The Temporary Detective

Chapter Ten

"Baby doll!" James slid onto the bar stool next to Jayla's.

She was halfway through a glass of white wine, and there was already a Coke waiting for him. He leaned over and shimmied his lips up her neck to her earlobe. That usually drove her wild, but now she turned her hazel cat-eyes on him in a glare of fury.

"You gonna tell me who that was who called you?"

"Honey, she's just a new temp who started with us yesterday. Right out of school, totally green, and we sent her out to InterBank Switzerland, of all places."

Jayla folded her arms across her chest. "What's your point?"

"InterBank Switzerland? It was all over the news yesterday. Don't you read the paper or watch television?"

"I don't like your tone. You know I do, but I was tired last night."

"A secretary was killed there yesterday, and Isobel was working with her. I didn't hear about it until late when I saw it on the news, and I wanted to make sure..." He hesitated. There were several possible ways to finish that sentence. Knowing Jayla would never know the difference, he chose the one least flattering to Isobel. "I wanted to make sure she didn't do it."

"Killed a secretary? That little pipsqueaky thing who called? She could no more kill a cockroach than a person. I don't even know her, but I can tell you that much. Miss Namby-Pamby, 'Um, excuse me, but did y'all call my cell phone?'" She raised her voice to a pitch only dogs could hear.

James bounced a cardboard coaster on the bar. "You don't understand. She's kind of a walking disaster. She doesn't waitress, because she..." He paused again. Nothing wrong with stretching the truth a little. "She almost killed a nun with a lobster."

Jayla tossed her head to one side, her beautiful long dreadlocks making a slapping noise against her bare shoulder. "If she's such a disaster, why on earth did you hire her?"

Good question, thought James, but of course he couldn't say that. Or could he?

"Good question," he said.

"Well, something made you. And something made you call her last night, and it wasn't because you think she murdered someone!"

James took Jayla's hand and twined his fingers in hers. He stroked her cheek with both their hands and murmured, "Jay-Jay, baby doll, you know you're the only woman in my life!"

"Whenever a man says that, you know it ain't true!"

"Come on, Jayla, you know me better than that. What would I want some skinny little white bitch for?"

That's my story and I'm sticking to it, he thought, taking a sip of his Coke.

"So why'd you call her?"

"I told you. I wanted to make sure she isn't all mixed up in it somehow."

"Mm hmmm." Jayla pursed her lips doubtfully. "And is she?"

"Nah," he lied.

In a single, sinuous motion, Jayla slid off her barstool and rolled her palm over his thigh, landing between his legs. He reacted as she knew he would.

"Don't you get mixed up with her, you understand? I know a good thing when I've got one. And I ain't sharing."

She kissed him, slow and deep. He could taste the wine on her tongue, and for a split second, he wanted the alcohol more than he wanted her. She pulled away, satisfied.

"I'll meet you at your place later."

"I might be late," he said. "Gotta get to the gym."

"I can let myself in. Don't take too long, or I'll really get suspicious."