Metro Girl (Alex Barnaby 1)

“Hey, I’m from Texas. Cut me some slack,” he said. “What am I supposed to call you? I don’t know your name. Bill only mentioned his brother Barney.”

I did a mental teeth-clench thing. “Bill doesn’t have a brother. I’m Barney.”

Hooker grinned at me. “You’re Barney?” He gave a bark of laughter and ruffled my hair. “I like it. Sort of Mayberry, but on you it’s sexy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m getting turned on.”

I suspected NASCAR drivers woke up turned on. “My name is Alexandra. My family started calling me Barney when I was a kid, and it stuck.”

We’d reached one of the high-rises. Thirty-five to forty floors of condos, all with balconies, all with to-die-for views. All significantly beyond my budget. I tipped my head back and stared up at the building.

“Wow,” I said. “Can you imagine living here?”

“I do live here. Thirty-second floor. Want to come up and see my view?”

“Maybe some other time. Places to go. Things to do.” Small fear of heights. Distrust of NASCAR drivers…especially ones that are turned on.

The first drops of rain plopped down. Big fat drops that soaked into my pink skirt and splashed off my shoulders. Damn. No umbrella. No car. Four long blocks between me and Bill’s apartment.

“Where’s your car parked?” Hooker wanted to know.

“I don’t have a car. I walked here from my brother’s apartment.”

“He’s on Fourth and Meridian, right?”

“Right.”

I looked at Hooker, and I wondered if he was the one who had trashed the apartment.

TWO

“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me,” Hooker said.

“I was wondering what you’re capable of doing.”

The grin was back. “Most anything.”

From what I knew of him, I thought this was probably true. He’d started driving on the dirt tracks of the Texas panhandle, scratching and clawing his way to the top. He had a reputation for being a fearless driver, but I didn’t buy into the fearless thing. Everyone knew fear. It was the reaction that made the difference. Some people hated fear and avoided the experience. Some people endured it as a necessity. And some people became addicted to the rush. I was betting Hooker fell into the last category.

The wind picked up, the rain slanted into us, and we ran to the building for cover.

“Are you sure you don’t want to visit the casa de Hooker?” Hooker asked. “It’s not raining in the casa.”

“Pass. I need to get back to the apartment.”

“Okay,” Hooker said. “We’ll go back to the apartment.”

“There’s no we.”

“Wrong. Until I get my boat back we are definitely we. Not that I don’t trust you…but I don’t trust you.”

I was speechless. I felt my mouth involuntarily drop open and my nose wrinkle.

“Cute,” Hooker said. “I like the nose wrinkle.”

“If you’re so convinced my brother stole your boat maybe you should report it to the police.”