Page 73 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“Maybe,” Brian said. “But now you know.”

“Know what?”

“That she loves you,” he said.

“No, I’m pretty sure she despises me with heretofore unknown levels of loathing.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll get over it,” Brian said. “Then you can look forward to the make-up sex.”

“There isn’t going to be any sex if I don’t fix this mess. So, married man, what do I do?”

“Get your butt up those stairs and do some serious groveling,” Brian suggested. “I’ll keep an eye on the shop and our perp.”

“You don’t believe it’s Annie?” Fisher asked.

Brian considered him for a moment. “We’ve been partners since we both joined the Bureau ten years ago. I’ve seen you pull some dumb stunts, and I’ve seen you make some brilliant maneuvers, but I’ve never seen you make a mistake when it comes to judging a bad guy. No, I don’t think it’s Annie.”

“Good.” Fisher grinned at him. “A man’s partner and his wife should get along.”

“Good luck.” Brian turned back to the computer screen.

“Thanks. I’ll need it,” Fisher muttered as he strode up the stairs.

“Don’t take any prisoners,” Brian yelled after him. “Unless, of course, you’re into that kind of thing.”

Fisher shook his head and kept walking.

Her door was closed. He knocked. There was no answer. Not even a terse order to go away. He frowned. That was unlike Annie. He’d figured as soon as he knocked, she’d open the door and tell him precisely what she thought of him. Truth to be told, he’d kind of been looking forward to it. She was a real firecracker when she lost her temper.

He knocked again. Still no answer.

“Annie?” he called through the door. “Annie? We need to talk. Come on, Annie-girl. Open up.”

She didn’t answer. Fisher felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle. Something wasn’t right. He banged the door harder. He felt the wood vibrate beneath his fist. Still there was no answer. If Annie was in there, she would have answered. If for no other reason than to give him hell for thumping her door so hard.

He glanced down the hall at the door that led out to the deck. He checked it. It was closed and locked. He looked across the hall at his own door. It, too, was closed and locked. Panic made his heart thump faster. He had to get into her apartment just to be sure. He slammed the door with his right shoulder. It flew back on its hinges.

“What in tarnation are you doing?” his father shouted from the base of the stairs in the coffee shop. “Son?”

Fisher stormed into the apartment. There was no sign of her. He strode into her bedroom. He didn’t even think to draw his gun. It didn’t matter. It was empty. The white eyelet curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open window and Fisher thought he might throw up.

“What’s going on in here?” Brian strode into the room with Fisher’s father on his heels.

“He’s got her. Our perp has got her.”

“Now don’t make a sound and everything will be all right,” a gruff voice ordered.

Annie spit at the wool blanket that was wrapped over her head and around her upper body. She gagged at the stale odor that permeated its scratchy texture. When she’d stormed into her apartment, she’d been knocked down, wrapped in the blanket and dragged through her bedroom window and down the porch stairs all in a matter of minutes. Her ribs hurt from where she’d hit the windowsill and they pulled every time she took a breath.

She was lying on her side in the back of a van. She knew it was a van, because she’d recognized the sound of the sliding door. They were driving fast through the city streets. The floor below her was hard and she bounced across it whenever the driver hit the brakes. She’d been trying to keep track of the driver’s turns to get a sense of where they were headed.

The van took an abrupt left and Annie lost track of where they could be. Fear clamped her throat, but she refused to give in to it. If she collapsed into her terror, she was afraid she’d fall apart.

She thought about Fisher and all of the wonderful things he’d said to her. He wanted to marry her in a church – for real. She’d said she didn’t believe him, but just now, with the fear so thick around her that it left her weak and vulnerable, she knew she did believe him.

Not only that, but if she ever got the chance, she would marry him. She would marry him and spend the rest of her life making up for her stupid, stubborn pride. It was pride that had sent her running from the room. She’d known in her heart that Fisher loved her, that he believed in her innocence, but she’d allowed a bruised ego and a bucketful of pride to take over. She’d thrown a tantrum. Why? Because he’d been doing his job. She was an idiot!

And now, she might never see him again. She’d probably be dragged out into the desert and shot. Her body would be left to rot in the scorching sun and Fisher would never know how she felt about him. No! That was unacceptable. She wouldn’t let that happen.