Ыоуве Been Warned   ::   Patterson James

That’s when I realize what I should be doing.

Don’t think, just shoot.

I reach for my camera. If I’m quick enough, I’ll get them tongue kissing before the light changes.

Only I don’t feel anything where I’m reaching.

No camera. No shoulder bag. I forgot to grab it when I bolted out of the Comfort Diner.

Shit fire and save matches! I think.

And I remember who used to say that -my dead father.



Chapter 77



“WHAT?”SAYS MICHAEL.

I start to repeat myself, but he heard me the first time. He just can’t believe it. Or is it me he can’t believe?

We’re standing before floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room of the Wall Street apartment his company provides for out-of-town VIPs. Apparently there are a lot of them, because we’ve only been able to meet here a few times. Those were romantic interludes, however, and something tells me there’ll be a lot less sex tonight.

“Are you sure it was Penley?” Michael asks. “This isn’t just a fantasy you’re having?”

“I’m positive. I saw it with my own eyes.”

I’m trying to put myself in his shoes. Less than forty-eight hours ago he was rescuing me from a Brooklyn hospital before they could check me into a padded room.

Now this bombshell.

Maybe I’d be a little skeptical too. Especially when I tell Michael that I didn’t have my camera with me. He knows I practically sleep with it.

So with no pictures -no proof – all I’ve got is my word and his trust in me.

“And you’re sure it was the same guy she set you up with?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes, it was that ‘cute guy,’ Stephen.”

“That would mean…”

“Exactly,” I say.

“But how could she know? We’ve been careful.”

I shoot him a dubious look. “I distinctly recall the Maytag club, among other things.”

“Still, I’d know if she knew. Penley would be trying to kill me, not playing games.” He begins to pace, thinking out loud. His neck and face are getting very red. “She sent this guy out to dinner with you on a reconnaissance mission? I mean, the woman has balls, but we’re talking King Kong cojones here.”

“It doesn’t seem so crazy if she only suspected we were involved.”

“Trust me,” he says. “What you’re telling me is crazy no matter how you slice it.”

The word seems to hang in the air – right above my head. Crazy. Does he think that’s what I am? Also, he’s starting to get very pissed.