He turned to look and found a local police officer with a flashlight.
Relax. Not Nola.
He rolled down the window. “Is there a problem?”
“Well, sir, vagrancy is against the law around here.” The county cop kept the flashlight pointed in his eyes. “If you need somewhere to sleep, you’re going to have to move your car someplace else.”
“I am not sleeping.” Indignation sparked. He was not some vagrant, even if he did plan to sleep here eventually, and yes, he hoped to hang around long enough to catch a distant glimpse of her leaving on some errand. Just a look to carry him through.
“Sir, I have received calls from two concerned neighbors about your vehicle sitting here for the past five hours.” The policeman swept his flashlight through the car, inspecting. “Thing is, you have stayed in the car. That’s making people uncomfortable.”
“Since when is sitting in a car against the law?”
“I need to know your business.” The flashlight swung directly back into his eyes, blinding him.
All right. He was wise enough to know when to stop questioning the authority figure. He did not need to be hauled in, especially since Nola had reported his letters to the authorities. He was two neighborhoods over, but he did not want them making the connection. In fact, he should line up another rental immediately. “I am going to pull out my wallet now, all right?”
“Okay, now. Take it slow and easy, mister.”
“I hear you.” He reached with one hand into his back pocket, carefully dodging his concealed Taurus .40 caliber pistol. “Here is my private investigator’s license. I am simply watching that house over there to see how long he stays with the lady. Let us just say the man is not her husband.”
The police officer lowered the beam to the documents, wide-brimmed hat shadowing his eyes until eventually his shoulders lowered as well. If body language could be believed, apparently he had bought the cover story. “I really don’t like people causing trouble, loitering around. Don’t make me pull your license.”
“I know my rights, and the police can only file a complaint against me. They cannot actually pull it.”
“Fair enough. But if I receive any more calls about you…”
“My business should be through tonight.” A lie, but he lied well and with a straight face. He would simply have to be more careful about staying hidden.
Perhaps he could even look into renting one of the small places nearby. Except the time seemed to be drawing closer. The hotel would serve his purposes as long as it had wireless access for him to work on his next plan to keep the heat turned up on Nola Seabrook’s life.
After dropping off Rick’s sheets without lingering, Nola finished her diet drink and tossed the can in the recycling bin back in the main house. She should probably find something to eat, but her stomach still hadn’t settled from her car explo—
Oh, hell. Who was she kidding? Her belly was turning loop-de-loops over the fact that she had a man living under her roof again. Didn’t matter they weren’t sharing a bed. They were sharing shingles.
She’d trusted a near stranger with her safety over a squadron full of friends. How messed up was that? Or maybe it made total sense because this way she maintained some control. Some distance. Not that she’d kept her distance very well when she’d landed in Rick DeMassi’s lap earlier. What a freaking mess.
Okay, she would reclaim her life. Be normal.
Nola snagged an apple from a basket on the counter and crunched. She hit the remote to turn on her favorite jazz music and started shedding clothes on her way to her bedroom.
She thrived on disarray in her home. She had more than enough of regimen at work these days. Her T-shirt went sailing to land on the back of her sofa. Nola kicked one shoe under the dining room table, the other under her telephone table.
And speaking of her phone, she’d better keep her cell phone with her for emergencies. She looped the string holder around her wrist.
“Milk shake. Milk shake. Milk shake.” She repeated the duress words a few more times with a dance step to her walk as she committed it to memory.
She unbuttoned her jeans and kicked them into a pool in the hall until she wore only her sport bra, high-cut cotton panties and Christmas-green socks. Back before her cancer, she’d lived in a totally orderly world of beige and white, only to discover she controlled nothing. Now, she lived her life differently, vibrantly, with a certain respect for the psychedelic chaos factor.
Her problem lay in trying to blend the two parts of herself, past and present.
She padded down the narrow hall full of pictures of planes and friends snapped around the world. During her recovery, she’d taken a framing class and matted photos from her past in bright colors. She’d populated her home with the memories to give herself hope of adding more images someday. And she had.
Would she add one of herself with Rick to look at after he left?
Now wasn’t that a dangerous thought to carry into her bedroom? She creaked open the door, swinging the cell phone on her wrist, a reminder that Rick was only a simple call and wall away.
Had she been totally reckless to invite him here with their sexual history? Or maybe he was exactly the man to invite under her roof, perhaps under her bedspread, as well. He had scars, too. Could he be the one she could trust to show her own?