She surged to her knees to survey his chest more closely. “My God, you look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”
He looked down and grimaced when he saw the bruises. “Purple isn’t my color but it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“That’s hard to imagine. I had no idea it was this bad. We should have taken you to the emergency room last night.” She started to scramble off the bed. “I’ll get dressed and drive you there right now.”
He caught hold of her wrist, chaining her easily. “Relax. Nothing’s broken.”
“Are you sure?”
He seemed amused by her concern.
“I’m a little sore, that’s all.”
“A little.” She looked at him in disbelief.
“Okay, kind of sore.” He touched his ribs in a gingerly manner. “A few anti-inflammatory tablets will take care of the worst of it. How’s my face look?”
She scrutinized him carefully. “No black eye, amazingly enough.”
“Good. That will save answering a lot of questions today. Black eyes always draw a lot of attention.” He used the grip on her wrist to tug her slowly toward him. “You know, if you’re sincerely interested in speeding my recovery, I have a suggestion.”
A kiss was not a good idea but she could not seem to stop herself from leaning toward him.
She brushed her mouth lightly against his.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, eyes darkening. “That’s the magic cure, all right.”
His arm started to tighten around her.
She resisted. “I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of an injured man.”
“It’s okay. I know you’ll be gentle with me.”
“You don’t need sex,” she said sternly, enjoying the banter more than she wanted to admit. “What you need is a good breakfast and those anti-inflammatories.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He raised a finger and assumed a lecturing tone. “Sex releases all sorts of endorphins into the bloodstream. It makes you feel good. Like a tonic.”
Laughing, she got to her feet, found her glasses and pulled on her robe. “Breakfast sounds safer.”
“You gamble for big money in Vegas and you hunt bad guys for a hobby, lady. Since when do you play it safe?”
She stopped short at that. She had always thought of herself as risk-averse, having spent her entire adult life concealing her talents from all but a tiny, close-knit circle of acquaintances. She had played it safe, just as Aunt Vella had taught her, so that others would not label her crazy. Until Zack she had never even experienced anything close to genuine intimacy with a lover because she had been afraid to reveal the truth about herself.
The concept of herself as a woman who was not afraid to take a few risks was nothing short of dazzling.
She was about to give Zack the sort of snappy comeback a bold, assertive, risk-taking woman might make to the man she had allowed into her bed when she noticed the notepad on the nightstand.
She stared at the numbers written on the top sheet of paper, outraged.
“What’s this?” She snatched up the pad and held it right in front of his eyes.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and studied the numbers on the pad, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he smiled.
“That’s the result of our friendly little game of blackjack last night,” he said.
“According to this I owe you ten thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars.”
“My luck turned after you drank those three glasses of scotch.”
“The heck it did. I never lose at blackjack. You got me drunk and took advantage of me.”
“Three itty-bitty glasses of scotch are enough to put you under the table? I’ll have to remember that.”
“It was the scotch on top of the stress that did it,” she shot back indignantly. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
“I dunno.” He shook his head, unconvinced. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”
“Hah.” She tossed the notepad onto the nightstand and fitted her hands to her hips. “There is only one other possible explanation.”
“What?”
“You cheated.”
“Does this mean you’re going to try to wriggle out of your gambling debt?”
“If you think you’re going to collect ten thousand, four hundred and fifty bucks from me, think again.”
“Maybe we could come up with alternative payment arrangements,” he suggested smoothly.
She beetled her brows at him. “Such as?”
“I believe I mentioned last night that there were only two kinds of bets that make a game of cards interesting.”
She picked up a pillow and tossed it at him. He fell back, laughing. She turned on her heel and flounced off into the bathroom.
It occurred to her that it was the first time in her entire life that she had actually flounced. It was quite invigorating.
Twenty-eight
Bradley examined the fragment of broken china he was holding in his hand. “You’re sure this is from the Shelbyville B and B?”
He had arrived shortly after eight, wearing his slouchy jacket, his mirrored sunglasses and his cop face. He had removed the sunglasses and he and Zack were both behaving themselves but Raine was uneasily aware of the tension in the room.
In an effort to avoid a scene, she had made a large pot of coffee. She then instructed the men to sit using the same tone of voice she used with Robin and Batman when they got a yen to exercise their claws on her delicate woven wood window shades instead of their cat trees.
Zack lounged in one of two chairs that bracketed the coffee table. Bradley had taken the opposite chair. That had left the sofa for her.
“I’m positive that cup fragment is from the B and B,” she said, answering Bradley’s question. “He was here, right inside my condo.”
Bradley looked dubious. “Why would he leave a broken cup in the pocket of your coat? It’s not exactly a dramatic message. I guess it could be symbolic of something but it’s a little vague. There was a good chance you wouldn’t even recognize the shattered cup, let alone realize he had left it there for you.”
She concentrated on pouring coffee. “He has started stalking me but he doesn’t want to leave any hard evidence behind that I can take to the police.”
“He feels safe,” Zack said, watching Bradley very steadily. “He’s sure that even if Raine went to the cops with that piece of broken china, no one would take her seriously.”