The vision shattered as a strong arm slid around Max’s waist, hauled her off her feet, and pulled her against a hard wall of chest. She dropped the pepper spray. It rolled under the dumpster. She screamed. A hand covered her mouth. She bit the palm, rammed her flashlight into her assailant’s ribs, and kicked her heel against his shins.
“Shit.” Witt swore in her ear, let her drop back to her feet, but kept an arm secured around her waist.
“I should have kicked you in the family jewels,” she hissed over her shoulder. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” There was something in his voice, real regret, as if he’d only just realized what he’d done. As evidenced by his uncharacteristic use of full sentences. “I was just trying to make you aware of your vulnerability.”
The man didn’t breathe hard with exertion, nor did he have the grace to hold his side in agony where she’d given him one helluva jab with the Mag-Lite.
“All you did was make me lose my pepper spray.” Creep.
“Good. The thought of pepper spray in your hands is terrifying.”
She made a disgusted sound in response. “Well, I’m aware of my vulnerable position now, so you can let go.”
With her back pressed against his front—and her butt pressed against other things—the scene was uncomfortably like Tiffany dancing the Drifter with her dark-haired fantasy man.
Witt did not, however, allow even an inch to come between them. “Hey, where’s the usual black suit and heels?”
His skin was warm, his chin against her nape scratchy with stubble, his breath kind of sweet with—goodness, not peppermints?
Yeah, peppermints.
Damn Cameron. She was sure he had something to do with that. He’d started with the peppermints when he quit smoking for her. Of course, he’d already passed on by that time, but she hadn’t argued the point. Peppermints were now his signature scent. But she suspected he’d nudged Witt to start sucking the candies, too. Bastard. And she couldn’t even call him on it. Instead, she’d have to ignore it. For now.
“For your information, this is my detecting outfit. High heels are too cumbersome when I’m on stake-out.”
Witt’s low chuckle rumbled against her back, vibrating straight through to her chest. “I ever tell you about my visions, Max?”
She went totally still. “No way. You don’t have visions.”
“Yup. Visions of you in black high heels and nothing else.”
“Get outta here.” She twisted in his arms, broke his loose hold, then turned to face him. “Behave yourself, Detective.” He still wore his suit, charcoal shirt, and red tie.
He smiled then, a smile that was sexy as all get out. “Sometimes, Max, you just ask for it.”
She didn’t ask what “it” was.
His beeper went off, scaring the crap out of her yet again. She’d have thought pagers were passé, but Witt’s department still used them for short code bursts to multiple users.
He pushed aside his jacket and tipped the gadget away from his belt to read it.
Max backed up three steps. “I suppose that page means you’ve gotta be going. Thanks a bunch for stopping by.”
Letting his suit coat fall back in place, he wagged his finger. “Not off the hook yet, Max. What the hell are you doing disturbing a crime scene? They’d take you to jail for that.”
Ah, that was better. She could handle getting yelled at. “I was looking for the wino.”
“What wino?”
“The one in my dream. Did you tell the cops about him? They ought to put an APB out or something.”
Hands on hips, he shook his head. “Warned you about watching too much TV. The hype is shining through your golden lingo.”
She narrowed her eyes in response. “So, did you tell them?”
“It was a dream. Cops don’t make arrests based on dreams.”
She huffed. “You didn’t tell them.”
“Not a damn thing. Point was to get information from them, not the other way around.” He circled her wrist with his large hand. “Gotta get out of here before we’re spotted.”
He pulled her along, stuck his head out the end of the alley to look both ways before lifting the tape and shooing her under.
“How’d you know I was here?” They turned the corner. Her Miata was no longer alone. His tan department vehicle—she couldn’t figure out what the nondescript model was—sat alongside it in the parking lot. Without moving her head, she glared at him from the corner of her eye. “A little out of your jurisdiction?”
“Thought that’s right where you wanted me.”
“Touché, Detective.”
“Should have known you wouldn’t be too far away. Is it too much to ask that you let the cops do their job?”
“They don’t know as much as I do.”
“That’ll get you twenty-five to life if you’re not careful.”
She breathed deeply, glad for the fresh air, though the stink of the alley clung to her clothes. She pulled her car keys out of her back pocket. Only two feet from her car, her wrist was still shackled in his grip. “I’m going home, Detective Long.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found out, Max?”
She narrowed her eyes. “How much will it cost me?”