“Sounds good to me. Great, in fact.”
“For someone who is a workaholic, perhaps.”
“I’m wounded. But I understand, and to prove it, I’ll give you a rain check. When you’re in a better mood.”
“I’m not in a bad mood, I’m just tired. You did wake me up, you know.”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to hear your voice.”
“I accept your apology. Now I’m going to say good night. I have to tackle a full caseload tomorrow, and I’m not going to be up to it unless I get enough rest. I don’t have your boundless energy.”
“I’m lonely, Christie.”
“Cash McCullough, right now I don’t care how lonely you are. You told me how wonderful it was to live on a sailboat, how soothing. That the only distraction was an occasional sea lion or shark. Well, drop a line overboard and see what you can come up with for a late-night companion, because this lady is saying good night.” She set the phone down, punched her pillow, and burrowed her face into the groove her fist had created. He missed her. That knowledge lulled her to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cash’s receptionist left a message with Christie’s office that a lease car had been arranged—it was not unusual for her to receive a loaner from a client when working a case. When she arrived at Cash’s office, Paige accompanied her to the underground garage. They stopped in front of a showroom-fresh, cranberry-red Mustang convertible. The car keys swung like wind chimes in the receptionist’s hand as she pointed to the car. “It’s all yours,” she said, without attempting to conceal a smile.
Christie reached for the keys and hoped the flame of embarrassment that warmed her cheeks went unnoticed. She tried to convince herself that she only imagined the amusement on Paige’s face.
“Cash asked if you would pick up a file at this address.” Paige handed her a slip of paper. “It’s relative to a case you’re working on for him.”
Christie nodded, too disconcerted by the turn of events to reply.
The traffic she encountered driving San Francisco’s busy streets made her consider the advantages of taking a taxi. The ordeal escalated during her search for a parking space. Finally, she gave in, nosed the convertible into a multilevel garage, and grudgingly took the parking tag from the attendant.
It was a fifteen-minute walk to her destination, and Christie was beginning to suspect that Cash had given her the snappy-looking car to cajole her into providing messenger service. She resented the time away from her lab work that this sojourn caused.
After picking up the file, she headed back to Market Street. Dodging the rush of fender-bender traffic, her disposition continued to deteriorate. She was now convinced that it would have made more sense to take a taxi.
She parked in the underground garage and rode the elevator to Cash’s office. Another appraising glance from the receptionist made her temper flare. Was the woman intimating that the flashy car signified more than a professional courtesy?
“Is he in?” She purposely did not use Cash’s name. They both knew who “he” was.
“I’ll buzz to see if he’s free.”
“Don’t bother, Paige. If he found it necessary to have me chase across town to pick up these papers, they must be top priority.” Buoyed by her assertiveness, Christie marched forward, perfunctorily rapped on the door, and charged inside. Cash looked up, startled. A questioning frown crossed his face, but quickly faded. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.
“You don’t have to thank me; it’s the least I can do to make things easier for you while you work with me.”
Christie cocked her head to the side. “Easier? Thank you? What are you talking about?”
“The car.”
“The car! I hate to sound ungrateful, but I would rather put taxi fare on my invoice. A flashy car tends to compromise my position here.”
“Compromise your position?” Cash laughed. “The Mustang didn’t cost any more than a four-door sedan, so I thought…”
“That I’d be thrilled to have a wild horse in my stable? It’s a thoughtful gesture, but I don’t appreciate the strings attached to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can hardly keep up with my own work without having messenger service added to the job description.”
“I’m sorry you think of it that way,” Cash said. “I was caught in a bind and since you are working on the case, it never occurred to me that you would mind.”
“You didn’t give me an opportunity to mind.”
“Slow down! I apologize; I didn’t realize it would be an imposition. It won’t happen again.”
She sat down and brushed her hair from her face. “It’s been a rough day. I do appreciate the car, even though I think it put Paige’s antenna up.”
Cash smiled. The lines around his eyes crinkled and he looked boyish. Her irritation evaporated. He leaned forward and she watched his dark eyes focus on her face. She tried to avoid eye contact, tried to remain serious. He reached toward her and she leaned backward.
“The file,” he said. A smile teased his lips. “All I want is the file. You didn’t think I was going to make a pass at you?”
“I’m glad that you view your office as a place of business and not a pleasure palace.”
“I’m flexible,” he retorted. “When the timing is right, we can toss the rules to the wind.” He plucked a carnation from the bud vase on his desk and pressed it into her hand.
Twirling the carnation around, she tried to come up with a smart retort. Finding none, she settled on a friendly good-bye and left.
When she returned to her office, she found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts were at odds. Uppermost was a nagging guilt about questioning Cash’s motive for giving her a car. They both knew that driving in San Francisco was impractical. The city had efficient public transportation, rush-hour traffic was nerve-racking, and parking was at a premium. When a case necessitated a great deal of time and travel, or if she had to set up her equipment on site rather than drive her own car, she often accepted the use of a courtesy car. Nothing quite so trendy as Cash’s offering, however.
Under other circumstances, she would have accepted the car without question. A few things made this situation different, though. She did not want to add food to the office grapevine. She had hoped to keep their relationship visibly low-key, but now that he had given her the Mustang, that was near impossible.
Her attraction to Cash kept growing. The chemistry between them sizzled, and although she knew she could get burned, she was willing to chance it. Not only did he excite her emotionally, it was exhilarating to be with someone who spoke the same language—caseloads, crime, and investigation.
Christie rested her chin on her hand and forced her attention back to the tape recorder. She had to concentrate on her work or she would not have the report ready as promised.
It took the better part of the afternoon to complete the job. The technical data, including enlargements of the holographic will and a random selection of diary pages, showed no disparity in the handwriting. The soon-to-be-rejected heirs would cry foul when they received their copy of the report, but she had no doubt that her account would hold up to courtroom scrutiny.
She stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. Before leaving the office, she called the messenger service and requested express delivery. Stepping into the snappy convertible lifted her spirits. She could not repress a smile. Cash had been sweet to surprise her. She had given him a grudging thanks only because she had been thrown off guard. It seemed obvious that he’d paid a premium for the convertible compared to the rate on a standard midsize vehicle and, admittedly, the Mustang was more fun than the economy cars she’d driven on previous out-of-area assignments.