Page 15 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“Morning.” He points to the coffeepot on the counter. “Help yourself.”

“You knew I was awake?” I cross the floor, and my bare feet stick to the linoleum.

He nods. “I cracked the door, hoped the bacon would do the trick.”

I pour a cup and fill his half-empty mug sitting on the counter. “Actually, it was the coffee.”

The corner of his mouth pulls back in a smirk. “You’re up and moving around. That’s all that matters.”

As I watch him work, he focuses on the eggs, cracking them one at a time into the bacon grease. I sip my coffee, grimacing at the bitterness. It nearly burns my tongue.

“Got any cream and sugar?” I set down the mug and open the refrigerator.

He snorts. “You’ll be lucky if that milk is still good.”

I glance at the date on the carton and open it. A quick sniff confirms his suspicion. The milk is bad. I toss it in the trash.

“Sorry, kid, I wasn’t expecting company.”

With a shrug, I retrieve the coffee. “I wasn’t expecting to drop in on short notice either.”

He turns and studies me. His brow rises as he takes in my frame wrapped in his robe, but he doesn’t say a word. He snatches up a plate and places two eggs on it beside some bacon before thrusting it in my direction. “Sit. Eat.”

I take the plate and my coffee to the small table. There are papers and files all over it. With a sigh, I set the plate on the chair and carefully stack all the papers before moving them to the solid wood coffee table in front of a floral sofa. A holdover from the early seventies, judging by the harvest gold pattern and wood trim.

When I return, he’s set my plate on the table beside my coffee.

“I’m not used to having guests.”

“I couldn’t tell.” My gaze drifts over the apartment, taking in the dust bunnies along the wall and a thin layer of dust on the television.

I settle on the chair and pick up my fork. The first bite is delicious. I quickly devour the eggs between bites of crispy bacon.

The detective watches me as he eats, allowing silence to consume us. I can tell by the look in his eyes, he’s got questions. Who wouldn’t after finding someone bleeding out on their stoop?

I use a piece of toast to clean the plate. A sigh of contentment echoes between us.

He pushes aside his own empty plate and cradles the mug in his hand. “Now that you’re fed, care to tell me what the hell happened last night?”

Part of me wants to tell him the truth. Just spill it and hope like hell he believes me. But whatever I tell him is going to open me up to more questions and more digging. I don’t want anyone fishing around in my past. He could easily look up my rap sheet at the station, but that’s nothing compared to the skeletons still hiding in my closet. The people I’ve worked with, the shit I’ve seen...and done.

No. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I’m sure I can completely trust him.

I shake my head and sip my coffee. My attention drifts to a smudged window to my right. Outside, I see the brick of the neighboring building and hear the distant sound of traffic flowing through the city.

He heaves a heavy, melodramatic sigh. “Listen, kid, I want to help you, but if you don’t trust me, my hands are tied.”

“Thanks,” I manage despite the loud pulse of my heartbeat in my ears.

“For what?”

“Taking me in. Patching me up. For not dumping me at the nearest ER and making me their problem.” I offer a halfhearted smile.

“Listen, kid. I’ll help any way I can, but I’m gonna need you to give me something if you want more.” He clutches the mug tighter. “That deal we made? You got any leads for me?”

“No.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I’ve been keeping my nose clean. I haven’t stolen anything since the night you caught me.”

His brow shoots up in surprise. “Trying to go straight, huh?”

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