Rarities Unlimited 03 - Die in Plain Sight

up at him. “I like you a lot, Ian Lapstrake.”
    Amused, he glanced down to where they were still interlocked. “I figured that out.”
    “No, I mean even after, uh…”
    “The itch is scratched?”
    She nodded. “Usually, well…”
    “Same here. Things change afterward. Not bad, just different, because you know it’s not what you wondered it would be like before.”
    Her lips brushed his. “Yeah. And this time it was.”
    “Would you believe I followed that?”
    “Right now, I’d believe anything you tell me.”
    “Water flows uphill,” he said.
    “Naturally.”
    “Black is white.”
    “Always.”
    “One plus one is five.”
    “Of course.”
    “I only have one condom.”
    “What? Damn. I stopped keeping them because I couldn’t find anyone to wear them with.” She stuck out her lower lip and blew hard enough to make the curls against her temple fly. “Guess we’ll get to brush up on our heavy petting skills.”
    Ian threw back his head and laughed without restraint. “I really like you a lot, Lacey Quinn.”
    The kiss he gave her started slow and ended deep. Finally he lifted his head and said, “I have enough condoms to kill us.”
    “Standard equipment?” she asked before she could stop herself.
    “Susa gave them to me when she kicked me out.”
    Lacey’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
    He shook his head.
    She smiled slowly. “We’ll have to think of a way to thank her.”
    “I’ll bet she’s hard to buy gifts for.”
    “Good thing we have all night to think about it.”
    “Yeah.” Slowly Ian stepped back until they were separate again. As he lifted Lacey off the table, he looked down at her breasts flattened against his shirt and harness. “Next time I want to be naked, too.”
    “Only if I get to paint you that way.”
    His eyebrows shot up. “That would be another first.”
    “This is your lucky night, neighbor. C’mon, strip. We’ll throw everythingbut the gun and holster in the washer. Won’t do diddly for the oil stains, but the rest should come out just fine.”
    When she turned around and headed for the washer, he saw that her butt was both firm and rainbow-colored from the paint table. Grinning in anticipation, he followed her, peeling off clothes every step of the way.

Newport Beach
    3 A.M. Friday morning
27
    T he man had been around enough to know how street people moved—slow, a little bent over, uneven, careful. Kind of like a drunk pushing a three-wheeled shopping cart full of junk. Except the real drunks would be off the streets by now, passed out in a doorway with an empty pint tossed nearby. Newport PD didn’t hassle the street people unless someone complained a lot or the local liberals started a drive to round up the homeless and give everyone a bath, a blanket, and shoes or wheelchairs or whatever. It didn’t matter. Within a day or two everything but the bath would end up in a pawnshop and the money would go straight to the mini-marts that sold fortified wine; but it’s the thought that counts.
    Since it wasn’t election time, nobody had been counting or thinking about the homeless lately. He’d passed two old ladies barricaded behind their rusty shopping carts and third-world luggage. Then he passed a guy trash-diving behind a local deli for a late-night snack. A couple of alleycats also watched with interest. A rat’s eyes gleamed from beneath the wheeled trash bin.
    When the man reached the last street before his destination, he waited until nothing moved, not even a rat, before he crossed in the darkness between two distant streetlights. The wind off the ocean was cold enough to make bones ache, but it didn’t matter to him. He’d be warm in a little while.
    And Lacey Quinn would be a hell of a lot hotter than warm.
    With a narrow smile, he walked past the back of Lost Treasures Found to the trash piled up behind the cottage that was painted blue in the front and peeled down to bare, scoured planks in the back. Pressed between buildings on either side of the alley, the wind poured through the opening in an invisible, restless stream.
    After a quick look around to be certain he was alone, he selected an area that was about six feet from the narrow opening between the two old houses that had been converted to shops. Not so close to Lost Treasures Found that anyone would guess it was the target, and not so far away that the shop would survive the coming fire. Satisfied, he reached into his coat, pulled out one handful after