitresses to intrude. There would only be Eric and Tina...and a roasted chicken.
And the man sitting down to dinner with Tina would be Eric the man, not Eric the cop, he decided, surrendering to a sudden, unprecedented desire for normalcy.
What the hell? Eric mused, shrugging. He was officially on vacation. On his own. He was making the rules, setting the parameters for this self-appointed assignment.
And, for the upcoming night, Eric fully intended to ignore the rules and parameters. Gut instinct told him that Tina was innocent of whatever deals were going down in that house across the way.
If, at a later date, his gut instinct proved false, deceived by his libido, and the course of events revealed Tina’s involvement with illegal substances, Eric knew
Tina offered him a heavenly smile of her own. “I’ll do even better than that.”
“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Hmm...” She mirrored his action. “How would you like to come for dinner?” she asked, then rushed on. “That is, if you like roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy and cranberry-orange relish?”
“Oh, be still my heart,” Eric groaned, dramatically clutching his flat stomach. “What time?”
Tina glanced at the wall clock. “Well, it’s almost two now, and I still have to bake the pie...say, six-thirty?”
“Six-thirty’s fine.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Forget the refill,” he said, starting toward the archway into the dining room. “I’ll get out of here now and let you get to work.”
“All right.” Tina laughed at his show of eagerness. “Don’t forget your cup.”
“I’ll get it later. Don’t bother to come to the door with me,” he said as she moved to follow. He was midway through the dining room when he stopped to call back, “Can I bring anything to add to the meal?”
“Just an appetite.”
“Count on it,” Eric drawled in response. A moment later, the door shut with a gentle click.
Tina stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, staring in bemusement through the archway into the empty dining room. Nervous excitement shimmered inside her.
Eric was coming to dinner.
The thought jolted her from her trancelike state. She had to get moving. She had a million things to do. She had to prepare the pie and bake it. She had to tidy the house, pick up the Sunday papers, which were scattered on the sofa and the living room carpet. She had to set the dining room table. By then she’d need another shower, fresh makeup and clean clothes—something comfortable but feminine and attractive.
Tina whipped around to get to work on the pie. A sudden realization had her spinning around again and heading for the living room.
The very first thing she had to do was lock the door, because the very last thing she wanted was a repeat visit from her former pain in the neck.
* * *
The Lincoln was still there, looking half a block long next to the curb in front of Tina’s house.
Eric ran an admiring glance over the gleaming black car as he loped along the walkway to the sidewalk.
The rewards of dishonesty, he thought disdainfully. Rewards not worth the high price tag they carried.
Dismissing the vehicle, he sprinted through the rain to his apartment. Both the rain and the wind driving it had turned cold. A chill shivered to the surface of Eric’s body as he let himself into the flat.
A quick hot shower and a change of jeans and sweatshirt and he was back at work, ensconced in the chair at the window. Not a damn thing appeared to be happening in or around the house across the street.
The hours of the afternoon dragged by; Eric staved off boredom with thoughts of Tina, and the excruciatingly slow approach of the evening ahead.
Dinner à deux. Anticipation rippled through Eric, causing a shiver more intense than that brought on by his run through the cold rain. Unlike Friday or last night, there would be no cadre of friends, no other patrons chattering around them, no waiters or waitresses to intrude. There would only be Eric and Tina...and a roasted chicken.
And the man sitting down to dinner with Tina would be Eric the man, not Eric the cop, he decided, surrendering to a sudden, unprecedented desire for normalcy.
What the hell? Eric mused, shrugging. He was officially on vacation. On his own. He was making the rules, setting the parameters for this self-appointed assignment.
And, for the upcoming night, Eric fully intended to ignore the rules and parameters. Gut instinct told him that Tina was innocent of whatever deals were going down in that house across the way.
If, at a later date, his gut instinct proved false, deceived by his libido, and the course of events revealed Tina’s involvement with illegal substances, Eric knew
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