They went up a rickety flight of stairs to a door covered in peeling red paint.
“Here’s hoping Cort is here.” He turned the doorknob and the door opened, but instead of looking relieved, he stared down at the knob.
“What’s wrong?” She tried to see what had him looking so concerned.
“The door was jimmied open.” He cautiously pushed the door open and poked his head inside. He remained still.
Listening, Josie Lynn guessed, although something about his utterly motionless stance seemed like he was doing something beyond listening. Sensing seemed like a better word, even though she knew that couldn’t really be what he was doing.
“The apartment is empty,” he said after a moment.
“How can you tell?” She hadn’t heard anything either, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t hiding inside. Hell, for all they knew, there were five Chers lying in wait. Truthfully, that didn’t sound too scary, but at this point Josie Lynn wasn’t trusting anyone.
“Well, I’m not totally sure,” Drake said, sounding almost . . . guilty like he’d been caught in a lie or something. Maybe he was just trying to sound certain to comfort her. “But I think it’s safe. I’ll go in first though.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said wryly. “It’s your apartment. I know I fought a gator for you, but this one is all yours.”
He smiled. “If there’s a gator in here, I’m deferring back to you. Sorry.”
She smiled, too. “Okay. Fair enough. But everything else is yours.”
“Deal.” Drake pushed open the door without hesitation and strolled in the door. The entrance led directly into a small but tidy kitchen. The lights were on and everything looked normal.
Again, Drake walked into the hallway without any signs of hesitation. He really did seem pretty confident the place was empty.
Brave? Or foolish? Josie Lynn couldn’t decide.
The hallway was flanked by a few sets of doors, three were closed and one was open and dark. The room at the end of the hallway, which Josie Lynn could already tell was the living room even from this distance, was lit as well.
Drake headed directly toward that room, not acknowledging the other doors as he passed them. Josie Lynn was no cop or detective. She wasn’t even that good at Clue, but she was pretty sure they should be checking every room just in case. She didn’t want to get it with the candlestick in the conservatory by Bob Mackie Cher.
“Aren’t you even going to check the other rooms?” she whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
BENNY AND CHER
LIZETTE severely resented the fact that men claimed women were complicated. They were the ones who changed their minds with no warning or logic and who seemed terrified of just speaking the truth.
Five minutes earlier Johnny had been slowly and skillfully kissing her, and sounding very sincere in saying that he liked her, and wanted her to stay with him for a few days. She had been flattered and intrigued by the idea of spending time with him, and so she’d said yes. Then his mood had immediately changed, and he had just about dragged her out of the apartment, insisting they get the cuffs cut off, with an urgency previously unseen. She had actually thought he’d been somewhat enjoying their enforced togetherness. But not so now.
He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and had practically begged to stop for a drink without any warning whatsoever. How could he go from purring contentment to skittish without any apparent trigger? It was a mystery to her, and she instantly lost a bit of the contented mood that she had been feeling. Was that what he had done? Changed his mind? Regretted his suggestion for her to stay with him?
Had he just been hoping for o**l s*x after all?
Now she wanted a drink as well. Bastard. She had never felt particularly concerned about her attractiveness or her lovemaking skills, and yet for some reason Johnny made her doubt herself. Made her want to please him, including taking him into her mouth. The very idea made her blush, as she had been so trained to think of it as crass, but she had thought he would like it. She had trusted him with the truth, but now she was feeling uncertain. Which was frustrating in the extreme, and she vowed not to let it get the best of her. She was not insecure, and she was not going to let some fickle vampire who faked his own death make her feel inadequate in any way.
She realized it was the same bar they had met in the other evening when she had been showing him the list. Funny how then she had been so sure of herself and her professionalism. Now she had just made love to him on the floor and she still wasn’t wearing underwear. But oddly, she didn’t feel particularly upset about it. Well, she wasn’t entirely comfortable not wearing panties, but that had nothing to do with Johnny. She had reconciled herself to the fact that she must have slept with him because she liked him, and that was perfectly acceptable. She was owed vacation time, so there was no reason she couldn’t resign from this case and spend a few days with Johnny.
After canceling the lingerie and vibrator orders. Speaking of which, she should do that soon. They sat down at the bar, the same bartender from the other night waving to them. Lizette ordered a glass of wine and crossed her legs while Johnny looked everywhere but at her, his fingers drumming on the ancient wooden bar.
“Is that Cher?” she asked him, eyeing a woman bent over with a pool stick. Her legs were a mile long, her skirt extremely short. Her companion was a muscular young guy wearing a very prominent cross on his chest.
“You know who Cher is?” Johnny asked her.
“Everyone knows who Cher is.” She suspected every woman secretly wished that when she turned sixty she would magically morph into Cher. That wasn’t Lizette’s desire, as she would never have the kind of showmanship that Cher displayed, nor did she aspire to that, but she did admire her ability to ignore everyone else’s opinions of her. “I believe that is her Bob Mackie look, given the headdress she’s wearing.”
“Sweetheart, that’s not Cher. It’s not even a woman.”
“What?” Lizette stared a little harder. “That’s a man?” It didn’t look like a man. There was no . . . hair. Well, there was plenty of hair on her/his head but not on her silky-smooth legs.
“I think he was at the wedding last night.” Johnny stood up. “Wait, is that Benny? Nigel,” he called to the bartender. “Is that Benny with Cher over there?”
“The one and only. Benny, not Cher. There is definitely more than one of her running around this town.”