Metro Girl (Alex Barnaby 1)

“I’ll run in and see if I can get a room,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d want to sleep with me?”

It was said with such little boy hopeful hopelessness that I laughed out loud. “I’m not ready for that,” I told him.

He curled his fingers into my T-shirt, pulled me close to him, and kissed me. His fingers were pressed into my breasts, his tongue slid over mine, and I felt my engine turn over and hum.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he said. “Because I’ve been ready since the first day I met you.”

Okay, so maybe I wanted to rethink the little boy part. I wasn’t seeing any evidence of a little boy here. In fact, I was thinking Hooker showed the s

ame single-mindedness of purpose when he focused on a woman that he showed on the track. Hooker kept his eye on the prize.

Hooker gave the battered door a good hard shot with his fist to get it to open. He angled himself out of the Mini and jogged to the hotel’s revolving front door. He came back ten minutes later and got our bags out of the trunk.

“Darlin’, we’re in business,” he said. “We’ve got rooms without bad guys.”

The next morning, Bill’s doctor assured me that Bill’s signs were all good and he was strong enough to leave the hospital. You wouldn’t know by looking. Bill was still pale. His arm was bandaged and in a sling. His chest was wrapped and double wrapped. He had blood caked under his fingernails and a bump on his forehead the size of a walnut. I had him dressed in khaki shorts and an orange-and-blue flowered shirt, hoping it would cheer him. It turned out Bill didn’t need anything to cheer him because Bill was shot up with painkillers and happy juice for the ride home.

The hospital and police had assumed Bill was returning to the rental house. Hooker and I hadn’t said anything to change their minds, but we had other plans. We loaded Bill into the front seat of the Mini, and we took off for Miami Beach.

It was noon when we rolled across the Causeway Bridge and into South Beach. It was a brilliant blue-sky day with temperatures in the low eighties and not a breath of air stirring. Hooker turned onto Alton Avenue and drove straight to Judey’s condo building.

“We’re leaving you with Jude,” I said to Bill. “Do you remember Jude?”

“Ju-u-u-de,” Bill said.

Bill was wasted.

“I don’t know what they gave him,” Hooker said. “But I wouldn’t mind having some.”

Hooker parked in the condo garage, we maneuvered Bill out of the car, and we locked arms around his back and steered him to the elevator.

Hooker hit the button for the twenty-seventh floor and looked over at me. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. Twenty-seven. Piece of cake.” I was just grateful it wasn’t thirty-two.

We shuffled Bill out of the elevator, down the short hall, and rang Judey’s bell.

“Oh my goodness,” Judey said, throwing the door wide open to us. “Just look at this poor little sad sack.”

“He’s a lot higher than the twenty-seventh floor,” I told Judey. “They gave him some painkillers for the ride home.”

“Lucky duck,” Judey said. “I have my guest room all ready. We’ll just tuck Wild Bill in, and I’ll take good care of him. I’m very nurturing. And I won’t leave him alone for a minute. Nothing bad is going to happen to him while I’m on the job.”

Judey’s condo was decorated in bold warm colors. Tangerine walls and hot red couches. A zebra skin coffee table ottoman. Black granite counters in the kitchen. It was striking, but it was a little like looking through your eyelids when you have a hangover.

We walked Bill into the guest room and put him to bed.

“Everything’s red,” he said. “Am I in hell?”

“No,” I told him. “You’re in Judey’s guest room.”

“J-u-u-deeee.”

I handed the bag containing Bill’s antibiotic and pain medication over to Judey. “Instructions are on the labels,” I said. “There’s also a sheet with instructions for changing the dressings and for doctor’s visits.”

“Never fear. Judey’s here.” Judey cut his eyes to Hooker. “And you take good care of Barney.”

“I’m trying,” Hooker said.