Suddenly, he flipped on his turn signal and slipped into a parking spot on the side of a busy street. He reached into the back seat and retrieved a ball cap, which he tugged down over his bald head.
I pointed toward the brim of his cap. “Do I get one of those?”
He reached back and pulled out another. It was slightly rumpled. I took it from him and pulled it on, gathering my ponytail so my hair would stream out the back.
“Now what?”
He opened his car door about an inch. “Be right back,” he said.
“Where are you going?” I asked, but he was already out the door and striding quickly down the street. Damn, I hated it when I had to chase a man.
Chapter 11
Clark
I got out of the car, mainly because when I sat that close to Shelly, I had an insatiable desire to kiss the shit out of her. She smelled like cherry lip balm and cookies today, and I apparently had a thing for cherry lip balm and cookies, not to mention shaved pussy. I should have just said yes when she asked if I shave my head every day. I could have avoided all that talk about legs, armpits, and other places. But I’m an idiot, and I strode right into the conversation without even giving myself an escape plan.
Shelly was like no one I’d ever met. I’d dare say she was at genius level when it came to intelligence, but the bitch was unpredictable as fuck. I knew that. And I was still interested.
I turned left to go into the pawn shop I knew was on the corner of the street. The infrared alarm chimed loudly, announcing my arrival. Two men stood behind the counter, and one of them was scared shitless when he saw me. That was George. He was my guy, and I’d been looking for him for days.
“Stop!” I called just as George turned and slipped behind the curtain. The other man, his brother, lifted his hands like he was surrendering to the cops and stepped back, allowing me to walk behind the counter toward the curtain. “Who’s back there?” I asked.
“No one,” he muttered.
I pulled out my gun and held it up as I shoved the curtain to the side. The hooks rattled and I saw no movement beyond the curtain at all. No movement was never a good sign.
Light suddenly flooded the room and then a door at the back of the supply room clicked shut. Shit. He was going to get away. I dodged around boxes, bags, and what appeared to be a casket on wheels. You could find some crazy shit at a pawn shop. I hip-checked the bar on the door and shoved it open, holding my gun high, braced by my other hand. I didn’t plan to use it, because I just wanted to talk to the guy, but I also knew I needed to protect myself, particularly in this neighborhood. I scanned left and right, but no one was there. Damn it.
I holstered my gun and walked quickly around the building. And that was where I found Shelly. She stood over George, who was sprawled on the sidewalk, clearly incapacitated. How that had happened, I had no idea. “What did you do?” I bit out.
“He ran around the corner of the building, and I assumed he was running from you.”
And what if he hadn’t been?
I bent down next to him and checked for a pulse, gratified when I found one beating strong. “What did you do to him?”
“He tripped.”
“Over you?”
“Over his own two feet.” She held up a hand like she was swearing on a bible. “I swear it.” She pointed toward the cameras above us. “Check the surveillance footage. I was just standing guard. I promise.”
I called 9-1-1 and asked for an ambulance. Then I called the station to let my former boss know I had the man he was looking for. Unconscious. On the ground.
“I got him,” I said into the phone.
“I’ll meet him at the hospital.”
Just then, a couple of detectives pulled up. “Clark,” one of them said, with a nod of his head. He helped the ambulance driver get a good parking spot, and then got in to ride with George to the hospital. He looked back at me. “Thank you.” The door closed behind him and the ambulance pulled away.
I looked at Shelly. She leaned against the building, her hip resting against the brick, her feet crossed beneath her.
I motioned for her to follow me to the car.
I pulled my cap from my head and she did the same, shaking her ponytail free. Her hair was a little darker than Lynn’s, but not by much.
“You want to tell me what really happened back there?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She stared straight ahead.
“George didn’t trip over his own feet.” That much I knew for sure. He was wily and nimble as a cat. He’d led me on many a merry chase in the past few weeks. The first night Shelly showed up at my office was only one of the times I’d tried to chase him down.
“Does it really matter what happened?” Shelly asked. She finally turned her head so that she faced me, her blue eyes startling in their intensity.
“When he files a suit against us for harassment or endangerment, it will matter.” I put the car in drive and pulled out into the street.
“Oh,” Shelly said quietly.
“Is there anything I need to know?” I heaved in a sigh.
“George didn’t trip over his own feet,” she muttered, her mouth barely moving.
“What?” I asked. I was afraid I’d just heard her say George didn’t trip over his own feet.
“George might have sort of kind of just a little bit tripped over my foot.”
“Why did he trip over your foot?”
“I might have stuck it in his path. Maybe. Sort of.” She winced, and it was so damn cute that I wanted to laugh, but I knew it was the wrong thing to do. Not with Shelly. It would just encourage her. “Him hitting his head, though, that was his own fault.”
I turned quickly to look at her, and caught the rigid pose, like she was waiting for a beheading. “He hit his head?”
“Yes.”
“On what?”
“The side of my fist, the first time. The lamp post, the second time.” She clenched her fist, and that was my first glimpse of her bruised knuckles. I pulled over and parked.
I picked up her hand and held it gently in mine. “You’re hurt.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” She waved her free hand in the air.
“Is it broken? Squeeze my hand.” She clutched my hand in hers, and a flood of heat shot straight into my gut. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“It’s not.” She didn’t pull her hand back.
“I’ll be right back.” I got out of the car and went into a nearby restaurant, then came back with a bag of ice. I placed it over her swollen fist. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said quietly.
“I didn’t want him to get away.”
“How did you know he was who I was looking for?”
She rolled her eyes. “He came running from the back of the building you’d just gone in. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
“You could have just let me catch him.”
She opened her eyes wide and stared hard at me. “Because that was working so well for you. You’ve cornered him no less than eight times in the past six weeks.”
I pulled back out into traffic. “How do you know that?”