That made it easy. He’d give the number to Temple Nolan, who could have someone in his police department run it. He could have the woman’s name and address within a matter of minutes from the time he talked to the mayor.
On the other hand, it was smarter to play it cool. If the mayor called his P.D. tonight, whoever he talked to would remember the license plate that was so important that the mayor had wanted it checked late on a Saturday night. It was always best not to call attention to yourself, even in the smallest detail. Monday morning would be plenty of time.
Everything was cool; nothing had to be done tonight. Waiting might even be better, give him time to make sure there were no mistakes. This really should be easy, the elements were already there. She did the bar scene, and he had a supply of GHB handy. She’d be just another overdose, and since he had no intention of having sex with her, the cops would write her off as a user who tossed the dice one too many times.
Daisy pursed her lips as she glanced in the rearview mirror. The headlights behind her were way too close: Jack was tailgating her. She might have known he would. The man was constantly crowding into her personal space, and she didn’t know if he did it just to annoy her or if that was his working style, to keep people off balance. She did know she didn’t like it.
She slowed, looking for a safe place to pull off the road, and turned on her blinker. By the time she got her car stopped, Jack’s car was tucked in behind hers so closely she couldn’t even see his headlights, and he was opening her car door before she could find the switch for the emergency flashers.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she began, then said, “My goodness.” He had a gun in his hand—a big one, held down against his leg. It was an automatic, probably a nine millimeter. She leaned over and peered at it. The night-sights on the barrel glowed despite the light coming from her car. “My goodness,” she said again. “Those little suckers are bright, aren’t they?”
He looked down. “What little suckers?” He was examining the ground as if he expected to find glow-in-the-dark ants.
“You night-sights.” She pointed at the weapon. “What kind is it? An H&K? A Sig?” In the dark, and with it in his big hand, she couldn’t tell.
“It’s a Sig, and what in hell do you know about handguns?”
He certainly was grouchy. “I helped Chief Beason research handguns when he wanted to upgrade the weapons the department carries. That was before your time,” she added, just because she knew it would annoy him. Chief Beason was his predecessor.
Sure enough, she saw his jaw clench. She could almost hear his teeth grind. “I know who Chief Beason is,” he growled.
“He was very thorough. We spent months looking at all the models. In the end, though, the city council didn’t vote the money to buy new weapons.”
“I know.” His teeth were definitely grinding. “I had to take care of that when I came on board, remember?” That had been his first act, to raise hell with the city council because they had let their police department become woefully outgunned. He’d gotten the weapons he wanted, too.
“To be fair,” Daisy said, “at that time the city was spending a lot of money on the sewer system—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the sewer system!” He shoved his hand through his hair—or he would have, if it had been long enough. Daisy thought he really should let it grow a little. He drew a deep breath, as if struggling for control. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”
“You were tailgating me.”
He stood frozen in her open car door. Another car went by, its tires whooshing on the pavement; then the red taillights disappeared around a curve and they were alone on the road again.
“What?” he finally said. He sounded as if he were strangling.
“You were tailgating me. It’s dangerous.”
There was another long moment of silence, then he stepped back. “Get out of the car.”
“I will not.” So long as the car was running and she had the steering wheel in her hands, she was in control. “You were wrong and you know—”
The sentence ended in a squeal as he leaned in, swiftly unclipped her seat belt, and hauled her out of the car. Embarrassed by the squeal, because she thought she’d outgrown such noises, she was too distracted to be alarmed as he slammed the door and backed her against the car, his big body leaning in and pinning her to the cold metal. It was like being caught with fire on one side and ice on the other, and the fire was strongest because she immediately felt that peculiar internal melting again.
“I have two choices,” he said conversationally. “I can either strangle you, or I can kiss you. Which one do you want?”
Alarmed at the prospect that he might kiss her, she said, “Those are your choices, not mine.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn that red dress.”
“What’s wrong with my dress—uummph.”
The rest of her indignant sentence was smothered by his mouth on hers. Daisy went still, her entire system thrown into a weird kind of suspended animation as her mind struggled to adjust expectation with reality. No, not expectation, because she’d never expected Jack Russo to kiss her. Such a thing was not on her mental list of Possible Happenings. Yet he was kissing her, and it was the most amazing thing she’d ever felt.
His lips were soft in touch, and firm in application. She could taste the beer he’d drunk, and something else . . . something sweet. Honey. He tasted like honey. One big fist was twined in her hair, holding her head tilted back, while he leisurely kissed her deeper than she’d ever been kissed before, his tongue in her mouth, and the honey taste of him dissolved her bones and turned her internal organs to mush.