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Bridget threw her back and let out a hearty laugh. “You’re killing me Detective. I’m not mailing-posting. I’m blog posting. It’s what I do, well that and photography. “
“You mean like a hobby, or for a living?” Lane was interested, how in the heck did you make a living writing a blog?
“A living of course, I have to eat and pay bills,” Bridget snapped. “I suppose you think I live off of my parents? Am I right Detective?”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Lane lied. One quick glance at her disbelieving expression, made him switch gears. “Okay fine, you’re right. I figured you probably have a trust fund or something. Are you telling me you don’t?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Bridget retorted. She crossed her arms over her pink bag and stared straight ahead. She didn’t even want to look a Lane Johnson. It seemed he had a bunch of preconceived ideas about whom and what she was, so far it seemed like ‘probable criminal’ and ‘spoiled rich girl’ were at the top of his list. She wondered what other negative labels he’d conjured up.
Well she had better things to do than prove her worth to the likes of Lane Johnson. Even if he was the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. Oh dear Lord, she was doing it again, she thought. Stop. It. Bridget.
“So tell me about blogging, explain to me how it works,” Lane prodded. He could tell from her body language and the frosty atmosphere in the cab of his truck that he’d managed to piss her off AGAIN!
“Oh come on Bridget, give a guy a break,” he appealed.
He tried again. “Tell me about your blog. What’s it about?”
Lane decided that this stand-off definitely called for a change of tactics. “Does Max Giovanni have anything to do with your blog?”
“How dare you!” Bridget was indignant, furious even. She turned in her seat to give Lane a piece of her mind one more time.
“Gotcha!” Lane laughed. “Now that I’ve got you talking, tell me about the blog. What’s it about?”
“Err … that was so not cool! You’re a…” Bridget searched for the right word. Ass was the first that had come to mind.
“Jerk?” Lane asked, and then shot her that killer grin again.
“Yah, that too!” She replied. She wished he’d stop smiling at her. It was hard to stay mad at the man when he was grinning at her. He’s got great teeth, she thought. Shoot, she was at it again. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up making a fool of herself.
Lane laughed and one more time, “Come on, Bridget. I thought we agreed that you weren’t going to get all sensitive and bent out of shape if I asked the wrong questions.”
It was Bridget’s turn to laugh, and she did. A short, sarcastic HA, that directly translated into a ‘yeah right!’ “We didn’t agree on anything Lane. YOU decided that I should be comfortable being interrogated, but I didn’t get a say about whether I was going to like it or not. I haven’t had a say about anything since this whole shemozzle started. Right from the get go, starting with your star-witness and my parents and the Chief and now you! Everybody’s got an opinion about Bridget, or a plan to deal with Bridget.”
Bridget paused she needed to say this next bit just right.
Lane tried to intercede, “Bridget we’re all trying to …”
“Stop, I’m not finished,” Bridget said holding her palm up to halt him. “You have forty-eight hours Detective. That’s it, just forty-eight hours to prove to me that I am in danger; that this is not a random break-in or I guess if you have it your way, to prove that I’m in cahoots with Max ‘IveNeverMetTheManDamnit’ Giovanni. If you can’t prove either of those conclusions, then you are out of here. I’ve had it with the whole damn bunch of you.”
Lane shook his head and gave Bridget a hard stare in the rear-view mirror, “I hear you Bridget. Let’s talk again in forty-eight hours. For the record, I’d like nothing more, than for this to be a case of mistaken identity.”
“Yeah, okay,” was all she bothered to say.
The tension in the truck was unmistakeable. Lane was annoyed, with himself and with Bridget. He’d definitely gotten off to a rocky-start. How in the hell was he supposed to get to the bottom of this if she wouldn’t give him the time of day. She didn’t like him, he thought. It bothered him; he was surprised at how much. Well I don’t like her either he thought, so we’re even, but he realised that wasn’t quite true either. He hadn’t wanted to like her, but he did. He’d come into the situation with preconceived notions of who Bridget was going to be, and those notions were quickly being replaced by very different reality; a smart, sassy reality.
