Lou Ann had everything she needed—without Harry.
Isabelle tip-toddled over to a bowl of water and eagerly lapped coolness.
Lou Ann grinned. Two best buds sharing a drink!
Her cell rang.
Shit! It was Harry. What the hell did he want now? Her search for tranquility had just gone bust. He knew every one of her triggers, and it pissed her off that he continued to deploy them. Maybe she should let his call go to voice mail. But then again, he resorted to calling her only because she refused to answer his persistent, hot-mess, multiple texts.
“Make it quick, Harry.”
“Why haven’t you responded to my texts?”
“I’m busy. I can’t respond to your texts while I’m on the job. You know that.”
That was a half-truth.
“Isabelle riding with you?” Harry goaded her.
Hot air jetted from her nostrils.
“I’ve had a long night, and it’s hot as hell. What is it that you want?”
“I’ve been looking for my gray NYU sweatshirt, and you must have it, along with my running shoes, electric razor, and my coconut shampoo. When can I come by and pick them up?”
He was fucking coco-nuts! It was summer. He didn’t need the sweatshirt, yet. And the running shoes were his old, worn ones. And she knew he had two new pairs. The electric shaver crapped out eons ago, and the shampoo bottle had a half inch left, barely enough to cover the bottom.
His texts had nothing to do with these moronic demands.
They were more like: When can we get together “as friends”? I’ll buy. How’s the place? I’m always available to help with repairs.
This from the guy she had to take to the emergency room for the nail-gun incident.
Lou Ann grimaced. No way was she going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d ticked her off from the get-go.
“Fine. I’ll gather your belongings.”
“Great! I’ll stop by tonight and pick them up.”
Lou Ann shook her cell.
The ass hung up on her!
Isabelle growled too.
“I knew you would agree.”
Lou Ann finished her beer, and Isabelle emptied her water bowl.
“Shall we get this over with?”
Lou Ann swung her legs over the lounge and pushed to her feet while holding the neck of her empty beer bottle.
Harry would use any lousy excuse to wheedle his way back into her life.
Special Agent Harold Boxer—the 007 of her life.
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