Brody & Hannigan 02 - Grand Theft Lotto by Paula Graves Page A

we going to play truth or dare?"
    "Maybe." Waggling her eyebrows, she slid behind the steering wheel and closed herself safely inside. Squelching the urge to look over to his car, she pulled her Chevy out of the parking slot and onto Grayson Boulevard, one of three main thoroughfares through the city. Her bungalow on Rosedale Drive was normally ten minutes away, but she made it in seven, trying to tell herself that it was the sparse traffic that late at night and not her jittery nervous energy that had made the drive home pass so quickly.
    What on earth should she pack? Her trip to the lingerie store a couple of days ago hadn't been a fit of whimsy. Her sleeping attire consisted almost entirely of cotton running shorts and tees in the summer and thermal tops and tights for winter. She had a rather pretty nightgown left over from her last serious relationship, but she didn't think Brody would appreciate her recycling her nighties from her affair with Greg Kowalski.
    And he'd figure it out. He was brilliant at putting together subtle clues and making intuitive jumps.
    She glanced at her watch. Almost midnight. No store in town would still be open. Oh hell, she thought, and started digging through her drawers for a pair of panties and bra that matched and looked reasonably girly. She laid them on her bed and kept digging, adding a set of silky tap shorts and a matching camisole to her small overnight case. Then for good measure, she tossed in the silk robe that had come with the tap shorts and camisole.
    No Teddy bear. That was what Brody was for, right?
    Grinning at her own nervous mental ramblings, she stripped out of her work clothes and took a quick shower, changing into the pretty underwear. Jeans and a figure-hugging Atlanta Braves T-shirt she knew Brody liked.
    She took a last look in the dresser mirror. She looked…ordinary. Same old Stella Hannigan who met her in the mirror every morning.
    With a sigh, she picked up the bag and headed for the front door.
    As she reached her car, her cell phone trilled. Expecting it to be Brody again, urging her to hurry, she was surprised to find the number unlisted. She almost sent it straight to voicemail, but curiosity made her finger press "answer" instead. "Hello?"
    "Thank God." That was Becky Barlow's voice. She sounded stressed. "I was afraid you weren't going to answer."
    "Is something wrong?"
    "I need your help, Stella. Can you meet me at the beauty shop?" Becky's voice was low and urgent, the tone setting off tremors in Hannigan's gut. She'd never heard her cousin sound quite so frantic before.
    "Of course, but are you in trouble?"
    "Not really. I don't know. I need to talk to you. Just come, please??" Becky hung up the phone before Hannigan could ask any more questions.
    Frowning, she called Brody's cell number. He answered on the first ring, his tone eager enough to make her flattered. "How much longer?"
    "Maybe longer than I thought," she admitted, not hiding her own regret. She told him about Becky's call. "It's probably nothing, but she's in an emotional state because of Dwayne and how it must be affecting Marie. I guess she just needs a sympathetic shoulder more than anything else."
    At least, Hannigan hoped that was all it would turn out to be. She was getting pretty damned tired of murder and mayhem getting between her and her partner's very nice bed in a fancy midtown loft with a view of the city.
     
     
    He'd promised her he didn't expect anything to happen between them that night, and he'd meant it. But working with Hannigan for as many years as he had meant a few of her better traits had started rubbing off on him. And one of her best traits, on that had saved his ass more than once, was her unshakable belief in being prepared. So he'd stopped on his way home to pick up a box of condoms.
    One never knew.
    A hard wind was kicking up by the time he parked in the lot behind his downtown loft, flapping the brown paper bag with his purchase so hard it almost whipped