The idea of Bridget being a strung-out addict now seemed absurd. It was laughable, so that theory was definitely out. She also wasn’t the blonde super model he’d expected, the type he knew Max Giovanni found attractive. That alone sort of blew his night-club pick up theory out of the water. It wasn’t that he didn’t find Bridget attractive, she was very attractive but not in the Barbie way he’d expected. Again he surprised himself. He really was attracted to Bridget. He wondered, “Where in the heck was this stuff coming from?” He’d known the woman less than an hour, and they’d spent most of that time arguing.
Bridget had surprised herself. Lane Johnson wouldn’t believe it, but she really wasn’t the type to lose her temper, especially not multiple times, in the same night. No even worse, multiple times the same hour. She felt a little bit sheepish. Lane was just doing his job. He really knew nothing about her and based on that, he really had no basis for trusting her. If she were honest with herself, she was scared. What was going on? What could Max Giovanni possibly want from her? She didn’t know him. She realised that more than anything, she wanted Lane to be able to cross her off his suspect list, so he could concentrate on figuring out what was really going on.
“I blog a lot about food,” Bridget said quietly. Lane knew it was a peace-offering of sorts and stayed quiet hoping she’d continue. “I love to cook and eat, but I suppose you’ve already guessed that part, huh? The eating part, I mean it’s pretty obvious.” Bridget gestured with one hand in a sweeping motion from her chin to her knees, “There’s no fooling you this time Detective. Not that I’ve been trying to fool you. Not about anything.”
“No, it isn’t obvious,” Lane countered. He hoped he’d said the right thing. He knew from past experience that woman + weight were dangerous topic of conversation.
“Good answer. I blog recipes with photos; I take photos of the ingredients, the process and the finished product. My site is a virtual cookbook of sorts. I do an upcoming recipes post on Tuesday’s for recipes that will be posted the next week starting on Sunday. That way my readers can prepare and have the ingredients on hand. Many of them will grocery shop for specific items ahead of time, that’s why I have to get the Seafood Casserole made, photographed and posted tonight. It’s tomorrow’s post. I usually don’t wait until the night, before, but I’ve been working on a special project with large organic food distributor. I’m going to start using many of their products in recipes, and they’re going to sponsor me. I’ve spent almost all of last week in their offices brainstorming recipe ideas and promotional plans.” She stopped and glanced at him. She hadn’t dared to look at him, since she’d started talking. She hoped he got it. Although she wouldn’t be all that surprised if he didn’t, it was a fairly common phenomenon.
Lane could feel Bridget’s gaze on him. He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glimpse at her. He realised she was waiting for a response from him. She was apprehensive; he was surprised how badly he felt when he realised she was expecting a negative response from him. “That’s amazing, I had no idea. My cousin’s wife blogs, but it’s more of a personal family thing. They live in Singapore; it’s a way for her to keep everyone updated on family news. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t make any money though.”
“Well there are all sorts of blogs. I read several that are more personal journal types. I really like them too. I also have posts like that some days, mostly when I have something exciting to share.” Bridget grimaced, “I guess really have something exciting to write about now. It’s not like that makes any of this better though. I should probably hold off on that post for a while, eh?”
“Hmm, for now, I’d say that sounds like a good idea, but I don’t see any reason to put your food posts on hold. Do you post a new recipe every day?”
“No, but I usually post every day. I do a lot of product, restaurant and travel reviews too. That’s where I got this great bag.” Bridget lifted her bag up few inches and admired it. “I love this bag. It’s big enough to hold my laptop and camera. It’s pink. I love pink.”
“Really, now how did I not know that?”
Bridget was ready with a smart comeback, but she was interrupted by the ringing of Lane’s cell phone. “Johnson here … yes constable … about 5 minutes … notify me if there’s anything out of ordinary, otherwise I’ll assume the property is secure for our arrival … excellent.”
“Are there more of you? I thought you were ‘the’ guy.”
Lane smiled, “There are uniforms on duty outside, both front and back. They’re keeping the perimeter secure. They’ll be there as long as we need them. They won’t be inside the house.”
“Okay, any other surprises I should know about Detective?”
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