Page 82 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
I grabGeorgia Heatand flip through it.
Oh, Trish, you dirty, dirty girl.
Enjoying the thought of the Southern shortie’s future interrogation, I restock the notebooks. In one step, I’m in the kitchen and I pause to slide out the folding chair from between the cabinets. Two steps more get me to the couch.
I know the couch is a pull-out, but I don’t even bother. I just flop down like I’m going to watch TV (which there isn’t one even if I wanted to), tuck a throw pillow behind my head, and use the chair as an ottoman, finally stretching out my legs.
A metal bar digs into my ass even through the seat cushion. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I don’t even recognize my own voice it’s so whiney.
My condo, though already on the stalker’s radar, isn’t looking too bad at this point. Facing some psycho can’t be worse than this. And if I can just get my brain to pretend to be stupid, then I’ll be able to delude myself into thinking that the stalker’s silence today means they’ve given up.
Sighing for the umpteenth time, I start my meditative techniques. But each time I close my eyes I see Holt. His wide eyes as he enters me. His soft smile as he watches me pet Cookie. His hard expression as he calls me a disingenuous flirt.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Startled, my legs slip off the folding chair, crashing onto the floor and jarring my bones.
What in the flamingfuck?
“Open up! It’s the law!” a man shouts from outside.
An instant later I’m alert, mind cleared, shotgun cocked and in hand. I may have been out of the service for a while, but there are some things you just don’t forget.
Carefully, I push up one of the slats in the front window blinds. From my angle I can see a man of average height dressed in a short-sleeve button-down and khaki pants. No cruiser, no badge.
It’s the stalker. This is the moment. My hand tightens on the gun. I canfeelthe rush of adrenaline as it floods my body.
I take a step toward the door.
Bang! Bang!“I know you’re in there, Patty. It’s time to come home, little lady.”
Wait, what? My hand, outstretched for the door handle, pauses. Did he say Patty?
Where adrenaline flowed, now there’s anger. How dare some khaki-wearing ass frighten me?
I mean, not that I was that frightened. Just a little. More like a surprise feeling than frightened.
The hand now resting on the handle is shaking.
Annoyed at myself, as well at whoever is out there, I throw open the door and jam the barrel of the shot gun right up to the metal screen. “Who the fuck are you?”
The douche-canoe jumps back, hands up. “Whoa, whoa.” His small eyes widen in shock. “No need for a gun.” He swallows hard. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”
“This from the guy who was just trying to bang my door down while impersonating an officer of the law.” I rake my glare over the guy. He’s soft, no muscle tone, with pasty white skin that shines in the near streetlight. A ginormous dark brown mustache that in no way matches the few strings of light brown hair on his head hangs heavy over his lips. Why is it that when men start going bald they think they can compensate by growing facial hair?
Newsflash—your noggin’s still naked, dude.
The guy smacks his lips under his snot catcher. “I’m sorry, I thought you were Miss Patty.”
“Thereisno Miss Patty here.” My gaze flits to the sides, making sure he’s alone. “Even so, that doesn’t explain why you said you were a police officer.”
“Well, I’m not a police officer per se…” His tongue darts out, licking the underside of his mustache.
I nearly gag.
He lowers one hand but stops when I jab the gun into the screen again.
“I’m just grabbing my badge.” Keeping his eyes on the gun, which shows he isn’t a complete moron, he slowly reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a flip wallet. He lets it drop open, showing me an I.D. “Gary Ranos, Private Investigator.” A Georgia flag is stamped in the corner.
