“I still appreciate it.”
She touched the wrapped painting. “And I appreciate this.”
She gave him a hug and was surprised at how tightly he squeezed her; how strong he was. And she squeezed back. For one long moment their bodies were compressed together. He smelled of paint and sweat and something else, something intensely male. Her hands lightly traced the hard muscles of his back and shoulders. She didn’t want to let go, but she finally drew back from him, her gaze downcast.
He cupped his hand under her chin and raised it. “Look, I know this is probably getting a little awkward for you. I’m not throwing myself at you. You’re not going to wake up tomorrow and find a new car in your driveway. But—”
“Eddie—,” she began, but he held up his hand.
“But it’s just nice to have a friend is what I’m saying.”
“I’d think you’d have lots of those, both men and women.”
“I’m more of a loner really. I paint and I fight in pretend battles.”
“And you do them both extremely well,” she said.
“Yes, you do,” said another voice.
They looked over as King came walking in.
“Hey, Eddie,” he said.
The men shook hands while Michelle looked on self-consciously.
King glanced around at the art on the walls. “You’ve really got a tremendous eye.”
“You sure my mother didn’t pay you to say that?”
King looked at the wall of Civil War memorabilia. “An interesting collection.”
“One of my few hobbies.” He grinned at Michelle. “You know, Sean, we need to get you into reenactments. I can see you up on a sturdy steed charging right into the teeth of a Union battery, sleeping with the mosquitoes and eating hardtack until your arteries pop.”
King glanced at Michelle and smiled. “The day you see that is the day the sky falls and kills us all,” he said, paraphrasing Michelle’s response to Lulu’s pole-dancing offer.
Eddie was about to say something when King’s cell phone rang. He answered it, listened and then clicked off, his features very troubled.
“That was Sylvia. Kyle Montgomery’s been found dead.”
“What!” exclaimed Michelle.
“Who’s Kyle Montgomery?” asked Eddie, bewildered.
“Sylvia Diaz’s assistant,” answered Michelle. “Was he murdered?”
“Sylvia’s not sure. She said it looks right now like a drug overdose, but she’s not convinced. She wants us to meet her at Kyle’s apartment. Todd’s there too.”
The two hustled out. Michelle called back over her shoulder, “Eddie, I’ll give you a call. Thanks.”
As they exited the building, Eddie looked at the wrapped portrait. “But you forgot your paint—” They were already out of earshot. He shrugged in disappointment and carried the painting upstairs.
CHAPTER
59
THE FORENSICS TEAM HAD
finished by the time they reached Kyle’s apartment. He was still on the bed, his lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling of the small, dank apartment.