Beyond the blast zone, the streets were deserted; though it was early, the usual Friday night crowds had disappeared as the smoke clouds rolled in. He took his tie off, pocketed it and opened his collar. She pressed a button on the dash and the car roof folded down, it took less than twenty seconds and they were part of the eerie glow of the night. He might’ve been in the Batmobile. She drove it like it was a heap of shit, throwing it around corners, gunning it too fast. He’d have asked her where the fire was except that was idiotic.
She was headed towards the harbour. More people about this end of the city, but still the usual Friday crowds were thinned out. Eerie. The explosion, of course, and then he remembered the marathon tomorrow. That made another police barricade in front of them more about procedure than panic. This street, this end of the city would be locked down for the fun run, residents only in and out.
She pulled over and the purr of the engine was the sound of privilege. The cop eyed the roadster. He hated it; hated them for being in it, while he stood in the street and got a sore back taking rollcall, missing the real action at the other end of the city. You could see it in the lift at the edge of his lips, disapproval. He held his hand out for Jacinta’s licence.
“You live here, Ms Wentworth?” He jerked his head to indicate the building in front of them. A converted warehouse, swanky, like the car, like her.
“Yes.”
“Will you be leaving again?”
“Will it be a problem if I do?”
He didn’t respond. Made some note on his tablet. Officious bastard.
“Officer, is there a problem?”
He ignored her, lifted his chin to Mace. “And you are?”
She jumped in. “My evening’s entertainment.”
Shit.
The cop snickered. Fucking snickered, like Mace was a rent boy, well thanks for that. Was she worth it? He could be out of the car and gone in seconds. Screw his duffel bag. He shifted, fingers to the door latch, but he wasn’t going anywhere without his laptop.
Her hand went to his thigh. “I’m so sorry.” She dropped her head as though she might be.
The cop had someone looking under the car with mirrors on long poles. The breeze off the foreshore was cool, funky with brine and the foggy, oily smell of the ferry; better than the smoke. It stirred the fine hairs that had come out of her bun. He surprised himself by putting his hand to the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed. She’d a crap day. The failure was all on her despite the circumstance. No one was going to excuse that. Millions were lost today on her watch. He wasn’t going anywhere yet.
The cop tapped the windshield and waved them on. She turned into the next driveway, swiped an access card for a security door. She parked in a wide bay and left the roof down. They got out.
“I plan on getting drunk. I assume you’ll join me. There’s a bar we can walk to around the corner.”
That suited him and a few drinks would hopefully take the starch out of her. He followed her up a flight of fire escape stairs and out onto the street. She undid her jacket and took it off. Underneath was a dress, not a skirt. Fitted like a sheath; utterly demure and fucking lethal, the way it outlined her body. If he wasn’t already thirsty, the sight of her would’ve curled his tongue.
She walked slightly ahead of him and had to turn back to be heard. “It’s so hot. The runners are going to feel it tomorrow if it doesn’t cool down.”
It was a normal conversational sentence. It required a normal conversational response. It’s just that Mace didn’t do normal conversation. The stuff they’d said earlier, that was his quota of wit for the year. He hoped she knew that about him already, but maybe not. She was looking at him expectantly. If he was Dillon, he’d have had something useful to say to fill the silence, some plausible race stat he’d made up, some quip about the weather that might not make sense but would lubricate the situation. But he was an IT geek, he didn’t do clever banter, he didn’t do social. As a rule, he didn’t do conversation either. Mostly that didn’t appear to matter and when alcohol was involved people were happy enough to talk at you.
He all purposed it. “Yeah.”
She laughed in his face.
He’d never heard her laugh before, never seen what it did to her. Opened her up like a treasure chest, all the wealth of her glittered in her eyes, across her cheeks, off her lips. Those riches could make any man lose the power of speech. He grinned at her.
“You’re dumb but cute, Mace.”
He found some words and strung them in a line. They were an echo from their conversation in the hotel, nothing original about them. “Do you usually seduce with compliments?”
She grabbed him by the shirt front, pulled their bodies together and kissed him. That shocked a grunt out of him. He might be dumb, but he wasn’t stupid. He palmed the back of her head and returned the kiss, his other hand wrapping around her, holding her length hard against him. She let go of his shirt and circled his neck. She tasted of coffee and breath mint and a night of rare, strange appeal.
Someone catcalled and he let go of her.
She leaned against him. “I liked that.”
It was out there. “I liked it too.”
She laughed. “That’s useful.”