Too Hot to Sleep. Stephanie Bond

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      “WHISTLING? Man, you must’ve gotten lucky last night.”

      Unwrapping a hamburger on his knee, since every square inch of his desk was occupied, Ken cut his gaze toward his partner. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Klone. I slept well, that’s all. Damn near forgot what it was like.”

      The older man grinned and proceeded to talk with his mouth full of club sandwich. “What, no hot number to keep you up all night?”

      A wrong hot number. “Man, you ask too many questions.”

      “Job hazard,” Klone said, undaunted. “You’ve been complaining about your insomnia for weeks, but I think you’ve just been up late womanizing and partying.”

      “Yeah, my life isn’t half as interesting as you lead people to believe.”

      “Well, then maybe you’ve been moonlighting.”

      “Klone, I haven’t been moonlighting.” Unless he could get paid for working crossword puzzles in the wee hours of the morning.

      “Because if you need some extra cash to fund your lifestyle, every business in town is clamoring for cops to direct traffic on their off-hours. If you ask me, the city needs to put up a few more stoplights. Where are you working?”

      “Klone, I have not been moonlighting.”

      “Well, if you ask me, it’s high time you find a good woman to settle down with.”

      “I didn’t ask you.”

      “That’s why you’re not sleeping, because you’re yearning for a soul mate.”

      Ken grimaced and looked around at their colleagues moving about. “Jesus, keep your voice down. Have you been reading Cosmo or something?” He grunted. “I’ve told you before, marriage isn’t for me.” He wanted his mind squarely on his job. His first partner out of the academy had been a good-natured fellow, top of his class, with a successful career ahead of him until he met his “soul mate,” a woman who messed with his mind so badly, he’d committed grievous errors on the job. The last time Ken had seen him, the guy was unemployed, divorced, and a tad on the bitter side.

      Ken’s own experiences were somewhat less dramatic, but he’d tired of vapid women who seemed determined to worm their way into his life regardless of his feelings on the matter. Although he was larger than the average man, he was brighter than most women gave him credit for. Relationships in general were a giant hassle. Last night was the first time he’d had sex with a woman without worrying about whether potpourri would suddenly appear in his bathroom.

      Klone took another bite. “All I’m saying is that with a stressful job like this, you need a warm body to go home to every night. Someone to remind you that everyone in this world ain’t a criminal. Eighteen years now and Louise and me still do the deed every Friday night during The Tonight Show. Well, except for the two times she was in the hospital after the kids were born.”

      Ken was forced to listen while he chewed the overdone burger, then he swallowed. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to hear that. And don’t talk with your mouth full, for Crissake.”

      Klone made a perfunctory swipe at his mouth with a wadded-up paper napkin. “I’m just concerned about what you’re doing with your life. You don’t have to get all aggravated.”

      Immediately contrite, Ken ground his teeth, then said, “Klone, I like being single.”

      His partner shook his head and expelled a grave sigh. “Son, someday you’re gonna learn the hard way that we can’t always have things the way we like them.”

      Ken banked the half-eaten burger into a trash can, trying to block out the voice of Georgia the mysterious phone seductress. I’m not wearing panties. That, he liked. “Where does the Fleming burglary case stand?”

      Klone shifted in his seat, oblivious to Ken’s strategy to change the subject. He held up a smudged piece of paper with a dollop of mayonnaise on the corner. “I got a tip to check out a pawnshop for some of the missing jewelry.”

      Ken took the piece of paper, heedful of the mayonnaise and his navy uniform shirt, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll look into it.”

      Klone half stood. “You want some company?”

      “No, I volunteered to pull truancy duty at the mall this afternoon, and this place is on the way.”

      His partner made a face. “Better you pulling truancy than me.”

      “My good deed for the week,” Ken agreed wryly. “Catch you later.” On the way out of the station, he stopped by the locker room to brush his teeth. The small square mirror reflected sharp cheekbones—probably due to his lousy appetite of late—and his dark hair seemed more unruly than ever, despite his efforts to keep the length short enough to curtail the curl. Damned humidity.

      But for once, his dark eyes weren’t red-rimmed, and his neck didn’t have a crick in it. His persistent insomnia had affected him more than he’d realized, leaving him restless and irritable and susceptible to behavior in which he wouldn’t normally indulge.

      Such as pretending to be the deserving boyfriend of a woman who was more passionate than anyone he’d ever dated.

      He banged his locker door closed, then exited to the parking garage, whistling tunelessly in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about how he caould find the woman on the phone. After swinging into his squad car, he checked the dash equipment, then started the engine and pulled out onto a side street. No sir, he wasn’t about to consider ways he could use the resources at his disposal to find out who she was.

      Like checking the dozen or so strip joints for a dancer named Georgia.

      Like performing a computer search on the city directory database for female residents named Georgia.

      Like checking his own phone records to see from where the call had originated.

      He thumped the steering wheel in frustration, hating himself for allowing the unknown caller to get under his skin. It was no big deal, he told himself as he wheeled into the parking lot of the pawnshop. Because the woman was nobody to him and probably wouldn’t give the incident much thought even after she discovered the blunder. And because the woman was a nymphette who had more interesting things going on in her life than worrying about the schmuck who had filched a freebie. No, he really shouldn’t be concerned that the woman might be disturbed when she realized her mistake.

      So, why was he?

      With much effort, Ken blocked out the voice of the seductive caller to take care of the tasks at hand. The stop into the pawnshop proved to be fruitful. Based on the written descriptions from the burglarized homeowner, СКАЧАТЬ