Silver Linings

might be a burglar inside. You're not supposed to confront them. You're supposed to go use a neighbor's phone and call the police.”
    “Give me two minutes. If I haven't got the situation under control, go ahead and call the cops.”
    “I'd rather you didn't—”
    “Hush, babe. I'll be right back.”
    It was the thought that it might not be a simple thief at all that was making him do this the hard way. After all the excitement on Purgatory followed by the death of Rosey and the disappearance of Gibbs, a man had to wonder if there might, just possibly, be something besides an everyday, garden-variety burglary in process inside the apartment.
    And if there was, Hugh wanted some answers. The opportunity was simply too good to miss.
    His eyes were adjusted to the shadows now. Hugh pushed the door open and went in fast and low. He was counting on the darkness behind him to give him the cover he needed.
    A picture of the layout of the big studio firmly etched in his mind, he dived behind the leather sofa and flattened himself. He glanced up at the bedroom loft first. There was no one up there. He could tell that much from the glow coming in through the high windows.
    The entire room was shrouded in darkness. Whoever had invaded it earlier had turned off the light that Hugh had deliberately left on in the kitchen alcove.
    Hugh was processing that piece of information when he heard someone shift on the sofa cushions. Leather squeaked softly.
    Hugh rolled to his feet, vaulted over the back of the sofa, and slammed into the body on the cushions.
    A man yelped in startled surprise as the wind was knocked out of him. Gasping, the intruder thrashed about like a fish on a line. His wild gyrations succeeded in causing both Hugh and his victim to slide off the sofa and onto the carpet with a dull thud.
    Hugh pinned the man to the floor and then wrinkled his nose as the unmistakable odor of brandy fumes assailed his nostrils.
    Whoever he was, the guy had been into Mattie's small supply of liquor.
    “Hey,” the intruder managed in strangled tones. “Take it easy, damn it. Let go, will you?”
    The lights went on. “I've called the police,” Mattie said forcefully from the open doorway. “They'll be here any minute. Hugh, are you all right?”
    Hugh looked down at the man he had trapped beneath him. “Shit. You'd better cancel that call to the cops.”
    “Well, actually, I didn't call them,” Mattie explained, moving into the room. “I haven't had a chance. I just said that in case whoever was in here got any ideas of shooting his way out. I thought he might think twice if he knew the police were on their way.” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in shock. “Good grief. What are you doing, Hugh? That's not a burglar.”
    “Hi, Mattie.” Flynn Grafton looked up at her from his prone position on the floor. His blond hair was spread out in a pale fan around his head and his gaze looked distinctly red and watery. “Sorry about this.”

CHAPTER

Thirteen

    “Good grief, it's Flynn.” Mattie hurried forward, deep concern in her eyes. “For heaven's sake, let him up. Hugh. Did you hurt him? Flynn, are you okay?”
    “He's fine.” Hugh got to his feet, annoyed with the speed with which Mattie's concern had shifted from him to Ariel's husband.
    “I think I'm okay.” Flynn shook his head slightly as if to clear it. He sat up slowly and blinked in the light as Mattie crouched beside him. “Christ. You landed on me like a tank, Abbott. Who did you think I was? Jack the Ripper?”
    “It was a possibility. What the hell are you doing here, Grafton? How did you get inside?”
    “Ariel has a key. I borrowed it.” Flynn's words were slightly blurred.
    “Why?” Hugh demanded roughly.
    Mattie scowled at him. “Stop badgering Flynn. Can't you see he's still trying to recover from your assault? I hope there's no serious damage. That sort of trauma can cause all kinds of stress-related injuries from back problems to headaches. You definitely overreacted, Hugh.”
    “I overreacted?” Hugh stared at her in disbelief. “The guy sneaks into your apartment, drinks your booze, and sacks out on your couch waiting for you to come home, leaves all the earmarks of a burglary in progress, and you call it an overreaction when I jump him?”
    “Thank heavens you weren't carrying your gun. This is exactly how accidental shootings occur.”
    Hugh looked up toward the ceiling for inspiration and patience. “Give me a break.