She's Got the Look. Leslie Kelly

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      “You ever find out from Rosemary why this friend simply had to move in now?” he asked, his voice still low, his eyes constantly scanning the street.

      “She’s an old friend of Rosie’s who’s starting a new photography business,” Dex said.

      Hence the camera.

      “Apparently she just came out of a really ugly divorce.”

      “Wait…there’s a truck pulling up.” Nick lowered the radio, watching in his side mirror as a sizable U-Haul truck maneuvered up the street. It almost clipped a BMW and came damn close to taking out a street sign. As the truck passed, he casually glanced over and saw a small woman with curly light brown hair clutching the wheel as if she was a lion tamer holding a chair.

      “No,” he bit out when the truck stopped. “Keep going.”

      The radio crackled. “What is it?”

      “Trouble. A big truck just pulled up in front of Rosemary’s father’s building and double-parked. It’s completely blocking my visual on the perp’s apartment. Not to mention traffic.”

      “Want me to get a uniform out there to tell them to move?”

      “Absolutely,” he said when he realized the driver was getting out of the truck. The woman called to someone. Somehow, Nick couldn’t muster up much surprise when he saw she was waving at the nosy photographer, who came jogging over.

      That female was destined to be the bane of his existence this week.

      He waited, tapping his fingers on the dash, watching the two women from behind his dark sunglasses. They stood beside the truck and talked for a while, looking upset. Finally the short, curly-haired driver pulled a cell phone out of her purse. Crossing the street to the shady square, she sat on a bench and started an animated phone conversation.

      “No, you are not doing this,” he muttered, shaking his head as he observed the other one—the tall photographer—open the back of the truck and climb inside.

      But she was doing it. As he watched in disbelief, she came staggering down the truck ramp carrying a double mattress. All he could see of her behind the mattress was two sandal-clad feet at the bottom, and two hands clutched on either side. Her oblivious friend was turned the other way, not even watching.

      “Dammit.”

      He looked at his watch. Tried again to peer around the truck. Wondered just how long it was going to take a beat cop to get his ass here and get the truck off the street. But most of all, he wondered what the heck the woman thought she was doing schlepping furniture all by herself on a hot summer day.

      “Watch it, lady, you’re gonna fall,” he whispered when she reached the curb, which he thought she might not see.

      Nope. She didn’t see it. Realizing what was going to happen, he called, “No!” and leaped out of his car. But it was too late. She tripped and fell forward. It was her extreme good fortune, however, that she landed right on her own mattress.

      Before he could think better of it, Nick jogged the few yards over to her. “You okay?”

      The woman was still lying there, facedown on the mattress in the middle of the sidewalk. She mumbled something but since her face was buried, he couldn’t make out what.

      While waiting for her to move, he noted the richness of her thick hair, which, on closer inspection, was more auburn than true red. It was a warm shade, the color of vibrant earth after a rain. And he definitely noted her tall, curvy form, clad in tight jeans and a sleeveless white tank top.

      If he’d thought she was really hurt, he might not have taken a second to appreciate the way she filled out those jeans. But she’d landed on something soft, and the view was definitely worth appreciating. Definitely. Hell, a saint would have looked, and no Walker had ever been accused of being a saint. A devil straight from hell was a more frequent expression.

      Breathing deeply, he swallowed his libido back into his gut. “Ma’am? Do you need help getting up?” He cast a quick look to the side, noting that Miller’s blinds were closed tight. Hopefully he wasn’t sitting there in the darkness of his apartment, watching the world through his warped little drug-pushing eyes.

      “I’m fine,” he heard as the woman pushed herself up to her knees, until she was on all fours right below him.

      Lord have mercy.

      Nick closed his eyes briefly, thrusting every low-down wicked Walker thought out of his head by sheer force of will. Trying to find the good manners his mama had tried so hard to teach him, he got hold of himself. When he opened his eyes again, the woman had risen to her feet. Thank God.

      It took him less than a second to realize she was afraid of him. Though she jutted her chin out and kept her head up, she did step back. She obviously recognized him as the suspected pervert from the rust bucket parked at the curb around the corner.

      He put his hands up, palms out. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

      The tension in her body eased a bit, which gave Nick a chance to study her from behind his tinted sunglasses.

      She was tall, and as nicely curved in the front as she was in the back. Though dark circles hinted of stress and her cheeks were a little pale—maybe even gaunt—her face didn’t suffer for it. In fact, she had a great face—wide mouth that would probably be beautiful when she smiled. Big old eyes that he figured were blue, but couldn’t tell for sure because of his glasses. Long lashes, creamy complexion, high cheekbones. Yes, indeed, his Nancy Drew was a pretty woman. Even if she was a busybody.

      “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this done,” she said, her voice sounding shaky. As if she hadn’t completely accepted that he was merely a nice bystander wanting to help out. Considering how he looked, he couldn’t blame her.

      Then she turned her back on him and bent over again—heaven help him for being a bad man—and tried picking up the mattress.

      “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said, his throat tight.

      “I’m stronger than I look.” Still bent over, she stared doubtfully at the building and added under her breath, “Though the stairs up to the third floor may be…difficult.”

      “Third floor?” he snapped in disbelief.

      “It’ll be fine,” she insisted, straightening up—without the mattress. “I’m just bringing a few things up there. Not much.”

      He followed the airy hand she waved and looked into the truck. No, not much. Just a frigging box spring, dresser, small table, two chairs and a love seat. “You’re nuts. For God’s sake, wait for the movers.” Then, remembering he had a job to get back to, he added, “And you have to move this truck.”

      She stiffened. “I don’t have any movers. Paige’s—my friend’s husband was supposed to be here, but he’s not.” Her voice rose a little and she stepped closer, as if she didn’t even realize it. “I have to empty that truck and return it before four o’clock or I’m going to owe Paige for another day’s rental.” Another step. Another flash of spirit. Another decibel and she was almost shouting. “And dammit, that truck is not going anywhere until I get this furniture into СКАЧАТЬ