Split Second (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 1)

He took his time climbing off, and when she reached a hand out for him to assist her, he ignored it.

She was wearing a skirt, blouse and short jacket. The skirt had slid up to nearly her crotch during the collision. As she struggled to regain her feet, she tugged it back down.

“Are you in the habit of mugging all your visitors?” she said testily as she put her gun back in the waist clip and brushed herself off.

“Most of my visitors don’t go sneaking around my property.”

“Nobody answered the front door.”

“Then you go away and call another time. Or didn’t your mother teach you?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s been a long time, Sean.”

“Has it? I hadn’t noticed. I’ve been kind of busy with my new life.”

She looked around. “I can see that. Nice place.”

“What are you doing here, Joan?”

“Came to see an old friend who’s in trouble.”

“Really? Who’s that?”

She smiled demurely. “Murder in your office. That’s trouble, isn’t it?”

“Sure it is. I was talking about the ‘old friend’ part.”

She nodded toward the house. “I’ve driven a long way. I’ve heard about the southern hospitality around here. Care to show me some?”

Instead, he contemplated firing a round over her head. Yet the only way he would find out what Joan Dillinger was up to was to play along. “What sort of hospitality?”

“Well, it’s almost nine o’clock and I haven’t had dinner. Let’s start with that and then go from there,” she said.

“You show up unannounced after all these years and expect me to cook you dinner? You’ve got some guts.”

“That shouldn’t surprise you by now, should it?”

As he fixed the meal, Joan explored the main level of his home, carrying the gin and tonic he’d given her. She perched on the counter in the kitchen while he worked away. “How’s the finger?” she asked.

“It only hurts when I’m seriously ticked off. Sort of like a mood ring. And just so you know, it’s throbbing like hell right now.”

She ignored the barb. “This place is spectacular. I heard that you built it yourself.”

“Gave me something to do.”

“I didn’t know you were a carpenter.”

“I worked my way through school building things for people who could afford it. Then I decided what the hell, I’d do it for myself.”

They ate at the table off the kitchen that had a commanding view of the lake. With the meal they drank a bottle of merlot he’d fetched from his wine cellar. Under different circumstances it would have been a very romantic setting.

After dinner they carried their wineglasses into the family room, with its cathedral ceiling and walls of window. When he saw she was shivering some, King turned on the gas fireplace and tossed her a throw blanket. They sat across from each other on leather couches. Joan kicked off her heels and curled her legs up under her and then placed the blanket over them. She raised her glass to him. “Dinner was fabulous.” She breathed in the wine’s bouquet. “And I see you’ve added sommelier to your list of credentials.”

“Okay, your belly’s full, you’re suitably buzzed. Why are you here?”

“When something extraordinary entailing a major criminal investigation happens to a former agent, everybody’s interested.”

“And they sent you to see me?”