Morning sun poured through the shade, waking her. Jimmy’s hand was cupping her breast. It felt right, she thought drowsily. The way it was supposed to be. As she came fully awake, though, she scooted away and rolled over. He grumbled in his sleep and reached for her, as if trying to recapture their intimacy. When she didn’t respond, he slowly opened his eyes. His disheveled hair and welcoming expression made him look sexy, and she thought about making love again, but something stopped her. She threw the covers off her side of the bed and went into the bathroom.
When she came out he was on his back, hands behind his head, watching her. She saw approval in his eyes. Still, she felt exposed and dove back under the covers. She propped her head on her hand.
“Good morning,” he said.
“I’d say so,” she replied.
He smiled at that and started to stretch. “Do we have to get up?”
“I’ll take you out for waffles.”
“Is that a bribe?”
“Payback.”
“Payback?” He paused, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re a hard woman, Georgia.”
She shrugged, which was difficult while she was naked and in bed, but she tried.
“I get it, you know,” he said.
“Get what?”
“It’s morning and you’re not sure what happened last night. So it’s safer to describe it as a mutual give-and-take. I take you to dinner and change your tire. You let me sleep with you and buy me breakfast. We’re even. All paid up.”
She let out a breath. Damn him.
“It’s okay.” He paused. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
* * *
It was almost noon by the time they finally did get up, which had to be the latest she’d risen in years. They took showers together, which made them even later, and it wasn’t until early afternoon that they were seated in a booth at the pancake house in Wilmette. The only reason to go to Walker Brothers was for the apple pancake, a delicious creation of apples, cinnamon, sugar, and dough that was known all over Chicago, if not the country. Georgia rarely allowed herself the luxury of all the calories, but Jimmy admitted never having had one. After it arrived with steaming mugs of coffee, Georgia cut a slice for Jimmy and one for herself. She watched as he chewed. His eyes went wide.
“I’ve never tasted anything like this.” He shoveled another huge forkful into his mouth. “This has got to be the eighth wonder of the world.”
“We think so.” She stopped. When had she become so proprietary about Chicago food? She sounded like a preening idiot. She cleared her throat. “Don’t you have to get back to Lake Geneva?”
“I told you you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He cut himself another slice of pancake and grinned. “Especially after a kickback like this. I knew there were perks to being chief of police.”
His response confused her, and her expression must have shown it, because his grin suddenly faded. “I called in on my cell. Everything’s quiet.” He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. Then, “I’ve been thinking about last night.”
“Me too,” Georgia said softly.
“Actually, I was thinking about the assholes who shot out your tire.”
Georgia felt a spurt of disappointment. “Oh.” She switched into PI mode.
“You made a good point. They had a chance to kill you, but they didn’t. The question is why.”
“I still think it’s a warning or—”
“Or what? Why, given the chance to eliminate a target, do you not take it out?”
She thought about it. “Retaliation, maybe? Force the target to reveal themselves? Send a message?”
“Or scare you.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
“Maybe you should.”
She sat back. He was going cop on her, recycling the conversation they’d already had. She knew why. If they kept going over the same ground, maybe she’d remember something new. Some key fragment or scrap of information that would make sense of last night’s attack. Jimmy the cop was different from Jimmy the lover. A lover whose warmth and passion she’d wanted to bask in just a while longer.
But he obviously didn’t. Was he taking a cue from her—what had he said? That this was payback. They were even. Is that what he thought? She was simply trying to be careful. Keep her feelings in check. She wanted to restart the conversation, but she didn’t know how. Reluctantly she focused on what he was saying.
“Lets assume for a minute it’s not related to Savannah.”
“Why?”
“Just run with me for a second. Brainstorming, they call it.”
“Okay.”
You’ve been a PI how long now?”
“About five years.”
“You’ve obviously worked a lot of cases. More if you include the years you were a cop.”
“I was just a beat cop. I dealt with simple stuff. Especially on the North Shore. House burglaries, stolen cars, that kind of thing.”
“No angry offenders?”
“Most are dead or in jail.”
“What if they did their time, got out, and decided to get revenge for something you did to them?”
She shrugged. “Comes with the territory. But you know as well as me they usually don’t go after us. They go for the stoolies. Anyway, there’s no way I can track them all.”
“That’s my point. No matter who’s targeting you, we’re back where we started. Somebody doesn’t want to you to do what you’ve been doing. But you keep trying to find out who. Georgia, today is a new day. Let the police handle it.”
Seizing an opportunity to reconnect, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I love that you’re concerned about me. I’ll be careful. But I can’t back off. Not yet.”
He didn’t reply, and a moment later he withdrew his hand. He left soon after.
She paid the check, then trudged to her car. She’d done it again. Made sure to keep a man she liked at a distance. What did they call them—self-fulfilling prophecies? Well, she’d likely made one happen. So why did she feel more alone now than before?